There’s a phony in amongst our local, independent shops. Sipping away the business from real independent retailers, Starbucks has gone all cosy and local on the community.
Starbucks is trying to regain its soul. With thousands of chain store closures around the globe, people were starting to think that was the end of Starbucks saturation. But no, they have come back with another tactic; faux independence.
This chain store is trying to re-link with the community by turning their franchise into a local, high-street coffee house. Starbucks are re-opening stores with a homely feel; cosy furniture, unique artwork (some have Plato quotations on the walls) and one thing that was always missing- smiles. Not to mention pretty mugs without Starbucks printed on it. In fact, there is no Starbucks branding in the entire shop, except for a small, unnoticeable foreword in the shop window: Inspired by Starbucks.
Companies like Starbucks are like cuckoos- ‘brood parasites’ laying their eggs in the nest of other species. They have taken the empty nests of closed-down local shops and laid their eggs there for the surrogate neighbourhood to keep warm and thrive. The impostor is killing off the real thing.
Starbucks are trying to manufacture the independent, local shop experience, but can this really be done? After all, they have monstrous amounts of money at their disposal and they are using £8,000 coffee machines. The links of these counterfeit shops aren’t as strong as the links between neighbourhood shops and local people. But maybe once we have all cottoned on the Starbucks’ ploy we will not be fooled so easily.
Why would Starbucks feel the need to pretend to be like its competitor? Local and independent shops are so compelling right now, but Wedgers and like-minded people have known this all along. Will people be enticed into the fake forceps of Starbucks?
Written by Lauren Ottaway
Friday 20 November 2009
Tuesday 3 November 2009
Serves me right
A couple of burning desires took me to Westfield yesterday. I was almost lead by a kind of hypnotic, compulsion to see this temple of shopping. And the crazed desire to find a unique and funky little wedding outfit for my four year old. Along the local high street it is quite difficult to find interesting children’s clothing; especially boy’s and I didn’t want my son to look like a midget minor of the catering staff. I needed to have access to several different shops in the one shopping experience.
Immediately it was stress. My mother got stuck in a traffic jam then couldn't park. Though she did like the idea of having a green or red light above each space to show if it was vacant, just like a lavatory. I was already inside and her hysterical voice through my phone grated my nerves. Two hours, that's it! I wanted to try and enjoy this.
Once we were all out of the depths of the car park we ventured into a corner of the complex. We needed a map to find certain shops in the labyrinth of signs and sales and escalators and people. It was just all so big, busy and overwhelming. It felt like we were in a giant ant farm of retail hungry insects scurrying to their large trade coves then out again. And I was one of them. Having left this little outfit to the last minute, I too was in a frantic rush.
It was hard not to feel a little spaced out in this massive air-conditioned cube. Shops were lined up like regimented retail soldiers marching with brightly coloured uniforms and bayonets to pop music, trying to entice people into their businesses.
It was a very individual experience, not a fun family outing browsing for cute little suits. Everyone was caught up in a world of their own, driven by a need to get in, get out and get it done. People were focused, hurried and irritated with an ‘every man for themselves’ attitude. We went into some children’s clothes retailers and we could have been anywhere in London. We queued for the changing rooms like we queued to give them our money. It was just another generic homogenous experience, which wasn’t unpleasant, it just wasn’t unique.
On the way out we queued again to pay for our parking. Getting out of the car park was an even more traumatic experience; there was a traffic jam and half an hour of impatient, frustrated beeping.
Serves me right. Next time I think I will just stick to my local high street.
Written by Lauren Ottaway for Diana Bird.
Immediately it was stress. My mother got stuck in a traffic jam then couldn't park. Though she did like the idea of having a green or red light above each space to show if it was vacant, just like a lavatory. I was already inside and her hysterical voice through my phone grated my nerves. Two hours, that's it! I wanted to try and enjoy this.
Once we were all out of the depths of the car park we ventured into a corner of the complex. We needed a map to find certain shops in the labyrinth of signs and sales and escalators and people. It was just all so big, busy and overwhelming. It felt like we were in a giant ant farm of retail hungry insects scurrying to their large trade coves then out again. And I was one of them. Having left this little outfit to the last minute, I too was in a frantic rush.
It was hard not to feel a little spaced out in this massive air-conditioned cube. Shops were lined up like regimented retail soldiers marching with brightly coloured uniforms and bayonets to pop music, trying to entice people into their businesses.
It was a very individual experience, not a fun family outing browsing for cute little suits. Everyone was caught up in a world of their own, driven by a need to get in, get out and get it done. People were focused, hurried and irritated with an ‘every man for themselves’ attitude. We went into some children’s clothes retailers and we could have been anywhere in London. We queued for the changing rooms like we queued to give them our money. It was just another generic homogenous experience, which wasn’t unpleasant, it just wasn’t unique.
On the way out we queued again to pay for our parking. Getting out of the car park was an even more traumatic experience; there was a traffic jam and half an hour of impatient, frustrated beeping.
Serves me right. Next time I think I will just stick to my local high street.
Written by Lauren Ottaway for Diana Bird.
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