Hell is the Nespresso Store on Madison Avenue

There’s no good reason why an Upper East Side storefront that sells coffee grounds should have someone working the door. But in the event that there were to be a guy with an iPad standing at the threshold of the Madison Avenue Nespresso outpost, the last thing I would ever hope to hear out of his mouth when I enter the shop is “do you have an appointment?” 

It was an early-afternoon walk about the UES with a Nespresso machine-owning friend that brought me to the store this past sunny Saturday. What had promised to be a quick stop to grab some coffee quickly devolved into a kafkaesque ordeal that took no less than half an hour. After putting our name down we were left to meander about the admittedly well-appointed store for what I had assumed, given that there were only a few other customers in the store, would be only a minute or two. 

I assumed incorrectly. It was 15 minutes later that we were finally summoned over for a coffee pod consultation at a counter on the far side of the store. We were then presented with a chart detailing the litany of flavors available. Options range from “Sweet Almond and Hibiscus,” to “Ice Forte,” to the somewhat ominously named “Togetherness Blend.” This process likely could have been truncated somewhat if such information were available elsewhere in the store, but no such luck. The mysteries of Nespresso’s many flavors are jealously guarded by the Swiss coffee giant’s corps of coffee gendarmes. 

After making our selection and paying, we were again subjected to a wait of no fewer than five minutes. You see, the individual helping us at the counter was not herself able to retrieve our pods. Rather, it was a third employee who eventually emerged from the back of the shop to hand over a small bag of pods. Coffee pods– because this was all to purchase coffee.

There are retail situations that warrant the implementation of an experience other than, like, grabbing what you want and bringing it to the counter. I can understand why stores proffering controlled substances like cannabis, or extremely high-end clothing might insist you work with an associate rather than simply grab what you desire and bring it to the front. 

However, if there is in fact some reality where it makes sense for disposable coffee pods to be gated behind a shopping experience that involves multiple waiting periods and interactions with no fewer than three employees, we are not living in it.

At risk of appearing as something of a Luddite, I fear we've been cowed into needlessly complex, high-friction interactions which do little but waste our time and energies. And if these purchasing flows are so bothersome to us (or at least to me), I feel as if I must ask a simple question: What is Nepresso even trying to accomplish here?

The obvious answer would be that they're trying to cultivate an air of luxury– Now there's plenty we could say about why single serving coffee pods produced by Nestlé and typically consumed by big-four consultants in DoubleTree hotel rooms are maybe not like, really something we should be treating as a luxury product. But I'm not in a position to question the infinite wisdom of Nespresso's marketing executives, nor their crack team of those aforementioned Nespresso-chugging, DoubleTree cookie-chomping, big-four consultants.

Maybe when the invisible hand brings its tiny, invisible cup to its invisible lips, the taste on its invisible tongue will be the "deliciously smooth blend of lightly roasted African Arabicas, with notes of sweet honey and a touch of woodiness" of Nespresso's "Togetherness Blend." Or maybe it wont be.

I guess the market will decide.