https://adelbordbari.github.io/etc/2025-04-16-coffee/

Adel Bordbari     

Why Drinking Coffee in Iran Has Become So Ridiculously Complicated

April 16, 2025

It all started with a sarcastic jab in a chat:
"You shouldn't be more Catholic than the Pope. You go to order a
coffee, and the guy's like, 'From Kenyan farms or Brazil?' It's like
going to Italy for ghormeh sabzi, and they ask if you want the herbs
from Bostanabad or Tuyserkan. Come on--just give us an espresso so we
can move on with our lives :))"

    adm nbyd khshy dGtr z ash bshh. myry qhwh sfrsh bdy yrw
    mygh z mzr` khny bshh y brzyl? shbyh ynh bry ytly
    qrmhsbzy bkhwry yrw bht bgh sbzyjtsh z mzr` bstnabd bshh y
    twysrkhn! nqdr d dr nyryn tw rw khd yh sprsw mykhwym bkhwrym
    brym dnbl zndgymwn :))

    -- Masoud (@imasoot) April 15, 2025

Funny, sure. But also painfully accurate.
When did getting a coffee turn into a whole performance?

A quick rewind

Coffee in Iran isn't new--we were drinking it long before tea took
over. Back in the Safavid era, coffeehouses were where people
gathered for stories, debates, and a hit of something strong. No one
was talking about "floral notes" or "single-origin beans." Then came
the Qajars, tea took the spotlight, and coffee faded into the
background.

Fast forward to today, and coffee is back--but now it's dressed like
it's trying to win an Oscar.

These new cafes

They're not really about coffee anymore. They're selling a lifestyle.
Walk in, and the menu reads like a novel: "Ethiopian Yirgacheffe with
hints of jasmine and citrus." Give me a break. It's not a drink--it's
a personality. You're not there to enjoy a cup; you're there to feel
like you belong to some exclusive club. It's all image.

So, what's the deal?

Simple: it's marketing.
Cafes have found a way to segment customers like a product catalog.
Some people just want a no-fuss coffee (good luck finding one).
Others want "an experience," like their morning brew needs a
backstory worthy of a TED talk. And then there's the Instagram
crowd--more into photos than flavor.

By slapping fancy names and origin stories on every cup, cafes turn a
basic drink into a status symbol. It's capitalism playing dress-up as
culture.

The irony? This whole coffee "culture" in Iran is barely out of
diapers.
In Italy, ordering an espresso takes five seconds. Here, it's a whole
show. Baristas throw around jargon to look modern, but let's be
honest--it's all borrowed flair. Most of the time, the menu's just a
smokescreen for how hollow it really is.

And don't even get me started on the social media angle. That
"Guatemalan cold brew" isn't a drink--it's content.

What's actually driving this

Us.
People are bored, insecure, or just looking for something to latch
onto. So we pay more for a label that makes us feel seen. It's not
about taste--it's about signaling. And cafes know that. They exploit
it. Ruthlessly.

You're not drinking coffee--you're drinking the idea of being someone
who drinks that coffee.

Sure, some might say this cafe trend is part of Iran's growing urban
culture. In places like Tehran and Isfahan, cafes are hubs now--for
work, hangouts, even classes. But let's not pretend it's all deep and
cultural. Most of it's just a commercial stunt. A far cry from the
old coffeehouses, where you got your drink, sat down, and lived your
life--no fuss, no theatrics.

That friend's rant hit the nail on the head.
Coffee used to be fuel. Now it's a lifestyle accessory.

And here's the real kicker

This whole thing isn't going anywhere. Too many people are
invested--baristas, cafe owners, influencers, even the customers
who've built their personalities around "being into coffee."

It's too late to pull out. Their jobs, their status, their social
media presence--all wrapped up in this coffee circus.

And the saddest part? It's swallowing everything else. You want a
decent, straightforward coffee? Good luck. You're either getting a
sad drip from a dusty corner shop or a 200,000-toman pour-over served
with a side of self-importance.

That's the real tragedy:
Coffee still exists.
But the simplicity? That's gone.

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