(Note: I originally wrote this in a Moleskine at a Starbucks. It has been reprinted here for your enjoyment)
I’ve wanted to write about the experience of writing at a Starbucks for a while now. I’m not entirely sure why, but I think it has a lot to do with being an effective way of combining my desire to be a writer with my desire to be clever and ironic and self-aware about it (that attitude just seems like a healthy way to protect myself if the whole writing thing doesn’t work out and I wind up working instead as, say, a barista at a Starbucks).
There’s also something oddly refreshing about embodying a stereotype so completely, especially one that I’m already so close to. I’m in my 20s; I own a Macbook and a Moleskine (I decided to perform this exercise in the Moleskine because it leaves no doubt as to what I’m doing. I think the image of someone writing in a Starbucks on their laptop is more well known, but if the whole point of writing in public is to let other people know that you’re writing, a notebook seems much more effective. If you're on a laptop, you could be doing just about anything. The only way anyone would know you’re writing would be if they got uncomfortably close to your screen and stared at it for a while. With a Moleskine, all it takes is a cursory glance for someone to know you’re writing because you can’t use these things for anything else.); I’ve spent enough time in New York to pretend I know a lot about it; I graduated from a small liberal arts college in the northeast; and I really liked Kings of Leon before they were cool. It was only a matter of time before I fully embodied the image of the struggling twentysomething artist, so in many ways it feels like a relief to stop pretending and just dive in.
The part of the experience where I ordered something (ostensibly the reason anyone would come to a Starbucks in the first place) was pretty unremarkable, although I do want to note one thing: I ordered a “small” hot chocolate not because I was protesting the chain’s decision to call its smalls “tall” but because I genuinely forgot they had different names for sizes at Starbucks. But the cashier didn’t make a big deal out of it or even mention it to me. He just put my order through, and then when another employee called out an order for a “tall hot chocolate,” I decided I shouldn’t make a snarky comment if they didn't. So while there’s no denying that calling your sizes tall, grande and venti is pretty pretentious, it’s nice to know that not many people—employees included—seem to take these names very seriously.
Overall, though, the ordering process was extremely uneventful. It took about two minutes, but I’ve already been here for at least 20. In fact, no one here seems particularly invested in whatever they bought to eat or drink, particularly the woman next to me who hasn’t actually purchased anything but has rather just been talking to a friend of hers on Skype this whole time. I wish I was ballsy enough to do that, but I’d feel too guilty coming here solely to take advantage of the free wireless. On the other hand, I have absolutely no qualms about ordering one $2.00 drink and making it last for hours when I know full well I could finish it in under a minute. Judging by the laptop/reading/conversation-to-sip ratio I’ve noticed from most other people here, they feel the same way.
This could be because the European notion of the purchase of a drink being equivalent to the purchase of space in a café has become more acceptable in the U.S., or at least in Starbucks. It would make sense, given that Starbucks is sophisticated, and anything that comes from Europe is more sophisticated than anything that comes from America (exceptions: the hamburger, corporate crime).
It’s also easy to hang out in a Starbucks indefinitely since the contents of your drink are essentially hidden from everyone else. The sides aren’t transparent, and the top is covered with a lid, so unless someone cares enough to squint through your cup’s mouth slit, they’re not going to know whether or not you’re done with your drink. It makes it pretty simple for neurotic people like Woody Allen and myself to avoid worrying about being scorned by other neurotic people like Larry David and myself who think you need to buy at least one thing if you’re going to spend a significant amount of time in a store.
The most glaring observation I've taken from the actual experience of writing at Starbucks so far is that literally no one else gives a shit. They’re all much too concerned with reading their own books, having their own conversations, or talking with their own friends to care about what anyone else is doing. I suppose there’s a small chance that this is a form of silent protest. After all, if people think that those who write in public are insufferable, and if the main reason people write in public is to get others to ask them about what they’re writing, the easiest way to put an end to this phenomenon would be by never talking to anyone who writes in public in hopes of eventually ignoring them into nonexistence. The much more likely reason, however, is legitimate disinterest.
I can’t say that this attitude bothers me. Although it would certainly be nice if the attractive brunette who walked in here a few minutes ago approached me to ask what I was writing about, I don’t really know what I would say. I am pretty sure, however, that it wouldn’t be something so charming and clever that she would immediately start begging me to take her, right here, by the espresso machine. Saying that you’re writing about writing at Starbucks probably wouldn’t make much sense unless you’re talking to a big Charlie Kaufman fan, and I’m still too worried about instantly transforming into a bitter, caustic waiter in Brooklyn to ever utter the phrase “I’m working on a novel.” My answer would most likely be some mildly incoherent self-deprecating comment that could definitely be funny but probably wouldn’t actually answer the question.
I’m not trying to say that, when I write, I don't want anyone else to read it. The whole concept of writing is based on the idea that you have something worthwhile to say, so it’s pretty contradictory to hope that no one ever sees it besides you. But the way you get an audience (I think. I’ve never actually had one beyond a handful of anonymous Internet commenters) isn’t by being so distracted by trying to get someone to ask you what you’re writing about that you never actually focus on writing anything. It’s by…
Well, ok, I don’t know how you do it. If I did, I’d probably be saying this stuff on Charlie Rose instead of the Internet. But I’m pretty sure it’s not by making sure Starbucks stays profitable.
I should wrap up now. My hot chocolate is almost gone.
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