*Slight exaggeration. Possibly.
You have to remember, that once, a long time ago, there was a world without coffee shops. Starbucks – or Double B, or Caffe Nero, [insert your favourite local chain here] or any of those – were not around. If you were a grown-up and wanted to sit with friends, you went to the pub. Coffee in any form other than Nestlé instant was a bit posh. That was the world when I was tentatively stepping into the Land Of Grown-Ups.
And then, Friends started on TV. This was aspirational TV for me, in all the ways. I wanted Rachel’s hair. I wanted Monica’s blue wine glasses. I wanted Chandler’s witty come-backs and Phoebe’s guitar talent. I wanted Joey’s enthusiasm and Brad Pitt as a guest star in my life. I like to think that, now many years on, I have most of these things. I still have the wine glasses; I had the haircut for at least two years longer than I should have done; and could I be better at the guitar? Well, actually yes, I could. (You’ll notice I’m not mentioning Ross, which is the wisest thing to do, and Brad, call me, it’s been too long, mwah mwah.)
But what I really, really liked, was the fact that they hung out in this coffee place. It was so cool! Like, comfy chairs, it was open all the time, there were cakes and the fancy (grown-up) coffee drinks were served in really nice mugs. Sigh. I was astute enough to realise that Friends was a fantasy in many ways, but a coffee place? That was something real. I overlooked the fact that I didn’t actually like coffee.
And so began my obsession with Starbucks. They were starting to spread their mermaid tentacles of middle class reassurance around the world just as I was desperately trying to fit in that same (albeit less scaly) world and I decided to make it mine. I walked in, and I basically had a neon sign above my head saying LOOK I AM RACHEL FROM FRIENDS I MADE IT HAAAA!
(My adoration of Jennifer Aniston is worth another blog post, so let’s leave the psychology of that for now. But Brad, (or even Justin, I’m adaptable) seriously, call me.)
It was – and still is, even though it’s twenty years and many, MANY, visits later – a place of aspiration for me. Starbucks had a kind of exotic glamour. I’d go out of my way to visit them, and when my job because interesting enough to allow me to travel to the US, I’d always find one, order a frappuccino (“What are they I don’t care I’ll have three in one of your incongruously named italianish sizes wooooohoooooooo!”) and pretend that I was a sophisticated glamorous girl about town, whereas in reality I was an averagely glamorous girl about town enjoying what is basically milkshake for grown-ups.
It made me happy. And I didn’t even drink coffee then. And that could be the reason why I loved – love – this chain so much, for so long. Before I started drinking coffee, some friends came to visit us in Kuala Lumpur. They were self-proclaimed coffee snobs and sneered (nicely, but still, they sneered) at my suggestion that we go to Starbucks when they asked for a good coffee place. I was hurt that my place, my happy place, wasn’t good enough for them. I didn’t understand. I didn’t love Starbucks for its coffee, and I still don’t.
In 2010 I quit my job and moved to Borneo. In a couple of months, I went from being financially independent and career-focused to a stay-at-home mother. In Borneo. It was a fascinating transition (ahem) and I really would not have survived it without Starbucks. Yes, there was a Starbucks, and as the title of the post exclaims, it saved my life. The loneliness of early motherhood, the shock of chang and the monotony of those days were eased by this generic coffee chain, and for so many reasons. The staff remembered my order (I exist!); they cooed over my daughter (she IS adorable to outsiders!); they made me drinks that reminded me of a life outside of the three roads I now frequented and motherhood (I am Rachel again I am Rachel again!); and with the wifi, I was connected to friends and news and the world; a connection that was poor elsewhere in that town. These little connections, as small as they seem now, really meant a lot as I struggled with finding my place in this new expat world, as a new mum and without family, friends, or the structure of a job and a familiar social life. It gave me space to remember who I was and to decide who I was going to be, now my life had taken this unexpected turn.
This kind of place – familiar but not your own, with no social obligation to friends or family incurred by being there – is so very very welcome to anyone who wants space in their life. I soon inducted my husband to the pleasures of Starbucks, and after a stressful week at work we would just hang out in one. When our daughter got sick in Bali, our refuge was a Starbucks. When a destination just felt a bit too much? Starbucks. When the food is too unfamiliar? Starbucks.
And then I started drinking coffee. One day, it was an iced mocha, the next it was a single origin bean flat white, thank you very much. My induction to caffeine went from ‘meh it’s ok in cakes’ to ‘OMG they’ve scalded the milk and the beans are far too bitter make it stop’ terrifyingly quickly. And all of a sudden, my precious, sweet, Starbucks, my safe space, was… not that nice.
I was lost. I started going to cool little coffee bars. I refined my coffee knowledge and admired the latte art created by bearded hipsters, but I never felt like I belonged. I toyed with buying my own espresso machine but still wanted to leave the house and have that break from home. What was to be done?
The solution came to me, as it should, in the Mecca of Starbucks: their Pike Place, Seattle, store and the first branch of the behemoth that took over the world. As I queued, alongside Americans, Australians, Chinese, British, Japanese and Spanish-speaking people, my precious Pike Place souvenir cup in hand, I realised that none of us were here for the coffee (although the flat white I had that day was particularly good). We were there because it was Starbucks. We’d fallen for that Friends dream, the mythical Third Space, the place to take a breath from the hubbub outside, and also to use their clean bathrooms. It was never about a coffee, and I was foolish for thinking it was.
So now, I go to my hipster coffee place for a coffee, and when I need an escape, I go to Starbucks. The coffee sucks, but everything else doesn’t. I’ve learned about so many cultures because of Starbucks: the solo seating so prevalent in Japan, the social sofas in Malaysia. The local woodwork used in Bali, and the specialised drinks in Singapore. I’ve seen more Apple products than in one of their stores and more students studying than in school. And wherever I am, whatever my situation, they always speak Starbucks.
On our first day in Moscow, the Husband went to work and I was left with our daughter in a hotel room in this unfamiliar city. I’d spotted a Starbucks and knowing that you have to just get out and get on, there we went. We walked in, and it was so familiar. The shelves stocked their coffee, and mugs and cups. The board behind the counter was covered in unreadable Cyrillic but I knew, I knew, that I was home. “Tall Cappuccino” I said, and like magic, as if Google translate was installed in our ears and mouths, my drink appeared. The coffee was bad, but all would be well.
I love it for its comfort factor. I love it because there is always a comfortable chair from which I can ignore the world, should I need to. I love it because there is always a good spot to people watch. I love it for its utter familiarity and its slightly haphazard attempts to adjust itself to the local culture, wherever it is. I love that it has toilets that are almost always clean. I love that it has wifi. I love that when I walk in to one, it feels like I can relax a little. I do not love it for its coffee. I love it because it’s Starbucks.
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