Demographically uncooperative

As I grabbed some groceries at my local food co-op this evening, I was struck by something printed on the side of the paper bag I was carrying. It was a quote from Peter Shumlin, who evidently is the Governor of Vermont and also a member of a food co-op in that state. Here’s what he said:

“The great thing about the co-op is that you see people from all walks of life coming together. It’s really a community center. It’s a community resource.”

It’s a nice sentiment that’s probably shared by many co-op shoppers and administrators, but I doubt there’s much truth in it. My guess is that the average food co-op draws from a significantly narrower demographic than the average supermarket.

Here’s a profile of the average co-op shopper: middle-class white with some college education. It only took seven words. There are exceptions to the profile, sure, but step into any co-op in the country and you probably have a pretty good idea of who you’re going to see. You might see a private divorce attorney standing in line behind a suburban hippie, but the real outsiders in our culture (the natives on the reservation, for instance) would see in these two people more similarities than differences. 

One thing that’s certain is that co-ops do not bring in people from all (or even most) walks of life. This isn’t because of a discriminatory mandate they’ve made. It’s just inherent in their business. Co-ops sell healthy, sustainable foods (or at least foods that are marketed as such), and they slap a higher price tag on them. Co-op shoppers pay the higher price because the foods appeal to one of three senses: their sense of taste, their sense of health, or their sense of piety. In many shoppers it’s probably a mixture of all three.

So a co-op shopper is someone who (a) believes tasty/healthy/sustainable food to be important and (b) has the money to pay for it. These criteria eliminate a huge proportion of the population. Only a handful of people care about preparing healthy and delicious foods from scratch. Supermarkets offer low prices. Everyone likes those. 

Stroll through a large supermarket and you’re likely to find a much more diverse collection of people than at a co-op. You might see the attorney and the hippie again, but you’ll also see more students, more minorities, more families, and more old people. You might also see people from the margins who’ve just scrounged up enough money to grab a beer. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that at the co-op.

Try to explain to a supermarket shopper the appeal of a co-op, and you’ll probably draw a blank stare. They’ve already found what they want. The supermarket meets their needs and wants (ill-considered though the latter may sometimes be), and in that sense it’s as much a community resource as any other place. 

I read something recently in my co-op newsletter about the Board of Directors being very keen on finding ways to “reach out to minorities.” I found the statement embarrassing in its condescension (vestiges of college diversity programs) and laughable in its business sense. If, statistically speaking, minorities have below the average income, then the best way to “reach out” to them is to give them what they want: inexpensive goods. Of course, doing that would require a co-op to change its business model to be more like that of—well, a supermarket. 

Co-ops exploit a niche of educated, health-conscious, halfway-affluent people. They shouldn’t feel the need to lie about it or make guilty announcements of their efforts to change it. Co-ops serve their customers admirably, and most of those who don’t shop at the co-op are unlikely ever to be convinced. For a certain part of the community, nutritious and environmentally friendly food has a strong appeal. But for a much larger part of the community, money appeals more.