Satirical Nonfiction on Fierce Femme
Between Me and My Decaf Soy Latte
Who spends $12 on avocado toast? I do.
I’m sitting at a café that’s supposed to be “authentic” — which, these days, means some ironic combination of minimalist furniture and menu items that scream pretension: $12 avocado toast with “a hint of Himalayan sea salt” and coffee brewed by a guy in a man-bun who looks like he’s about to give me a TED talk on mindfulness.
But, really, I’m here because I want to feel like the kind of person who spends $12 on toast.
Because that’s what culture is now, right?
It’s not about shared traditions or collective experiences — it’s about defining yourself through the things you consume.
I pretend to read some obscure book on postmodernism while I eavesdrop on a couple next to me, both wearing matching Patagonia jackets, debating the ethics of almond milk.
He says it’s unsustainable because of the water it takes to grow almonds; she says soy destroys the Amazon.
This generation has decided that identity is just a series of ethical dilemmas – choose the right side, and you’ll be virtuous.
By the time my decaf soy latte arrives, I’m exhausted by the sheer effort of it all.
The irony?
I don’t even like avocado toast.
Ani Eldritch 2024
