A Croissant Pilgrimage
I thought I was over the need to line up for the latest food trends. Apparently I’m not as I found myself lining up for a Lune croissant this morning before the doors opened. In my defence I was staying in the city (woohoo, Christmas present staycation) just a street away. No I didn’t travel 30 minutes from the suburbs, I’m not insane! Even just the night before I told myself I’d sleep in and skip the croissants, but my body clock and mind conspired against me; “I’m already up, might as well”, “the line will be shorter in the morning than coming into the city another day”, “this is a rare chance.” Well okay then.
Arriving 15 minutes before opening was a good bet. Within 5 minutes, I found myself in a line so long it could’ve been mistaken for an Apple Store on iPhone launch day. But no, it wasn’t the latest gadget—it was a… croissant. Yes, I willingly stood outside a newly opened croissant shop (one I’d been to before in Melbourne), surrounded by strangers who also decided their Sunday morning was best spent waiting for baked goods.
It’s interesting, we’ll line up for good food faster than we’d line up for a free flu shot. In a way I guess it’s great to show appreciation for artistry and a good product. But I’ve been in enough lines for overhyped food to be weary of the long lines. I thought it was a young(er) person thing to willingly line up for trending, Instagrammable food. Judging by the diverse demographic of the line, it’s just a human thing. This newly opened Lune croissant-ery had it all: sleek artisan vibes, concrete slab tables, and the gleam of a newly opened establishment. Having tried it over 5 years ago on a weekend trip to Melbourne, I wanted to see if it was as good as I remembered.
The people watching kept me occupied. Lines for food are like a social experiment. This morning, I observed:
The over-prepared foodie who did their research (this was probably me in a previous life):
“Oh, they use butter imported from Normandy. That’s why it’s worth the $11.”
There was the casual tagalong:
“I’m just here because my boyfriend wouldn’t stop talking about it.”
And, of course, the cynical husband:
“This better be the best croissant I’ve ever had.”
Meanwhile, I stood there swinging between mild embarrassment in my track pants, slippers, and messy hair (am I really doing this?) and fierce determination (I’ve come too far to back out now).
Is It Worth It?
By the time I got my croissant, I’d waited a decent 30 minutes and was fully invested. It was the full length of my NPR podcast. Having read that the wait times could reach 90 minutes, it felt like a good deal. And you know what? It was good. But here’s the thing: was it wait-in-a-line-for-90-minutes good? Honestly, while I would have said yes when I was younger, I’m not sure anything is. But that’s not the point. The point is the spectacle, the shared anticipation, the bonding experience of collectively losing your mind over a baked and layered triangle of flour and butter.
Do we need to stand in lines for croissants? Absolutely not. We anre blessed with so many amazing bakeries in Sydney with much shorter lines. Are we going to keep doing it anyway? Of course. Because in a way, lining up for food feels like a badge of honour. Psychologists may chalk it up to FOMO - the fear of missing out or a social endorsement. Lining up once in a while is also a chance for us to calibrate our future croissants with the place where people are willing to wait an hour or two.
What Did I Learn?
If you’re going to wait in a line for a croissant, come prepared with a podcast (if you were alone like me), good company, and curiosity for your fellow queuers. Because even if the pastry wasn’t life-changing, the people-watching and the absurdity of it all made it worth my time.
Would I do it again? Not for a while. However there is a theory that lining up somehow makes the thing you’re waiting for taste better. I think I need to line up a few more times to test that.
