The Cult of Queuing
Why I'm Not Lining Up for Your Hype
Let’s talk about queuing—specifically, the kind of queuing that happens outside a restaurant with a 2-hour wait, while thirty other perfectly good (and probably better) places sit empty a block away. You know the scene: people standing there, half-starved, scrolling through Instagram, pretending it’s totally normal to wait this long for a burger. Not even the last one on Earth—just one that happens to be trending.
Honestly, I find it ridiculous.
We’ve reached a point where the experience no longer matters. It's not about the food, the vibe, or even the company. It's about the post. The story. The humble brag. “Look where I am.” “Look what I’m eating.” “Look how long I waited for this because I’m that dedicated to be eating the same thing like other .”
The recent SNL sketch, “A Weekend in NYC,” absolutely nailed this mindset. It’s a hilarious—and painfully accurate—parody of people obsessing over the “coolest” spot, even if it means wasting hours in a line for something completely average. The punchline? It’s never really about the bagel or the coffee or whatever’s at the end of that queue—it’s about being seen in the queue. As if enduring the wait adds some sort of social value. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t.
And it’s not just in NYC. People are out here flying to Dubai to buy gold-dusted chocolate that costs more than a flight back home. Meanwhile, in LA, you’ve got folks queuing at Erewhon for an $19 strawberry. We’ve turned luxury into a lifestyle performance, curated for maximum views, likes, and digital envy. But remove the Instagram filter—and what’s left? A smoothie. A piece of chocolate. A line.
There’s this weird contradiction happening: people are desperate to be unique, but they’re doing it by copying exactly what everyone else is doing. You want to stand out, so you go where others have already been? That doesn’t sound very original. It sounds like playing follow the leader, but in designer sneakers and with a ring light in your bag. Where’s the authenticity in that? Where’s the joy in discovery, in spontaneity, in picking a spot that you actually vibe with—rather than one that the algorithm told you was cool?
So no, I’m not lining up. I’m not putting my name on a clipboard and waiting an hour just to say I’ve “been.” I’d rather stumble into the unknown, eat something unexpectedly great, and leave with a full belly and zero likes.
Because real taste isn’t measured in wait times. And real experiences don’t come with hashtags.
Will be testing THIS restaurant next week with some friends