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LOS ANGELES — Carli Jo Bidlingmaier was talking to a group of 20-somethings in a living room in the Bel-Air neighborhood here, weeks before the wildfires. She was explaining that consuming marijuana allows a woman to awaken her “yoni,” a Sanskrit term for vagina favored by Hollywood bohemians.

“Everybody stand up!” she shouted. The crowd, all women seated on pillows on the floor, leapt to their feet.

Ms. Bidlingmaier, a former casting producer for “The Bachelor,” vigorously shook her hips. She was leading the women in a so-called cannabis sensuality circle that seemed like something out of 1960s Esalen: joints, frank talk about sexuality, meditation and — at the end of the night — a headlong plunge into a big bowl of strawberries and dark chocolate.

“It is our divine right to enjoy our pleasure,” Ms. Bidlingmaier said. No one disagreed.

In January, California will join the list of states where recreational marijuana is legal, among them Oregon, Washington, Colorado and Alaska. With researchers tallying California’s marijuana sales at $7.7 billion last year, the so-called green rush has already turned gold. Next year, the Standard hotel in Hollywood plans to open a dispensary for edibles. “It’s exploding in a good way,” said Emerald Castro, a brand ambassador for cannabis start-ups. “There are a lot of professionals on board.”

Cannabis sales, currently for medicinal purposes, are primarily a cash business. (Federal laws prohibit the use of banks for illegal drugs.) And with restrictions on advertising, the industry retains something of a quaint dorm-room vibe.

That means parties. Lots of them. Parties to educate and inform new users. Parties to connect to friends who partake. And parties to sell, sell, sell cannabis to an unfamiliar public, most of whom still think “Girl Scout Cookies” are for eating, “Moby Dick” is a novel, and “Skywalker” is Luke’s last name, rather than chic new strains.

Along with the sensuality circles, there are get-togethers for gamers who smoke pot, marijuana Christmas parties, classes where artists can puff and paint. There are studios where yogis smoke sensimilla with their shavasana and members’ only co-working spaces where entrepreneurs can enjoy a dab of hash while poring over data-flow diagrams and accounting receipts.

“It all comes down to not feeling like a criminal, being seen as a criminal,” said Douglas Dracup, 31, whose Hitman Coffee Shop on South La Brea Avenue is one of these spaces. Parties, he said, have “set the stage for the industry to flourish.”

Below, a recent tour of Los Angeles’s flourishing pot scene.

High Tea

In a gated office building off Sunset Boulevard, tucked between a parking lot and two motels, about 25 people gathered one recent Saturday for “White Rabbit High Tea.” Jessica Cole Eriksen, 34, began hosting tea parties in April 2016 after working as a nanny in Ireland where brew was a daily ritual. “I’m rolling joints so, everyone, let’s get rolling,” said Ms. Eriksen, who brought a box filled with masks and hats for people to wear. “I’m so happy you are here on this lovely afternoon.”

Some were friends or guests who read about the tea party, which cost $65, online. “I saw it on Instagram last month, and I thought I would come,” said Bridgett Davis, in between puffs under her leopard-print hat. “In December I’m going to pull out my mink. It’s a different kind of crowd, not teenagers or millennials.”

Holden Jagger, a former executive pastry chef at the Soho House who started a cannabis cooking and cultivation business last year, prepared the meal. The table was set with place cards, gold lace paper napkins and strategically arranged ashtrays. There was no pot in the roasted corn and buttermilk scones. But there were plenty of joints, vape pens and edibles on the table. A server wearing a crimson dress and rabbit ears poured peach green tea.

Tara Dawn Roseman, an eyebrow aesthetician, examined a bottle of lotion infused with medical marijuana.

“My dad loves this stuff,” said Roxanne Dennant, whose company, Fruit Slabs, makes cannabis-infused fruit leather. “He rubs it on his hands.”

“My hands are always hurting,” Ms. Roseman said.

“Then use some!” Ms. Dennant said. “They are on the table to be used.”

There were a lot of products to try: cannabis-infused cellulite cream, lip balm, chocolate cookies and small bottles of artisanal buds from Northern California. Ms. Roseman brought some pot from home, which she dumped on a plate so she could roll a joint. Platters of finger sandwiches were passed.

“Do you find yourself with friends that want to talk about something else?” said Ms. Dennant. “We can’t. We are passionate.”

Ms. Eriksen refrained from smoking because she was pregnant. She watched as guests eyed the buds on the table. “You get a gift bag so you don’t need to pocket anything,” she said.

As caramel popcorn and apple pie cookies were passed, the table grew silent. A man put a zebra mask over his face and scrolled through his cellphone. “I was just staring off into the sky and thinking, ‘I am sufficiently stoned,’” Ms. Dennant said.

Ms. Davis said, “You feel like not talking so much anymore.”

Mr. Jagger joined the table. “I had a mom give me a cookie once,” he said, recalling his early 20s. “I just couldn’t talk for a while. My arms were moving, but my mouth wasn’t working. She put a whole plant into butter and it was pretty strong.”

