True ethnic coffee used to be an exclusive preserve of the bohemian classes. When Starbucks was first getting started in 1971, there were only two kinds of coffee in the mainstream world - regular and decaffeinated. Half and half was the only creamer and white processed sugar sweetened the deal. People didn't go out for coffee alone nor define their identity by the beverage they brewed, or that was brewed for them. Things used to be different, including Starbucks where the Siren was a true image of feminine identity.
Now, as Dennis Miller would say, I don't want to get off on a rant here, but I will.
I read an article the other day in my six dollar New York Times Sunday newspaper about the Starbucks Siren - apparently she lost her nipples and belly button as a sacrifice for our proclivity to politeness. Back in the 70s, Miss Starbucks was voluptuous and genuine. Today, with our penchant for mass-marketed uniqueness, our lovely naked woman is seen as an irreverent display of the female nude.
I am not a caustic raging bra burner. I like men. I like working with men and for men. Men are not the problem, in this case. Most women have their thumbs firmly over their man's head. Actually, I would argue it was probably not a male who decided to pull the nipples and belly button and replace them with the oh-so-civilized suggestive curves. Most men would find this idea outrageous and so do I.
What is wrong with an alluring female goddess on the front of our 10% post-consumer recycled fiber, made-in-the-good-ole-us-of-a tall latte cup? She is as seductive as caffeine is on a soggy wet morning when you just don't feel like clambering out of bed.
Our litigiously frightened and religiously stifled society (whoa, now there’s a provocative statement for a church-going-girl) is so afraid to offend that we have even changed our coffee cups.
We yearn to be different, as long as everyone is different with us.
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