Every yuppie worth their Bluetooth headset absorbed the details of Amazon’s recent $13.7 billion swing-and-a-miss when they purchased Whole Foods. That (ironically) mass-market boutique grocer is as 2010 as will.i.am; it is essentially a pretentious chain of bodegas destined to go the way of Blockbuster Video. There will soon be more roller skating rinks left than Whole Foods.
There is a half-life on how long people will squander $80 on a jar of honey, and Whole Paycheck’s time is drawing near. Conversely, by this time next year fast casual dog food-for-people restaurants will be the latest irrational craze, dotting America’s urban landscape like the second coming of Starbucks.
Sort of like a pet rock, for a stupid generation.
As always, we will be led by our hipsters (full disclosure: even with Google and a dictionary I do not know what that label means). The Sketchiest Generation will embrace this inevitable fad/infatuation as their own, and millions of our citizens will soon be dining on kibble. Those same youths who once badgered Mommy into wasting small fortunes during the great Beanie Baby mania of the 1990s, will now burn their own professional dollars on overpriced gourmet dog food. At least until the inevitable realization that we are intentionally eating, well, dog food, and the industry craters like Trump approval ratings.
Too young for Generation X but too old to care about Harry Potter, I remain an anchorless 38-year old follower who just bought his first home in an trendy part of Washington, DC. My co-op is a five-minute walk from Nationals Ballpark, and the abundance of cranes around here confirms Navy Yard’s canine-saturated gentrification. Each morning I look down to the street and watch neighbors younger and wealthier than me haughtily walking the dogs they feed with only “all-natural,” top-shelf dog food. If and when these millennials (briefly) log off Facebook, it is only because it is time to walk the dog.
Somebody, somewhere (but almost certainly in Brooklyn or San Francisco) will soon glance quizzically at his obnoxious puppy named Velma scarfing down distressingly expensive--and animal grade--cuisine from a bejeweled food bowl. He will choke it down himself, feel thoroughly bohemian, and a movement will be born.
Chipotle meets PetSmart crossed with McDonald’s. There will be Purina parties. Lunchrooms at Bay Area startups will serve the vanguard of dog foods. It will be truly appalling.
Health inspectors will cringe when the first organic dog food diner opens. But by then it will be too late. That ship will have left port; the toothpaste, out of the tube. The Alpo can will be open, and more Puppy Chow will be sold for human consumption than for dogs.
