The Gospel of The Forth Wave

1In the beginning there was Folgers. 2Our righteous red can of mediocrity. 3Homage was given to lesser beings such as Hillsbrother, for it was good to the last dropeth, so sayeth we all. 4Our cups did overfloweth with industrialized arabica whilst we celebrated the harvest of Saint Juan Valdez and his vassal donkey. 5We called it coffee, and it was good, because we knew no better.

1Generations passed. 2Lo, the Angels of Caffeination looked down and wept, decrying their patrons’ lack of faith in the extraction of actual taste from the sacred bean. 3Upon counsel, it was decided the lowly worshipers required an uplifting, nay a revelation. 4With the blowing of trumpets and the parting of clouds, they brought forth their holy son: Peet’s Coffee & Tea. 5And Peet’s begat Starbucks, flag bearer of the Second Wave, flush with arabica beans holding on high the cherub Flavor.

6Alas, enshittification did ensue. 7Burnt grounds were swallowed whole by the sugary wrath of a reborn Beowulf: the Frappuccino. 8“Hear me well, humans!” he roared from his BPA-laden abode. “For I am the chilled-essence-of-coffee-in-a-to-go-cup. Kneel before me, and suck upon my straw teat. Revel in my sugary goodness one venti at a time, or be banished to the land of Sanka.” 9They gnashed their teeth and cowered before this newly marketed titan of greed and corn syrup, and verily exclaimed in unison: yes, it was good.

10And. They. Were. Addicted.

1Yet again, man tried to correct the mistakes of the past. 2A Third Wave emerged, legitimized by tattoo-covered, skinny-jeaned baristas, awash in suggestive Square tipping screens defaulting to the Fibonaccian twenty percent. 3And behold — a tide of sterile white cafés multiplied like locusts across the suburbs, awash in Mazzer grinders; these were the self-described saviors of beankind. 4Customers wreathed their domes in headphones only to chastise those who had not foundeth said remote gigs such as they, the chosen bros and bro-gals. 5And for some, the downtempo minimalism was not enough — nay! 6A cornucopia of fresh goods was prepared daily as an offering to the Display Gods (we’re looking at you Soul Grind and Mints and Honey), whilst the wretched poor and hungry rummaged through the filth outside. 7Overconsumption, I name you Avocado Toast!

8And lo, the humans lost their ability to converse. 9A shroud of darkness fell over what was once a thriving intellectual sanctuary rife with gossip, news, art, and revolution. 10Shrill cries of anguish erupted from the graves of Viennese socialists; a lamentation of loss, a curse upon the MBAs and their demonic sacrifices to their capitalist patriarch More. 11Hellbound pivot tables of greed, we rebuke you!

12But o ye of recent IPOs! Bear witness to my gesha microlot! Identify with Our Story. Marvel at my floral light roast, and bow before the twice-daily dialed crema! 13The masses embraced short reels and gastronomic selfies whilst sipping the sacrosanct 4 p.m. cappuccino. 14The people then gathered online and said: this was good. 15Five stars.

16And yet a swan song of angelic microfoam loomed before them — a melange Sword of Damocles, ready to fall. 17A tsunami arrived: ube, black sesame, matcha, Keurig, Nestlé, and venture capital buyouts. 18In short: the dream ended in a whiskey-barrel-aged, anaerobic-honey-process nightmare. 19Hear ye the cries of free-range oat milk, and the weeping of the coffee cherries drowned in heirloom hibiscus syrup. 20Twas but another French-roast Icarus, falling, and failing us all.