At 4:45 pm on Wednesdays, I’m used to hearing my editors discuss the evening’s stories. This week, I eavesdropped on a conversation about the similarities between a coffee pod and an oxidized avocado.
I was visiting Nespresso’s new flagship location in Manhattan’s tourist-heavy Flatiron district, a well-lit, open-air space that feels almost like an Apple store. The Nestlé-owned coffee company opened the nearly 14,000 square-foot store in December, billing its now-largest retail space as “a destination for modern coffee culture” in a press release.
Part of the store’s big draw is the free coffee, and the self-service station features shiny machines and a wide array of pods. An extremely friendly employee approached me asking if I have a Nespresso — I don’t — before explaining how the “bright, citrusy” Tanzania coffee pod compares to Velluto, which is like “the house wine of coffee.” She gave me instructions for using the machine, displaying the patience and helpful rhyming tips befitting a kindergarten teacher as I somehow fumbled with the two buttons.
After having my double shot of Tanzania, which actually was quite bright and citrusy, I wandered over to the smelling station, where you can sniff 12 different brews. As I determined my favorite scent, I kept thinking about something that chef and restaurateur Jeremy Fall, the man behind this summer’s viral Hamptons smoothie, told me a few months ago: “The way people look at drinks is that they sort of say a lot about their identity.”
The store also tries to make Nespresso part of customers’ identity, with its push toward personalization and finding your signature blend. After helping me make coffee, the employee made sure to tell me that if I buy a glass cup, I can get it engraved with any personal message for free.
“If it’s free, it’s for me!” she told me. The store emphasizes its free offerings, including a barista class and complimentary coffee, yet I couldn’t shake my awareness that the whole point is to make me buy stuff. The walls are lined with mugs, nanofoamers, barista recipe makers, flavored syrups, Nespresso machines, pod holders, and even bag charms à la Labubu.
Yet there is also the genuine possibility of simply hanging out. Two employees let me know that the store’s secret, hidden coffee speakeasy opened at 5 pm, tucked behind a painting on the lower level.
I stepped inside around 5:15 pm, and a line had formed by 5:20 pm. The mocktail bar offered three drinks, and I went with “The Hidden Fizz” after the bartender said it was the most refreshing. The $15 drink was the only item I paid for during my visit.
Despite the trappings of a speakeasy, the space didn’t feel private, especially since multiple employees told me to visit. In the dim lighting and over an unidentifiable jazz song, people took pictures or chatted quietly.
Though I generally avoid fruit-coffee combos, I liked the drink more than expected. I forced my coworkers, Henry and Ana, to meet me at the store and try it, too. Henry agreed that it was OK if a little too sweet, and didn’t realize it had any coffee; Ana was “literally obsessed.”
There’s also a lounge downstairs, with self-service coffee, couches, a chessboard, and a record player. When I walked in, an employee, dressed in the store’s characteristic beige, stood at a counter reading “How to Taste Coffee.” Other books dotted the space, many of them focused on nature despite our being underground in New York City: multiple editions of “Great Escapes,” a photography collection featuring outdoor athletes, and a selection of works by the chronically outside painter Monet.
Much like Starbucks, it seems that the Nespresso flagship wants to be a third space, an informal social place beyond home or work. And to an extent, it accomplishes the goal — two guys at the chess table sat discussing H-1B visas, while two women huddled on a couch without even holding coffee cups.
I don’t see myself coming back, mainly because I’d prefer to spend my time in a smaller, local New York City café, but partly because of the not-so-subtle push to make me identify with, and identify myself by, the brand. Yet for those who don’t mind that and can fight the impulse to buy Nespresso products, the store can serve as a rare spot to get a free coffee and sit on a plush sofa.
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