Since their opening, Whole Foods has received quiet acceptance in Portland. Public enthusiasm filled their parking lot on opening day, despite a nor’easter, and the lot has been filled since. What mainstream media attention they have received has focused on flubbed lobster relations, inspiring rolled eyes more than anything else. The few critical articles have been apologetic, not confrontational. People like the store but feel guilty about it, as if they shouldn’t. Whole Foods isn’t really a part of the city, let alone Maine, but hey . . . cheap organic chocolate! C’mon!
This shrug-it-off attitude isn’t as common as it may seem. Among the people I regularly speak with, the store inspires sullen dismissal or outright hate. These are creative, self-aware people in their 20s and 30s, the kind who normally love an affordable, progressive store. Instead they are rejecting it, and with good reason. (See "Brave New Organic," by Isaac Kestenbaum, January 12; "Healthy Competition," by Jessica Porter, March 2; "Whole Foods On The Cheap?" by Todd Richard, March 9.)
Whole Foods’ transparency is the greatest offender. Company PR highlights their fair pricing, wholesome environment, and support of community organizations, but these are calculated campaigns with a specific target. Whole Foods is a box store catering to a middle- and upper-class clientele. It appears accessible without actually being so. Hannaford is accessible; health-food nuts shop alongside the guy with bottle-return money and the Sudanese couple. Whole Foods does not have this diversity. It also doesn’t have the business of people who see through this contradiction.
Whole Foods is the only box store in Portland that’s made it past the mall. This is a dangerous precedent for retail construction: size and scale are flexible, apparently, if the place looks good and safe. Hooters is easily dismissed; they’re gaudy, lower-class, misogynistic. But the same perspective could welcome a health-food chain, just because they look friendly, without recognizing that both are large corporations pushing bland homogeny on a unique area and state.
Driving home the sinister implications of development is the store’s alienating atmosphere. The outside is huge and intimidating. The inside feels cramped and claustrophobic, a series of small busy spaces. And it’s all so neat, tidy, with no sign of the dirt that organic farming entails. Some local produce has been rejected, in fact, for not being “cosmetic.” This tight, sterile gloss deadens what could be a vital, sensuous environment. The store drives people off rather than encouraging them to enjoy it.
There is a similarly dead tension between Whole Foods’ presentation and its people. Despite the cheery décor, neither customers nor employees look especially happy. There are exceptions, but the general tone is forced and uptight. This undermines the sense of trust that people seek in a store, especially a grocery, where they expect a level of knowledge and approachability in the staff. A lack of trust does more to alienate young folks, who are used to casual and respectful community, than any offense in size or ethic.
Mistrust is underlying the various doubts people hold about Whole Foods. Their presence is unsettling despite a benevolent image. Even supporters feel it. The size, attitude, and atmosphere of the place make people uneasy. Nor does the store reassure us that the city is serious about local and personable business. If so, how did it get here? An obvious offender like Hooters is easily fought, but a benign, seductive store can make it, box or not. That has people upset, and worried.
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Clayton Cameron:winds.up@gmail.com
