“Shall we go to Life Group together tomorrow?” said Ali,
“I can come by your work and bring Starbucks.”

“Yes!” I replied, “Yes! Starbucks!”

“Sugar-free Vanilla Latte?” she said.

“Hm, yes, Latte. Oh yeah, talk Starbucks to me…”

Starbucks doesn’t do the best coffee in the world.[1] It is, however, both my lover and my keeper. For example, my January bank statement effectively read:

Starbucks- 2.30
Waitrose- 5.00
Starbucks- 2.30

I compared my Starbucks habit (grande latte, 1 shot sugar-free vanilla syrup) to the expense of someone who smoked 10 cigarettes a day; smoking came out the cheaper alternative. When I came to review my finances after that bank statement, however, I was wondering how to spend less on food, not Starbucks.

So: it’s not cheap and it’s not the best. Why Starbucks?

Convenience

There’s a Starbucks app on my iPhone showing you the nearest store to wherever you are. In London the chances are there are probably four or five within five minutes walk. This means that whoever you are meeting or whatever you want to do, you know that you can go somewhere and sit in a well-decorated coffee house and have a drink. As a result, my friends and I have a pact that means that most of our after-work/weekend planning goes like this:

“Meet you at Piccadilly/Oxford Circus/Exmouth Market/Potato-field-outside-New-Malden”

“Cool. We can go to Starbucks!”

Sugar

One of the jobs I’m involved with at the church is helping out with an afterschool club for primary school children, where we offer squash and snacks. Invariably, if we leave the snacks out on the table, when they arrive the children rush to the table and stuff their faces with as much sugar as they possibly can, barely pausing for breath or dignity.

Grown-ups are exactly the same.[2] It’s just we don’t like to admit it, particularly in public. The fact is, stuffing your face with biscuits and chocolate is a bit, well, ungainly. But I don’t think you should underestimate the power of sugar to keep young women darkening the door of any establishment. And sugar plays a large part of Starbucks’ beverage vocabulary. There are syrups that obliterate the taste of the espresso so totally they turn your latte in sugary hot froth, hot chocolate that comes in ‘classic’ (liquid) and ‘signature’ (stays in the cup when it’s upside-down) varieties and the amazing frappucino. My personal favourite, the vanilla frap, is somewhat similar to drinking vanilla ice cream through a straw- yum.

Plus: they all come in dignity-proof Starbucks cups. So you can get your fix while looking like a grown-up; most importantly, a city-slicking grown-up. Which brings me to my last point.

Aspiration

A quick trip to any Starbucks in London will present you with several demographics. I would guess, however, that all of them believe they are wealthy Americans. Personally, when I go to Starbucks I like to pretend I’m wearing Manolos while writing my latest relationships column for the New York Times. As it happens, I’m not[3] but Starbucks makes me feel like I could be. It’s an aspiration thing.

I don’t know how they did it but at some point actual city-slickers went to Starbucks. It was probably that they sold coffee by the bucket, so investment bankers, journalists and other rich/cool caffeine junkies could get cappuccinos in quantities that would actually have an impact. The fact is, the organisation’s never quite lost its association with the urban elite. So, if you’re a young woman striking out on her own for the first time and trying to ditch the ‘bumpkin’ tag, Starbucks is a statement. It says ‘I’m living in the fast lane’; ‘I can’t remember which bit of the cow milk comes from’; ‘I don’t have any cousins’.[4] And I like it. So much so I and pretty much most of my London friends spend most of our time and money there. And don’t plan on stopping either. It ticks a lot of boxes. Plus, it’s hard being such a fast-paced project manager. I need the caffeine.

Sociology

The meeting of minds over a beverage has been around ever since the idea for the Domesday Book was conceived over several pints of mead around a camp fire in Sussex.[5] Drinks come and go but the desire to share life in this way continues. And so Starbucks can become part of life. To the point where you actually quite like the taste of the coffee: and I do. And the comfy chairs. And the way there’s one on every corner. And the collectible mugs. And the fact they play music I enjoy…I think you get the picture. It’s time to put a plastic disposable lid on this adventure and smell the coffee. Then have it to go.

 

[1] That’s to be found in the Modern Pantry, EC1

[2] My bin full of empty biscuit/chocolate wrappers is testimony to this.

[3] In fact, I’m a churchworker who wears New Look shoes, writing a blog about being a churchworker sitting in Starbucks writing about myself writing in Starbucks. How postmodern.

[4] I actually don’t have any cousins but my upbringing would imply otherwise. As it happens, I was ostricised at school partly on the basis of my cousin deficiency. But that’s a different story.

[5] Norman 1: Zis country is as bleak as Joan d’Arc’s love life.

Norman 2: She azzent been born yet but I know what you mean. Let’s survey all of England to objectively prove to the king how terreeble eet is. Then ‘ee might give eet back and let us go ‘ome.