Those of you who know me accept that I'm a rather too-frequent shopper at Whole Foods Market. This self-proclaimed "world's largest retailer of natural and organic foods, with stores throughout North America and the United Kingdom" beckons to me with its gleaming windows and cheerful green signage every time I drive near the intersection of North Avenue and Sheffield. My husband feigns shock each month when he reviews the MasterCard bill where my addiction is clearly documented. "I shop the European way!" I tell him grandly. "You know, I buy fresh stuff every day. Like if we lived in Paris or something." He rolls his eyes to which I respond tartly, "I'm doing it for you guys. You should thank me; it's not an easy job." And then I storm off to secretly tune into Dancing with the Stars or something like that while he's left to struggle with my selfless shopping at the most expensive grocery store in America.
The truth is that Whole Foods makes me feel good. When I go into one of the "competitors" I find myself worrying about the risk of pesticides on the produce, mercury in the fish, and the all-out lack of concern for using a separate plastic bag for every three items. At Whole Foods everybody smiles benevolently as they bustle about sniffing organic peaches and tasting samples of the best guacamole ever made. My kids wander off to the "Trail Mix Bar" where they fill brown paper bags (recyclable, of course) with things like banana chips, organic granola and pumpkin seeds. If it's been a long day, I might grab a glass of wine to sip from the Wine Bar (yes, they have a wine bar!) as I stroll around happily tossing things into my cart. Sometimes they have live music in the bar section; or shoulder massages upstairs. If it's a nice day, you might sit outside and eat lunch, watching the Chicago River flow by.
On the downside...there is a certain degree of judgment I can't help but acknowledge. "Mais, non!" you say? "Mais, oui!" I say. When I stand in the checkout line I am careful to place my lettuce and apples and strawberries on top to hide my less impressive selections (ie, cookies, ice cream, pizza) lest the shoppers lined up behind me think me unworthy to shop at this mecca. Oftentimes I'll see one person with a cart full, I repeat, a cart FULL, of wheatgrass, radishes, kamut and other unappealing items in the checkout and I'll think, "Come on! You really eat that stuff??" Of course, this is my own inferiority raising its ugly head, but that's what can happen at Whole Foods if you're not careful.
Fashion can also be a little confusing at Whole Foods, too. Many shoppers shuffle around in old jeans and torn t-shirts, only to load their many bags of groceries into a waiting Lexus SUV. Add that to the rows of shiny new hybrids stacked in the primo "Hybrid Only" parking spots up front and your brain may begin to pulse, "Does not compute." After all, when the average cost of a bag of groceries is $50-$60, you ain't fooling nobody. It reminds me of the scene in "The Kids are All Right" where Annette Bening totally loses her mind during dinner with friends as they ramble on and on about composting and the health benefits of acai (pronounced "ah-sah-ee"). "I just can't take it anymore!" she grumbles as she slugs down another glass of red wine.
A lot of my friends shop at Whole Foods, too, so hopefully I'm not making a bunch of frenemies -- I'm there all the time, after all. I'll be the first to admit that this place just draws me in. And although Roc is prone to proclaiming in exasperation (while peering into the refrigerator), "What? Are we rationing normal food now?" I still can't shake the feeling that I am doing good by my family by making this place a part of my regular routine. I reason that there is probably little else more important than what we feed our kids (and ourselves), so maybe the inordinant amount of time and money I spend there is somehow justified. Either that, or I've been seduced by something a lot worse -- appearances.
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