A Brief Breakup Letter To Starbucks

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Dear Starbucks,

Please stop calling.

I know it’s been hard on you: it’s been hard on me too. But I think this break up is for the best. You, a giant multinational coffee chain; me, one lonely consumer. I was a fool to think it ever could work out between us. A fool to think you’d be different.

You promised you weren’t like all the other corporations. You had smiling baristas and community book drives and comfy sofas you never hurried me out of. It was the age of Innocent. I was courted by brands, talked to, admired, flattered. But it was you I fell for so hard, Starbucks. You who soothed me through essay crises and bad boyfriends, who warmed me on cold winter mornings with hot chocolates and cooled me on hot summer days with Frappucinos. You were always there for me.

We’ve been together so long – since I was a teenager, when you first came to this country. Do you remember how I used to come in with my friends three times a day, just to be with you? Oh, I was always happiest inside you.

I’d like to say it’s not you, it’s me – but we both know that isn’t true. We just don’t share the same values. I pay tax; you don’t. How can we raise our kids together like this?

I should have suspected it all along – your secret bank accounts, your predatory store openings, the way you left in the middle of the night. But I loved you. I was wilfully blind to your failings. And now, here it is, out in the open, splashed all over the tabloids.

I feel betrayed, Starbucks, and let down. I just can’t trust you anymore. Your Mediterranean Chicken panini turn to dust in my mouth. I cross the road to avoiding looking upon your bright face. I even forsook your red cups, for so long our personal herald of Christmas.

You say you’ll change, you beg, plead, promise, but I just can’t trust you anymore. You say you make no profit in the UK, but I know how much I’ve personally put into this relationship. And you gambled it all down to nothing, and thought you could get away with it.

While it’s hard to walk away from you, it’s even harder to stay.

Goodbye, Starbucks.

Philippa x

PS – I had a brief rebound with Costa but it just wasn’t the same…

Letters To A Cold Corporation

All these brands are so honest and authentic and friendly and open nowadays, but only few of them get a chance to practise their super-fun customer service message with someone who might concievably write something funny and then post it on Twitter. So if your local friendly global corporate entity wants to get like Sainsburys and Tiger-Giraffe Bread, you better reply to one of my letters. Or just send me some free vouchers.


Eat, Christmas 2011.

Dear Eat,
I love you, I really do. That is why I queued up today to buy a Christmas Full Works sandwich, in the hope of a turkey taste explosion in my mouth. I also got it toasted. For a toasted turkey taste explosion. But there is no point in me paying seventy extra pence – that’s seven shiny silver ten pence pieces or three of those funny shaped twenty pence pieces plus a ten – for you to toast my sandwich if by the time it’s back in my office (a mere five minute walk away) it is cold and flabby. Flabby is rarely a word I associate with sandwiches, but unfortunately it was all that would do this sandwich justice. I can only presume the moistness of the cranberry sauce has absorbed into the cooling bread through the layer of lukewarm turkey and created this inexplicable phenomena, previously unknown to the sandwich world. I might even venture to say your Christmas ‘The Full Works’ sandwich should be renamed ‘The Doesn’t Fully Work’ sandwich. Hahaha. Or ho ho ho. Please stop ruining Christmas.


(Eat sent me £3 worth of vouchers and a boring apology. Thanks, Eat.)