3 Bs: Black coffee, Bush and Bone Broth

On coffee without milk, bodies without razors, and food without embellishment.

Dear reader,

I’m back from London and already off to Seoul, where I’ll be assisting my sister with her brand’s pop-up (Gabi Fabrics, go check it out. It’s chef’s kiss). Lately, life (for me) has been saturated with travel, creativity, and caffeine-fueled musings. The past few months were particularly productive: I’ve been working on multiple projects, including a poetry booklet called A Brand in Flash Fiction, which will be launched at the pop-up in Seoul. My first short story was recently published in the très cool Akimbo Magazine, co-founded by one of my très cool friends, and soon, a series of postcard-inspired vignettes I wrote will be featured in another beautiful niche little zine.

(excuse the boomerness. I’m sharing this newsletter on my phone and incorporating a hyperlink isn’t working..for some reason)

Link to short story in Akimbo:

https://akimbo-mag.com/articles/Features/MOTAfXonmcLDqAdy3KFc?utm_campaign=linkinbio&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=later-linkinbio

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Today I’d like to yap about the following things: the social gendering of coffee-drinking habits, the comeback of the bush (the fashion of pubes) and returning to the core (“fuck yoga, fuck agave”).

“Real men drink black coffee.”

I’ve never actually heard anyone in my circle say this, but it’s, without a doubt, a phrase that exists among the bros. Recently, while on a coffee date, I witnessed the subtle social coding of coffee in action.

The barista placed the long black in front of him, the oat cappuccino in front of me. We exchanged a glance, amused: the long black was actually my order, the oat cappuccino his.

“Stoer,” my male counterpart had called it, that I drank black coffee. Tough. A word that doesn’t quite translate but implies a kind of unexpected strength or grit.

A piece by The Spinoff explored similar territory. Anecdotal evidence suggests the following: espresso and filter coffee are still often assumed to be a man’s drink, while milk-heavy or plant-based alternatives are coded as feminine. Long Blacks for Lads, says the bro-bible.

It made me think about how I’ve always viewed coffee. For me, black coffee conjures images of Sarah Vaughan and Peggy Lee singing the blues; melancholic housewives in the 1950s, cigarettes in one hand, black coffee in the other. A bitter comfort. Wasn’t there a time when black coffee was just coffee and everyone was drinking it the same way? In the mid-20th century West, heavily influenced by American diner culture, black coffee was the norm for both men and women. Meanwhile, in Europe, espresso-based drinks were largely introduced by Italian immigrants, whose coffee choices are shaped more by the time of day (cappuccinos in the morning, espressos in the afternoon) rather than by gender. It’s a cultural habit, tied to digestion, not identity. So when did milk-based coffees become feminized??

The rise of Starbucks, the death of good-quality coffee..

Around the 1990s-2000s, Starbucks and other chains popularised espresso-based drinks worldwide, heavily marketing sweet drinks to.. young women. Most of us know that historically, advertising has played a role in associating certain food and drink products with gender. Coffee is no exception. “Bitter” drinks were always marketed towards men, thereby reinforcing existing associations of masculinity, while “sweet” or “creamy” drinks were steered towards women.

Interestingly, the 2000s and 2010s saw an increase in diet-conscious marketing, and black coffee became associated with fitness, fasting, and low-calorie lifestyles. Tall and skinny runway models made black coffee look sexy and badass, arguably challenging stereotypical coffee-drinking habits, yet problematically promoting anorexic beauty standards.

Even today, in many cultures (including that café in the gentrified neighbourhood serving batch brews and pour-overs!) strong black coffee is still tied to a male 'no-nonsense' attitude, a utilitarian coffee-drinking habit; staying awake and working hard. Meanwhile, women are seen as sipping oat cappuccinos or soy flat whites indulgently, for pleasure. The gendered undertone remains.

Pubes and fashion

Since seeing a post by The Cut on this topic in January, I knew I wanted to write about it, but it took me longer than I’d hoped. Let’s talk about pubic hair.

I’ve always found it strange that body hair, particularly pubic hair, is subject to fashion trends. Maybe it’s because Gen Z is known to care less about shaving altogether. Within my circle of friends, showing up to yoga with unshaven armpits isn’t a statement, it’s just normal. As long as you're clean and comfortable, why let trends dictate what’s going on, also down there?

But pubic hair trends—and hair removal—go way back, far beyond the 90s, all the way to ancient Greece.

Earlier this year, in light of the so-called “return of the bush,” Erika W. Smith reflected on a 2024 Maison Margiela show where runway models wore fake pubic hair under sheer, Victorian-inspired gowns. Pubes, truly couture.

Interestingly, the article points out that these high-fashion statements don’t necessarily trickle down to everyday women. Most beauty clients still stick to their usual hair removal habits, meaning, for many women, the Brazilian still remains the default. I find this worth contemplating.

Brazillians became a visual standard in pornography and, over time, bled into mainstream beauty culture. The sad thing is, I personally think that it’s not just about personal preference; it’s about conforming to an aesthetic that has been shaped by the male gaze, where hairlessness is often seen as a sign of sexual availability, desirability and youth.

Maybe fake bushes on the runway aren’t such a bad idea.

Returning to the core

In London, there was a regular place in Dalston I used to go to with my friends. Café Oto, a place that attracted a lot of locals and creatives in particular. Café Oto served fairly priced lunches that were filling and really delicious. It was always some kind of stew, something warm and comforting, served with a piece of homemade focaccia from the bakery nearby.

Back in November, I rewatched Girls and laughed my face off when Gaby Hoffmann (Caroline, Adam’s sister) shouted at her partner Laird, “FUCK AGAVE”—a line symbolising the death of one health trend and the space being created for the next. A couple of weeks ago, I saw an Insta post showcasing Sex and the City hunk Smith wearing a “FUCK YOGA” T-shirt.

And honestly? It fits.

The last decade was all about hyper-curated wellness: green juice, agave syrup, adaptogenic powders, alternative flours. Eating became a status symbol, dictated by expensive niche ingredients and moral superiority. Sugar was a sin, but only if it wasn’t coconut sugar. Bread was the enemy, unless it was made from ancient grains.

Now? That era is over.

Sourdough, butter, salt, and fire cooking. That’s all that matters right now. Cafés and restaurants are embracing “ancestral” or heritage foods like bone broth, kimchi, and sauerkraut. Seasonal cooking and eating is hot. Not green goddess salads, but simple stews and unprocessed meat (and preferably nose-to-tail eating) are now considered a healthy meal. There’s less of a focus on sugary drinks. Honey or sugar? Ahahaa, most cool cafés don’t even have that and will side-eye you for asking.

Fuck agave. Fuck yoga.

What we’re seeing isn’t just a trend shift. It’s a reaction. After years of hyper-wellness, people are exhausted. No one wants to count chia seeds anymore. The hottest thing on the menu is a piece of bread and a bowl of stew—just like your grandmother used to make. Maybe she was onto something all along, with her potatoes and braised meat.

By the time you read this, I’ll be walking around in Seoul, where every insanely cool trend is born, only to hit Europe a year later at best.

Bye!

Love,

Naomi