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There's a woman who comes in here most mornings — or she used to. Let me be precise: she came in here on a Tuesday last month, and again on a Friday three weeks before that, and once more on a Wednesday that I'm pretty sure was in February. I have no idea what her name is. She has never ordered the same thing twice. The first time it was a cortado with an extra shot. The second time, a cappuccino (milk steamed aggressively, no latte art). The third time, some kind of oat-milk something that she ordered from her phone while standing near the window, having clearly just discovered us through a Google Maps search or a TikTok that hasn't aged well.
I don't know her name because she's not a regular anymore.
Nobody is.
The barista-customer relationship — one of the last genuinely analog human connections in an increasingly algorithmic world — is becoming impossible. Not because coffee shops are shutting down or baristas are getting lazier or hospitality is dying (though all of those things are partially true). But because the infrastructure of modern life has fundamentally changed who we are as people and what loyalty even means anymore.
We live in an era where you are never more than thirty seconds away from discovering a different coffee shop. Google Maps knows where you are and is actively suggesting you go somewhere else. Yelp ratings flash in your peripheral vision. TikTok's algorithm serves you a video of some café in Echo Park at 11 p.m. on a Wednesday, and by Thursday morning, you're standing in line somewhere you've never been, because the algorithm has now decided that café is your personality type.
The regular — that mythical figure who walks in and the barista already has their cup ready, who is greeted by name, whose order is written on the wall in permanent marker, whose absence on a Monday morning would be noticed and remarked upon — is not a person anymore. They're a relic of a pre-algorithmic world. And we have collectively decided that optimization is more important than being known.
1. THE INFRASTRUCTURE OF DISLOYALTY (How We Got Here)
Let's be specific about what happened.
For roughly eighty years — from the 1920s through the 1990s — a coffee shop was a place you went. You didn't go because an algorithm suggested it. You went because it was near your apartment, or near your work, or someone you trusted told you it was good. You went on the same day at roughly the same time. Eventually, the barista learned your order. They learned your name. They asked about your dog, your job, your life. You became part of a thin social fabric that held a neighborhood together.
This infrastructure was inefficient as hell.
It was built on repeat business, on trust, on what we might now call "wasted time" — conversations that didn't move you closer to productivity. It required that you go to the same place even when other places existed. It rewarded loyalty over optimization.
Then mobile phones happened. Then location data. Then Google Maps added ratings. Then Yelp. Then Instagram. Then TikTok. Then algorithmic feeds designed to maximize novelty, engagement, and the constant discovery of something new. The infrastructure flipped. Suddenly, loyalty was economically irrational.
Optimization, as it turns out, is the death of regulars.
And here's the thing that keeps me awake: It happened so fast. We didn't collectively decide this. We just downloaded an app.
2. WHAT THE REGULAR MEANT (An Elegiac Moment)
Before we go further, we need to acknowledge what we're talking about — because "the regular" isn't just a customer who orders the same drink. The regular was a social technology. A way of being known in the world.
The regular walked in and existed in a state of recognition. They were seen. Not scanned. Not logged. Seen. The barista would look up and the order was already being made. Not because they had memorized a transaction, but because they understood you — your taste, your mood, your rhythm.
The regular was the person who, on a rainy Tuesday, walked in and could sit down and belong. They didn't have to perform. They didn't have to choose anything. The café held space for them, literally and socially.
This sounds like a small thing now.
It wasn't.
(This is what we lost. Not the coffee. The showing up.)
3. THE ALGORITHM'S PROMISE (And Its Betrayal)
Here's the seductive logic: An algorithm doesn't have favorites. It doesn't discriminate. It treats all customers equally, which sounds democratic until you realize it also treats all customers like interchangeable units.
The promise was abundance. Choice. No longer bound to your neighborhood café — you could sample every café in the city. Endless options. Infinite novelty.
And in exchange, you got this: You are never known. You are never a regular. You are a data point traveling through someone else's optimization function.
The algorithm solved a problem we never asked it to solve: We never needed to be told where to get coffee. But we needed to be known. And that problem, it turns out, is not solvable by optimization.
The algorithm kept its promise. We got infinite choice.
We just lost the person who remembered our name.
4. THE INFRASTRUCTURE WE RUN (A Confession)
Here's the part where I have to get honest, because the Jurassic Magic Journal lives in the space where satire meets genuine self-awareness.
We have an Instagram account. Several people discovered us through that account. We appear in Google Maps searches. Someone found us on Yelp, and yes, we are rated 4.6 stars. We post on TikTok occasionally.
We are, in the deepest and most embarrassing sense, complicit.