When he was a younger man, Mr. Jagger said, he prided himself in baking potent cookies. Nowadays, cooks are better at tempering the high. “The idea that we can manage it,” he said, “takes the fun out of it.”

Budtender to the Stars

Maya Cooper was dressed in raspberry tights, gold chains and a blue kufi, a tableau that looked vaguely like vintage MC Hammer. It was the day before Halloween, and Snoop Dogg was hosting his wife’s birthday party, a 1980s-themed bash in an industrial building near the airport. “It’s my job to know everybody,” said Ms. Cooper, holding court in a hazy, smoke-filled lounge packed with couches and a bar crowded with jars of marijuana bud, rolling papers and smoking accessories.

Ms. Cooper, 31, is the associate director of marketing for Merry Jane, a digital media company started in 2015 by Snoop Dogg to promote marijuana culture. She is better known, though, as a “budtender” to the stars. An Ohio native who once worked for Rolling Stone, she said she taught Gwyneth Paltrow how to use a vape pen. She has hosted bud bars at parties for Diplo and Calvin Harris, the music producers. Ms. Cooper has even spun cannabis-infused sugar into cotton candy for Miley Cyrus at a birthday party for Ms. Cyrus’s boyfriend, Liam Hemsworth.

These days marijuana is marketed like coffee beans. Humboldt’s Finest, a collective from Northern California, was that night’s sponsor. Among the strains scrawled on a menu were Sunset Sherbet (“luscious melty treat”), Cookies (“an uplifting, potent high”) and OG Kush (“for total body melt”). A guest sidled up to the bar and asked for six joints and some buds for a bong. On the dance floor, where Snoop Dogg was twirling with his wife, trays of pre-rolled joints were passed by female servers.

Last January Ms. Cooper teamed up with a dispensary to host a bar at the 30th birthday party for Cade Hudson, a talent agent who works for Creative Artists Agency. The party was held on the roof of an apartment complex in Beverly Hills, and about 200 people showed up. The singer Nick Jonas asked for a joint, Ms. Cooper said. Others kept their distance. “Sometimes celebrities will pass by,” she said. “They aren’t interested in coming to the station. So we bring the gift bag to them.”

Ms. Cooper said sponsors don’t get paid to give away product, which makes a bar a costly proposition. The average price of a joint is about $3.50; small batch or craft cannabis costs twice that. “It’s hard to regulate celebrities,” she said. “They are used to having whatever they want.” The music crowd is notoriously grabby. So much so, she toyed with the idea of making people who give parties pay. Ms. Cooper said they ran out of pre-rolled joints halfway through the night at a Def Jam event during Grammy week.

“People kept coming back to the bar,” she said. “They try to pretend like they are someone else. They kept stuffing their pockets. Someone even came over to the table, but this time with his hat off. I said, ‘I still recognize you.’”

Bake Sale

When Jessica Assaf talks about marijuana, she always uses the word “she.” “It is the female plant that creates this precious flower,” she said one evening at a party in Venice. The booming cannabis market is filled with female entrepreneurs. “We are a community,” said Ms. Assaf, a former beauty and marketing executive. “And we show up for each other.”

Indeed. About 100 people crowded a fenced-in yard at the home of Abby Gould, an acquaintance of Ms. Assaf’s who works for a firm that invests in the cannabis industry. Lit candles were placed on wooden railings. A singer playing acoustic guitar serenaded guests gathered on the front lawn under a string of lights. No one was sipping chardonnay. The crowd was there for a “Bake Sale” sponsored by Cannabis Feminist, the company Ms. Assaf founded a year ago to sell marijuana wellness products at home.

It was like a Tupperware party for the smoke set. Guests bought tickets for $5, which wee exchanged for edibles, creams or smoke. (Gifts of cannabis are allowed, Ms. Assaf said; direct sales are not.) There were oils by Foria to enhance sexual pleasure, a powder from Mondo that could be sprinkled in food to soothe an anxious mind and Hmbldt vape pens to calm, sleep or arouse. One woman bought $105 worth of pink tickets for cannabis-infused capsules with turmeric to reduce chronic inflammation.

Ms. Assaf is adept at creating community among her peers, organizing weekly get-togethers. “It is an important part of reaching the audience,” said Derek McCarty, the chief marketing officer for Hmbldt. “People turn to their best friends for advice.” Cannabis Feminist teamed with Snoop Dogg’s Merry Jane to create a series, “Queens of the Stoned Age,” a chat show with Ms. Assaf and guests who explore their relationship with cannabis. They hired an all-female crew and Ms. Assaf committed to including more ethnically diverse smokers in coming episodes.

Despite the transactional nature of the Bake Sale, there was still, as one might imagine, a relaxed vibe.

Hannah Mason, a founder of Lit Yoga, set up a low-slung table and pillows under a tree. She had nothing to sell; she was there to support her female mates. Ms. Mason served green tea and passed joints to passers-by who joined her, something she and her students share before every yoga class. One student, Ryan Der, a maker of custom iron doors, was there. “It’s cool to connect with humans,” he said, packing a rolling paper. “Most of the time everyone is on their phones.”