The Regular Is Extinct

There used to be a guy who came in every single morning at 8:47. For like, two years. His name was Frank. He ordered the same thing. Sat in the same seat. Did the same newspaper-reading thing. This was his place. He had a relationship with it.

I haven't seen Frank in three months. Could be he moved. Could be he got tired. Could be he woke up one day and decided he didn't want a routine anymore — wanted to be less predictable, more free.

Or could be the rent went up and he moved neighborhoods entirely.

And I think Frank was a dying species, and we didn't even notice.

Regulars used to be the entire business model

A regular is someone who shows up. Not sometimes. Not when they're in the area. Actually, genuinely, shows up. The same order. The same time. They're part of the furniture.

Cheers was built on this. So were every diner and bar and barbershop that existed before algorithms learned to predict you.

A regular meant you had a place. You mattered to the staff. People noticed when you weren't there. You were part of something, not as a customer but as a person.

Now — everything is designed to be frictionless. You can get coffee from four different apps. You can get your order customized infinitely. You don't have to talk to anyone. You definitely don't have to commit to showing up the same time every day.

We've optimized the regular out of existence.

The thing about people who stay

I notice when someone starts becoming a regular. They come in twice a week, then three times. They start chatting longer. They remember what day the pastry rotates. They joke about something that happened yesterday with someone else who was here yesterday too.

They're making a choice to belong to a place.

In a city where most people are transient — came for the job, might leave for another one, didn't come here planning to stay — choosing to have a place is almost radical.

Choosing to see the same faces. Choosing to build a history. Choosing "I am from here now" rather than "I am passing through."

But here's what changed

Work got weirder. Remote at home two days a week. Might relocate for the promotion. The office is downtown but you live in Echo Park, it's 45 minutes, maybe you move closer to the office, maybe you stay and accept the commute.

Rent got impossible. You moved neighborhoods three times in five years following the rent that was at least slightly less ruinous. How do you become a regular when you're not sure you'll be here in six months?

Delivery apps meant you didn't have to leave your apartment. Work-from-home meant you didn't have a reason to leave at a specific time.

The whole infrastructure that created regulars just... vanished.

What we lost, actually

A regular is someone who has time. Not money necessarily, but time. Time to show up at the same place at the same hour. Time to build a relationship slowly. Time that isn't optimized into productivity or monetized into Side Hustle Energy.

Most people don't have that anymore.

And also — a regular assumes you want to stay. Assumes you're building toward something stable. Assumes a future that looks like today and yesterday and tomorrow.

It's hard to be a regular when you're barely holding on. When every day requires explaining to your brain why you're doing it. When stability feels like a luxury you read about online.

You can't commit to a coffee shop when you're not sure you'll be able to afford the neighborhood.

Here's the tender part

But also — people still try.

People still come in four times a week even though they're not financially stable. Still sit at the same table. Still chat with the same baristas. Still build this fragile thing that feels like belonging.

The people who come in regularly to Jurassic Magic — they're not doing it because it's convenient. (It's actually not. Some of them travel far.)

They're doing it because they need a place. Because they need to be known. Because after you move three times in five years, you just want something to be stable.

Even if it's just a coffee shop.

Especially if it's just a coffee shop.

What a regular means now

It's no longer an assumption. It's a choice someone is making against economics.

It's someone saying "I'm going to show up here anyway" even though it's not necessary. Even though they could get their coffee from anywhere. Even though the system is designed to make transience easier than commitment.

And when you see that — when you recognize that someone is choosing to make a place their place despite everything conspiring against it — that's actually kind of stunning.

We should protect that. We should notice when someone becomes a regular. Should make the space worth their loyalty. Should recognize that in choosing to show up, they're doing something increasingly rare: they're committing to something beyond themselves.

FAQ

Q: Are you saying I should become a regular to help you?

No. Come if you want to. Don't if you don't. But if you do find yourself showing up regularly, know that we notice. We appreciate it. You matter in a way that the algorithms don't track.

Q: Is regularity good for business?

It's good for the business's soul, if businesses have that. Financially? Sure. Sustainably? Yes. But more than that — regulars make a place feel like a place, not a transaction point.

Q: What if I don't have time to be a regular?

That's fine. That's most people now. Come when you can. Don't feel bad about it. The world is structured to prevent belonging now. That's not a personal failure.

Q: How do I become a regular?

Just show up. Same time if you can. Same spot. Order the same thing or don't. Say hi to people. Be present. It happens slowly, but it does happen. You'll know it's happened when you haven't been here in three days and the barista asks where you've been.