Full disclosure: I like stores that have coffee shops in them.
Part two of full disclosure: I kind of hate stores that have coffee shops in them. Because I love them.
Oh the curated, artisan, local design, lifestyle, deco store and coffee shop. You know exactly what Iโm talking about. Weโve all been in them. In fact, weโre all lured to them. Seduced by their well-designed logos and their succulent plants in the doorway.
And so you enter.
You kick yourself for liking the space because you know itโs been orchestratedย just so, with the intention that you will like it. They know your kind. You like nice things, even if you canโt really afford them. You dream of the countryside even though you live in an urban environment. You like bicycles, and while you ride a beat-up 10-speed, they know youโre longing for something nicer. You like being able to get a coffee in a place thatโs not a traditional cafe. You like oak cheese boards, and architecture books on treehouses and striped scarves. Yes, you like all of these things.
You think youโre unique, maybe even a little bohemian, until you walk into this space, where you suddenly have a love/hate relationship with everything, because loving everything in this mecca of calculated designย means youโre just like everyone else.
You page through the book on treehouses, internally screaming at yourself for liking treehouses in the first place. Then pause and ask yourself if any of the well-dressed staff working here, perfectly moulded mustaches and all, would ever be able to cut it living in a treehouse full time. Of course they wouldnโt. But you could, you tell yourself, to make yourself feel like youโre apart from the crowd. And you would hand-grind your own beans and make French presses all day if you lived in that treehouse.
Hutspotย Amsterdam is one of these places. The kind of store that you hear about and say โI want to go check that out.โ Itโs a store, but also thereโs a barber shop and thereโs a cafe. It is not, in fact, Amsterdam’s only cafe/barber shop combination. Apparently thatโs a thing. A barberย shop in a coffee bar that’s also a retail den; this is just one of so many modern trend pathways on which we, as consumers, are free to walk.
The backstory to Hutspot feels familiar. The brand is billed as a โcurator to an urbanized life,โ according to theirย official website, which says so much and so little at the same time. It was founded by three youngsters in 2012 as a pop-up store. (Of course.) Then they expanded and became a full-time store. Then they expanded again and became an even bigger store. Concept with a capital โC.โ
According to their website, Hutspot claims to look for โnew and interesting brands, designers, artists, and entrepreneursโ in their endless quest to stock the space. “Everything in the shops is for sale. Except of course for Gumbo, the dog.โ
You cannot help but love this space, but you also secretlyย resentย it, because itโs “curated” to the extent that saidย curation is forced, and there has to be a limit to how far we as a nice-stuff-appreciating society are going to allow our buttonsย to be pushed. That dull, pointed buzz I feel at the back of my skull: Is it pain? Irony? Recognition? Every corner is an Instagram post waiting to happen; you will consider making an Instagram at least a half dozen times as you walk through Hutspot, and this is not by accident. And yet you want to curl up and stay awhile. Soak in this beautiful life thatโs being handed to you on a plate, a plate thatโs better than any other plate youโve seen before, and certainly better than the one you’ve got back home in your humble cupboard.
You go upstairs for coffee, locally roasted by Bocca,ย and choose to sit in the funky space that feels moderately North African, if you had ever been to North Africa and knew what that was like. There are decorative pillows in bright colors. You want to sit here and nurse a soy latte all day. This is allowed.
You order an iced coffee and take it all in, under some sort of spell that makes it impossible to accurately or subjectively assess said coffee. You wonder if you should buy an oversized light bulb that doubles as a terrarium. Wouldnโt you feel more tranquil in your kitchen with that?
The space is full of furniture, tables, and things that can be described as accoutrements. You almost wonder if the people sitting and working on their MacBooks are part of the display, hired actors or subversive agents or lifestyle-porn stars. Thereโs a collection of cakes made from seasonal fruit delights. In the back, thereโs a black single-speed bicycle. Behind it sits its box. It says โF*CK CARS.โ You swoon. It is a real emotional moment within a wider simulacra of emotional moments.
You finish your coffee after playing a round of pool (yes, the pool table is for sale–remember, everything but Gumbo) and go back downstairs to the main floor. You have business to attend to. That cheeseboard.
It will be perfect for when you bike to picnics and bring your Swiss army knife to slice your artisan cheese. These things are undeniably good: useful tools, delicious food, the picnic concept itself. Humans have been eating food outside for countless millennia. You’re no different from a caveman; it’s just, well…your tools are a bit more, ah, curated. You need that cheeseboard. Itโs so small and FSC-certified, and those diagonal cuts on the edges are a genius design detail. It will fit perfectly in your backpack. Youโll be able to bring cheese anywhere.
You will spread that cheese on bread made from locally milled flour and feel good about it. Youโll bring a Thermos of coffee and it will be the best picnic ever. Coffee and food always taste better outside; the caveman was no dummy. Your picnic will probably get documented, with the right camera filter I hope, because this is your life, and it is beautiful.
Anna Bronesย (@annabrones) is a Sprudge.com staff writer based in Paris and the founder ofย Foodie Underground.ย Read moreย Anna Brones on Sprudge.