I Really Want To Break Up With You
Growing up, we were one of those families. We were called “health nuts” back when it was considered weird. We shopped at a place called Ye Seekers Horizon, with creaky wooden floors and a vitamin smell, where “treats” like carob and Tiger’s Milk Bars got me as excited as Christmas morning. By the time Whole Foods opened its first Houston store in 1985 we could have owned half of Arrowhead Mills. Whole Foods was a dream come true for the hippies and foodies, alike.
As I grew up I continued to practice what my mother taught me and did most of my shopping at Whole Foods. I loved it- the smell of patchouli, the skinny dreadlocked employees, the sound of the blender whipping up shots of wheatgrass. I took pride in where I shopped and what I ate and actually got excited to do my grocery shopping. Thus, my long-term, almost-monogamous dedication to Whole Foods.
But Whole Foods, you have changed. Your store doesn’t smell like patchouli anymore. Your employees appear to be living on 365 Veggie Straws (potatoes are a vegetable, right?) instead of tempeh and kale salad. When I shop at your stores, I feel like I am the one who is skinny and stinks. Every time I go there I find you have discontinued another wholesome product that always kept me coming back to you. Most of your produce now comes from several states or countries away, and half of the pears I bring home never ripen. Just like Alex over at Late Enough, I am disheartened by your approach to “gourmet”.
I am so over you, Whole Foods. You’ve let me down, and I really want to break up with you. The sad part is that I can’t because there are still a handful of items I can only find in your stores.
I want you to know that I am seeing other stores. I even get real California produce delivered to my doorstep every week for half the price of what it would cost from you (thank you CSA!). All I need now is one of those co-op grocers.
Whole Foods, my twice weekly experiences with you have dwindled down to twice a month, and it’s an in and out deal. No lingering, no fun. I miss the way it used to be, but as soon as I can find what I need elsewhere it’s over.