By Lucas Ngai
Club Pret has become an established British institution. But being the contrarian that I am, I was determined not to jump on the bandwagon. Eventually I thought: maybe it’s about time I tried it. So I did. And it’s just not worth it.
With such a financially enticing offer, Club Pret’s coffee is high in demand. But think of how cheap it must be to be produced in such quantities – the fact is, Club Pret caters to the pragmatic caffeine junkie. Unlike the caffeine junkie, however, I want caffeine only when I need it (to maintain a lower tolerance). The subscription, however, pressures me to get the coffee daily – even when I don’t need it– which is extremely suffocating. And I don’t know about you, but these coffees do utterly nothing for me (except for a double-shot espresso, perhaps). So if on average, coffees still don’t give me the hit I need, what good is the subscription? I could literally get a month’s worth of Nescafe from Tesco for less than £5 and I wouldn’t taste the difference! Most importantly, I get to reclaim agency over how much caffeine I consume to energize myself, and how often I want to drink coffee.
Oh Lord, forgive the folk who buy Pret food, for they don’t know their budgeting efforts are futile. Think!! As a subscription holder, you’d probably get FOMO if you don’t get food while waiting in line, which likely leads you to regularly spend money you otherwise wouldn’t, so is Club Pret really a deal? Considering its current profitability, I simply believe that the house always wins in the end.
I wish I could continue elaborating on these personal gripes, but word count requirements say otherwise. Funnily enough, my Pret subscription ends the day I submit this little blurb. Farewell, Club Pret – it isn’t for me, and perhaps it isn’t for you either.
Illustration by Chiara Gugou
