Wired's Simon Chandler notes the rationale behind Starbucks' expansion into Italy. It is not so much the coffee as it is the venue.
The news that Starbucks is set to invade Italy in 2017 has left an equal measure of horrified Italians and bemused commentators in its wake. Opening a branch in Milan early next year, the Seattle multinational will apparently attempt the impossible and the needless: selling Italian-style coffee to the nation it stole the idea of Italian-style coffee from in the first place.
Given that Italy is globally renowned for its coffee culture, and given that it’s already taken steps to prevent the adulteration of this culture at the hands of Starbucks-esque globalization, it’s little wonder that a raft of objections from Italian patriots and sympathizers followed the Seattle giant’s announcement.
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Amid the reports of horror and confusion, pundits declared that Starbucks was entering its most intimidating market yet, underlining the steep challenge the company will face in establishing a niche for itself in the home of the espresso, the cappuccino, the latte, and all those other drinks that wouldn’t sound quite as appealing if they were called coffee, foamy coffee, and milky coffee.
And yet, as improbable as the idea of Starbucks being successful in Italy must surely sound, there’s every chance that it will find a footing for itself in the ‘home of coffee.’ Yes, the chain may arguably sell inferior versions of what Italians can already buy cheaply on every street corner of their homeland, but the simple fact that many have missed in all the furor surrounding the coffeehouse’s announcement is that beverages are not the only thing it sells.
In fact, coffee and its accessories may not even be the main thing the Seattle chain serves to the public. As other commentators have noted, and as revelations on the choice of venue for a first date have attested, a big chunk of Starbucks’ success resides with the ambiance and environment it provides. That is, it doesn’t simply offer its customers buckets of coffee, but also a kind of neutral, inoffensive space that’s familiar enough to be comforting, yet blank and generic enough to lend itself to whatever meaning people want to project on it.