Why food is taking over your life

There is an entire generation of devotees whose stories & crazy new food concepts take digital form

Starbucks peddles pink unicorn frappucinos. Ikea’s food operations go from a fun way to keep up shoppers’ stamina to a fast growing division offering much more than meatballs. Amazon.com enters the hyper-competitive meal-kit market. Losing customers to supermarkets, Whole Foods Market faces pressure from activist investor Jana Partners, which hires food writer Mark Bittman as a consultant. Malls replace anchor stores with food halls. American teenagers start to spend more on food than apparel.

All these stories are part of the same phenomenon. As my colleague Tyler Cowen recently wrote, food — and, I would add, the business of food — has become central to contemporary culture. Filling a primal physical need turns out to be a perfect match for the digital age. The question is why. Cowen emphasises snob appeal — economists lovestories of status signalling — but there are other reasons as well. If status signals were all people wanted, they could stick to fashion.

Millennials flock to restaurants, writes Turow Paul, because “they want to see people, hug people and break bread. They want something concrete to engage with after a day of participating in a virtual reality.”

Like sports or music, food provides a ready source of conversation among both friends and strangers and gives gatherings a focal point. “There are so many stories, and food is so communal,” says Elie Ayrouth, the 29-year-old founder of the Santa Ana, California-based food news site and consultancy Foodbeast. For many young people, he observes, home cooking is “less about do-it-yourself” than about socialising. “It’s about we’re coming over to my house and we’re going to cook together. Or I’m going to cook for you,” he says.

Although food taboos have traditionally been ways of maintaining boundaries — think kosher, halal, or Iyengar Brahmin — this sociability bridges food tribes. Unlike their ancestors, today’s eaters assume they won’t have to shed their food restrictions to widen their social circles or advance their careers. Their food culture emphasises choice and customisation. Hence the popularity of food halls (and dining out in general) and “build your own” food stations at parties.

The enthusiasm for cooking and eating isn’t a complete escape from the digital world, of course. To the contrary, laughs Ayrouth, “we bring it right back with this culture of taking pictures of what we just did.” Decades ago, foodies were rare creatures telling tales of exotic travels and obscure restaurant finds. Today, there is an entire generation of Instagram and Snapchat devotees whose memories, stories, and crazy new food concepts take digital form. That’s where the idea of bright “unicorn” foods came from. Starbucks just grabbed onto it. Social media rewards foods that either come beautifully plated or don’t require professional styling. An In-N-Out or Shake Shack burger looks the same in a patron’s Snapchat feed as it does in a company photograph. Bubbly drinks and beautiful views are also winners. So are customisable, signature items. The Afters Ice Cream milky bun — a warm donut stuffed your choice of ice cream filling and assorted toppings — is made for Instagram.

Photos are important for another reason: Food is ephemeral. It’s a tangible product that you literally consume. Only the memories — and photos— remain. That’s another reason food’s business importance is likely to grow.  For all the loud preaching about health and nutrition, food culture is about satisfaction and pleasure. Piper Jaffrey’s most recent study of US teen spending, which found that food has surpassed clothing, also discovered — no big surprise — that “nutrition maintained its position as the lowest-ranked attribute of influence” on where teenagers eat. Social media photos are heavy on self-indulgence: jaw-stretching sandwiches, towering desserts, bubbly drinks.

Ayrouth contrasts the fading appeal of frozen yogurt with the rising popularity of ice cream. “We know it’s not healthy but it’s wholesome,” he says. Like a weirdly colored heirloom tomato, it is what it is, offering pleasure without pretense. Only a food snob would reduce the joys — and profitable business concepts — of 21st-century eating to elitist one-upmanship.