By Timothy T. Tater, Editor and Chief Spud
The Sweet Potato
There was a time, children, when coffee was simple. It was a bitter sludge that truck drivers and construction workers poured down their throats at 5 AM to convince their bodies that consciousness was a good idea. It cost fifty cents. It tasted like burnt sadness. It worked.
Now? Now coffee is an experience. A lifestyle. A personality trait.
The Hip Carry: A Study in Absurdity
Let’s address the elephant in the room—or rather, the Stanley cup dangling at waist level like some kind of caffeinated sword. When did we all collectively decide to carry our beverages like medieval knights carrying their scabbards?
Watch them in their natural habitat: the grocery store, the farmer’s market, Walmart. There they are, one hand swinging freely, the other clutching a 40-ounce vessel of liquid at precisely hip level. Not drinking it. Just… carrying it. Like a security blanket. Like a status symbol. Like proof they’re hydrating, or caffeinating, or participating in whatever wellness trend told them that visible beverage consumption equals self-care.
The grip is specific too. Not a casual hold. A statement hold. “Yes, I have a beverage. Yes, it cost more than your lunch. Yes, I will lumber through this store carrying it at the exact height most likely to knock over your toddler.”
The $47 Latte: A Financial Crime Scene
Let me get this straight. You’re paying eight dollars—EIGHT DOLLARS—for something that contains approximately thirty-seven cents worth of actual coffee? The rest is oat milk (because we’re all suddenly allergic to cows), three pumps of vanilla (because we’re children), caramel drizzle (because why not add dessert to breakfast), and cold foam.
COLD. FOAM.
Do you know what cold foam is? It’s milk that someone whispered at aggressively. It’s air with delusions of grandeur. It’s the emperor’s new dairy product.
And you can’t just order a “coffee” anymore. Oh no. You need to speak a second language. A tall-venti-grande-with-an-extra-shot-almond-milk-no-foam-light-ice-two-pumps-sugar-free-vanilla-upside-down-macchiato language. By the time you finish ordering, you’ve burned more calories than the drink contains, which is probably part of the appeal.
Meanwhile, there’s a break room at your office with a Mr. Coffee from 1987 and a can of Folgers. FREE. It tastes like pencil shavings and regret, sure, but it also costs ZERO DOLLARS.
Is It Even Coffee Anymore?
Here’s my theory: it’s not.
Coffee used to have one job: wake you up and possibly put hair on your chest (results may vary by gender and genetics). It was rocket fuel. It was liquid anger. You didn’t “enjoy” it—you survived it, and then you went to work at the steel mill or whatever people did before we all became social media managers.
Now? Now we’ve got “coffee” that’s basically a milkshake with a rumor of espresso. We’ve got coffee with eighteen grams of sugar. We’ve got coffee that tastes like birthday cake, pumpkin pie, a unicorn’s daydream. We’ve got DECAF COLD BREW, which is like non-alcoholic beer for people who want to seem interesting at brunch but also need to be in bed by 8:30.
The modern coffee drink is a Trojan horse. It’s dessert disguised as morning productivity. It’s a Instagram prop. It’s three hundred calories of denial with a cardboard sleeve that says “But First, Coffee” in that font that somehow looks like it’s wearing yoga pants.
The Coffee Shop: Where Money Goes to Die
And don’t even get me started on coffee shops. When did Starbucks become our second office? Our therapy? Our town square?
People will wait in a drive-through line that’s seventeen cars deep, engine idling, burning actual fossil fuels, so they can get a drink they could have made at home in eight minutes with a $20 coffee maker. They’ll get to work twenty minutes late, clutching their venti iced whatever, and somehow believe this was an efficient use of their morning.
The worst part? We’ve all been gaslit into thinking this is sophisticated. That knowing the difference between a cortado and a flat white makes us cosmopolitan. That our specific, high-maintenance coffee order is a reflection of our unique personality and not just proof that we’re willing to pay someone to mix milk and sugar for us.
The Truth We Can’t Handle
Here’s what no one wants to admit: most people don’t even like the taste of coffee. They like sugar, fat, and the socially acceptable excuse to consume dessert at 7 AM. They like the ritual. They like the cup with their name spelled wrong. They like having something to do with their hands during awkward small talk.
The coffee is incidental.
Our grandparents would pour a cup of black coffee from a percolator, drink it in thirty seconds while standing at the kitchen counter, and then go build a house with their bare hands. We need fifteen minutes, twenty-six ingredients, and a barista with a Man Bun Degree from Artisanal University just to achieve basic consciousness.
In Conclusion
So why is coffee suddenly hip? Because we took something simple and made it complicated. We took something cheap and made it expensive. We took something functional and made it fashionable. We turned a drink into an identity, a caffeine fix into a flex, and a morning routine into a performance art piece that costs more than reasonable.
And we carry it at waist level because apparently holding it up near our mouths—WHERE THE DRINKING HAPPENS—would be too practical, and we’re way past practical now.
We’re three pumps of vanilla and a society in decline past practical.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go order a grande half-caf soy latte with extra foam and a shot of self-awareness.
It’ll be $8.50.