One of the biggest shocks about life in The Zone (11/9/2016-present) is how often Starbucks makes the news. Just a couple days after the election, a group of patriots, organizing around the hashtag #TrumpCup, decided to show solidarity with their big wet boy, subverting the sacred ordering ritual to trick baristas to shout “Iced Frappucino for Trump”. Then, there was the everyday-in-America story of a few young men thrown out—by the police—of a Philadelphia Starbucks for the mere act of being black in public. And now gloriously quixotic former CEO Howard Schultz is considering a third-party run for president. How has Trumpism turned America’s top coffee chain into a battleground?
I think I know. Starbucks is a looking glass, and when we gaze into it, we see what we want to. Allow me to explain.
We yet again live in a time where the public commons is contracting. It is not so much being “enclosed” (as it was in Georgian England) as neglected by the inexorable logic of austerity (as it happens, the key plank of Schultz’s platform). Even public libraries—a radical, and incredibly impactful, experiment in architecture and government—are at risk; President Trump has sought to eliminate federal spending on libraries, and they are under threat both in communities small and large. Faced with disappearing public commons, we turn increasingly to private simulcra of the park, the library, the school or university, and for some, a busy Starbucks will have to do.
Starbucks has another thing going for it. The product is really not bad, and of surprisingly uniform quality. While coffee snobs turn their noses up at the burnt-tasting drip coffee, the espresso drinks are quite good if not always great. The production of a large menu of high-quality, complex, labor-intensive goods, daily, at 14,000 locations across the US, is an incredible feat of logistics. US social welfare programs, increasingly administered by a patchwork of hostile state governments, do not come off well in comparison to the fungible, always-available Starbucks latte. It is easy to see why. Starbucks is embedded in an all-encompassing matrix of market capitalism, but internally, it is a command economy, one in which no store can be left behind. It is hard to even imagine living in an America where say, welfare or health care services are provided to citizens with the same efficiency of Starbucks manager requisitioning a case of oat milk.
At least that’s what I see when I look at Starbucks. But, as #TrumpCup shows, others see something different: the masses of Americans not moved—if not outright repelled—by the mixture of petty grievances and white identity politics that animates President’s Trump’s base. The libs (as we’ll call them) are a diverse group, better defined by exemplars—sometimes, right-wing media caricatures—than prototypes, and one key lib exemplar is the Starbucks barista. The barista is probably young, and possibly urban. Perhaps they have a college education and have taken the job for the health care benefits the state does not provide. Maybe they even share former CEO Schultz’s tepid opposition to President Trump.
If this wasn’t enough to forever code the barista as the Other, there is also a whole new language, not quite English, to learn. A small coffee is unexpectedly “tall”; a large is a “venti”; a “macchiato” is something else entirely. Mastering this language gives the customer the power to summon strange and fantastic beasts: the “blonde espresso”, or if the stars are properly aligned, the “spiced sweet cream nariño 70 cold brew”.
And, perhaps most importantly, the barista is a captive audience. The barista has a manager, and yes, you really can ask to speak to them. For the #TrumpCup Republican, this is a potent brew, a hierarchy in which they stand above the Other, the perfect victim for a bit of everyday cruelty and meaningless self-gratification.
It was probably inevitable that the of the most ubiquitous corporations in American life was going to ultimately come to index something, and where I see the state’s abdication of responsibilities inherent in the social contract, others just see a snot-nosed, underemployed 25-year-old who would rather not be working this job forever. In conclusion, Starbucks is a land of contrasts, and will remain so until we resolve the contradictions inherent in American society.