“I have some bad news,” says my mother over the phone. She’s calling me from Florence, where she now lives and works after an eight-year stint in New York. “You know my regular coffee spot? The one with all the motorcycle posters and the calcio storico fiorentino flags? It’s under new ownership and they’ve redesigned it to look like… an Airbnb.” Both of us shudder.
Over the years, we have stayed in many apartments in cities from Budapest to Sydney that have what we call “Airbnb design”: think plastic plants in tiny pots, posters of the Eiffel Tower (no matter where you are in the world) and aluminium plaques bearing slogans such as “Life’s a beach” or “Prosecc’o’clock”. In a way, we have almost grown fond of the homogeneity, spotting Airbnbisms in rented apartments, cafés and restaurants that we come across on our travels.
But the Airbnb-style redesign of this particular café, once beloved for its esoteric and charming memorabilia accumulated over decades, was an undeniable offence. Now that the references to the city’s medieval football games and the reverentially framed image of a Maserati motorcycle have been removed, it has lost its distinctly Florentine sense of place.
The café is mostly frequented by older men who sip a cappuccino with a cigarette in the early morning (and a glass of wine as soon as the clock strikes 11). My mother’s choice to make it her regular haunt was a daily source of joy. It’s a place that, until now, made her feel more like a local than a tourist or recent transplant. Hyperlocal designs and references in the fit-out of restaurants, hotels and shops help to create this overall sensation and make travelling worth the effort. Anyone taking over the ownership of such a business, even if it’s just a small café, should bear this in mind.
The next day my mother sends me images of the refurbished café. In lieu of old jugs and blackboards with the day’s panini offerings, there are now ceramic cacti, QR codes and little plaques that boast, “Gin and tonic served here!” It might as well be in Ontario or Osaka. There’s nothing to suggest that the café is in Italy. “But some things haven’t changed,” says my mother. “The clientele of old men is the same. And there was an empty wine glass on the outdoor table this morning.”
Grace Charlton is a Monocle writer. For more news and analysis, subscribe today.