They say money can’t buy happiness. Maybe this is true, but seven dollars can buy a caramel brown sugar shaken espresso. Let’s be honest, that’s close enough. One sip and suddenly you’re not just a tired student trekking across campus, you’re a sophisticated, caffeinated intellectual with a cardboard cup that screams, “I’m important.” The seven-dollar coffee isn’t just a drink; it is a ritual and fashion statement. It’s the tuition we pay to be part of a club that no one remembers signing up for. Thinking about it, what’s really inside the cup? Milk, Coffee, Foam. What’s outside the cup? Validation.
Plenty of students aren’t buying it. Literally. “No coffee is ever worth seven dollars,” said Mahi Mattu, class of ’29. This can be seen as a bold statement, especially in a time when people treat the release of pumpkin spice like a national holiday.
Sandhya Padmanabhan, Class of ’29, agrees about the price and states, “It’s atrocious.” She’s not wrong. We have become the generation that will not pay $3.50 for gas but will happily hand over $7.23 for a latte topped with exactly three ethically sourced coffee beans and a sprinkle of fairy dust.
So why do we keep doing it? It’s not really about the coffee; It’s about the performance. The cup is a prop, and the line at Starbucks is a runway. Walking into class with a Dunkin’ iced latte the size of your torso says, “I have my life together, even that’s a lie.” Arriving at class with a self-brewed coffee chant, “I’m tired and broke.” No one wants that branding.
With all this, let’s not pretend it doesn’t mess with us financially. Every cup is a tiny act of wallet sabotage. The savings account, if you even have one, looks like a graveyard of poor caffeine-related choices. Meanwhile, your lonely Keurig cries from the corner, begging to be used, ignored like a forgotten toy.
Here’s the kicker: we won’t stop. In ten years, $15 lattes will come topped with biodegradable glitter and oat milk blessed by angels, and we’ll still say, “It’s not that bad.” Society has made these financial justifications because we’re not buying a beverage, we’re buying a feeling. We’re buying the illusion of productivity, the comfort of routine, the Instagram story that proves we exist.
So yes, the seven-dollar coffee is absurd, and overpriced too. Yes, it’s a scam dressed in caramel drizzle. But tomorrow morning, most of us will be right back in line, phones in hand, ready to complain about the cost while handing over our cards with zero hesitation. Happiness may be priceless, but apparently, it costs seven dollars plus tax.
