Hi, I’m Koseli. This is a weekly note about my life in Seoul, motherhood, creativity, books, and products I love. It should feel more like an email from a friend than a newsletter.
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Every few weeks I watch my money fly away in a concrete members-only warehouse store that sells Gucci and Prada on one side and generic adult diapers on the other. It’s the place vending machine owners, older folks, and bob-haired moms mingle with hungry middle-of-the-day middle-age businessmen and dusty construction workers at maybe the most economical food court with $1 hot dogs and pizzas bigger than three toddlers for only $10. Come in hungry, leave full but kind of sick. Everybody knows it but when lunch is $1, who are we to ask questions?
The Costco parking lot is Frogger meets church pew; willing and unwilling drivers in sedans, shiny minivans, and suspended trucks, and always suspicious PT Cruisers zipping in and out of parking spots, cutting through the lot to save a fraction of a second. A smart car parked next to a Hummer. An RV next to a Tesla. A questionable white van with no windows. A million minivans.
Everyone’s only here for the 12 pack of Frito Lay Fun Pack, affordable milk and eggs, batteries, 24 pack of paper towels, bulk Kirkland Signature semi-sweet chocolate chips, or <insert your Costco hero item>. Come for your pet Costco items, leave with an industrial-sized grocery cart full of fresh salmon, 69 lbs of flour, a dozen roses, and the smell of rubber after spontaneously buying 4 new snow tires.
With the flash of one card, a 146,000 sq ft concrete discount world opens up to any man, woman, child, or tiny newborn babe hunting for that super flattering Kirkland Signature sweatshirt. Who knew Costco super fans wanted the generic brand of their toilet paper emblazoned across their chests? Who knew we’d double down on chic pullover crewnecks with this surprising twist? Who knew it was weird—so—weird it make work? Marketing at Costco. That’s who. Because they know we’re all in. And they know others don’t understand so it makes great viral content.
They know we’ll pound that cement week in and week out for $4 burnt buttery croissants and 3000 packs of mediocre fruit gummies for kid’s lunches. For bulk beef pumped with hormones and organic peanut butter in individual environmentally friendly tetra-pak packets. We’ll push a palette with triplets teetering on Pop Chips if we have to. We’ll do whatever we have to do for the deal. For the sale. For one trip for everything even if it’s a lot of one thing we only kind of use. Costco isn’t just a place. It’s a community. Our mothers and fathers walked these hallowed concrete aisles searching for and not finding the pancake mix because it was moved and gosh darn, we will too. All 105.5 million Costco members vicariously carry the Costco torch with their mandatory membership card, but the true fans shall rise to the top, showcasing their straight-fit Kirkland Signature black sweatshirt at the next home game, CSA pick-up, and family pictures.
May the sifting ensue.
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