But here's what we try to do anyway: We remember names. We notice when someone disappears. We ask questions that aren't transactional. We make eye contact. We treat conversation like it's actually happening, not like it's content.
We fail at this constantly. On busy mornings, we are rushing. We are optimized for speed. We are part of the problem.
But we're still trying to create a space where being a regular is possible — even as the entire economic and algorithmic landscape works against it.
But some rooms exist not to maximize engagement or conversion or customer lifetime value — they exist to let you be still long enough to notice what you already have.
5. WHY WE MISS REGULARS (And Why We Should)
A regular gave us continuity. They were evidence that someone chose to come back. Not once. Not by accident. But repeatedly, intentionally, because this place mattered to them enough to override the pull of optimization.
A regular gave us responsibility. We couldn't sleepwalk. We couldn't phone it in. Because someone was counting on us.
A regular gave us a social ecosystem. Because regulars know each other. They nod. They occasionally talk. They form a thin social network around the space.
A regular gave us meaning. Because if everyone just shows up once, optimized by algorithm to get coffee and leave, then the café is just a transaction node. But if someone comes back week after week, then it's a place. It's somewhere that matters.
6. THE GHOST REGULAR (What We're Becoming)
There's a newer phenomenon now — the person who used to be a regular. They came in consistently for months. We learned their name. We knew their order. And then — slowly, imperceptibly — they stopped coming.
We see them sometimes on the algorithm: a friend request on Instagram from an account we didn't know belonged to them. A TikTok about some other café.
The algorithm has distributed them. Optimized them away from us.
And here's what it feels like: Like being ghosted by someone you thought you actually knew.
The ghost regular is what the regular becomes in an algorithmic world. They don't disappear. They just become invisible.
We miss them. And we're not sure if they miss us.
7. CAN WE BUILD REGULARS AGAIN?
Can we swim against the algorithmic current? Honestly, probably not. The algorithm is too powerful. The pull toward novelty is too strong.
But some people are trying anyway.
There are cafés that have stopped optimizing for Instagram. Cafés that deliberately make it hard to find them, that rely entirely on word-of-mouth. These cafés are economically inefficient. They're not scaling. They're not trending. But they have people who show up. Who come back. Who feel genuinely, deeply known.
There's a small pit bull named Koda who comes in here. She's been coming in for three years. We still have treats behind the counter that are specifically for her.
Koda is a regular. And that regularity means something to all of us.
8. THE TENDER MOMENT (What We're Really Looking For)
We're exhausted. The constant novelty is exhausting. The infinite choice is exhausting.
We're lonely. Being a customer at a million different places is the opposite of being known at one place.
We miss being recognized without performing. We miss the ease of showing up somewhere and being welcomed without having to optimize ourselves.
The regular wasn't just an economic relationship. It was a way of being cared for. And we've traded that for efficiency.
The algorithm keeps promising us choice. What we actually want is to be chosen.
That's what the regular meant. That's what we lost.
9. THE CLOSING (What Comes Next)
Somewhere in Los Angeles right now, someone is walking into a café they've been to maybe twice before. They're ordering something different. The barista has never seen them. The coffee is good. And the whole interaction takes four minutes. The customer leaves. The barista forgets them before they reach the door.
Or — and this is the radical act now — they might decide to go back to the same café again. Not because it's optimal. Not because the algorithm suggested it. But because they liked how it felt.
Maybe being a regular is an act of resistance. A refusal to be distributed and optimized. A choice to stay in one place long enough to be known.
The regular is extinct. Long live the people stubborn enough to become one anyway.
FAQ
Q: Is this post saying I should stop using Google Maps to find cafés?
A: No. Google Maps is useful! But maybe use it a little less. Maybe sometimes just walk to the café that's three blocks away and commit to giving it three visits before the algorithm convinces you somewhere else is better.
Q: Do I have to be a regular at a coffee café?
A: No. You can be a regular anywhere — your neighborhood bar, your bookstore, your hairdresser, the taco truck on the corner. The point isn't coffee. The point is showing up repeatedly to the same place and gradually becoming known.
Q: You mentioned Koda. Can I come in and meet Koda?
A: Yes, but Koda is a regular's dog, loyal to a fault. She doesn't trust novelty. So come meet her. But understand she might just stare at you while you explain you found the café on TikTok.
Q: This feels kind of nostalgic. Isn't that a trap?
A: Yes, absolutely. Nostalgia is always a trap. But I'm saying we lost something important in how we discover and visit places, and we should think about what that means for loneliness and community.
Q: What if I'm just not a regular person?
A: Then be a regular at three places instead of zero. Pick one place. Show up four times in a month. See who notices. See what it feels like to be recognized.
