I went to Erewhon because I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Not the memes or the smoothies or the celebrity sightings, but the unique and unusual worldwide pull and power this grocery store holds. I expected to hate it, but I didn’t.

The Manhattan Beach location is a bit like a luxury hotel lobby that happens to sell pre-marinated teriyaki chicken thighs and adaptogenic prebiotic granola. The lighting is soft enough to flatter anyone. The produce looks, and probably is, hand-polished. Every shelf seems to whisper that you, too, could be a slightly better version of yourself if you buy this cold pressed juice or that ranch-flavored kale chip (note: I liked them both).

I sampled kiwi berries and warm chicken taquitos, handed to me with genuine enthusiasm. A woman in the apothecary section suggested a small bottle of oil specifically formulated for “optimizing the ancient Aryurvedic practice of oil pulling.” I bought it.

The staff were extraordinary. Not just polite, but proud. It took an army of workers to orchestrate my experience, and they made it look and feel effortless.

Around me, a few other first-time shoppers panned their phones, documenting the moment. We were like a small, ridiculous tribe of only-in-LA, not-influencers, half performing, half in awe. We took pictures of the smoothie bar, of the $30 coconut yogurt, of ourselves standing in front of refrigerators that looked like design installations. None of us were mocking it. We were observing something cultural.

Erewhon, for all its satire ready extravagance, is not really about food. It is the dream of improvement. A Home Depot for the pretty parts of humanity. Los Angeles runs on that current. The gym, the derm, the serum, the juice, the career, the hot car, the magic light. You can always become something more. Erewhon has tapped into making it tangible.

Also, it is absurd. A jar of almond butter costs more than dinner for two, even in LA. A bottle of bone broth is as much as a bottle of champagne. The branded merchandise, so much branded merch, hats, sweatshirts, reusable cups, shopping bags, all offering the aesthetic of wellness. You can tell yourself it’s a joke, but part of you wants the tote bag anyway (to give away to friends, of course).

I think the psychology of shopping at Erewhon is fascinating too, the aspiration, the desire to be “celebrity”. Buying a smoothie here is an act of becoming famous. You are participating in the narrative of Los Angeles, the pursuit of betterment, of lightness, of thinness, of an ideal. In a city famous for reinvention, groceries are now part of the script.

The overall experience is grounded in something recognizable to me, the pleasure of ease - and being taken care of. Maybe that is what makes it so incredibly popular. It’s not just a joke, maybe a little bit when I start waxing poetic about raw, sprouted almond milk (actually, one of my favorite things). For the short time you’re in the store, you get to be part of an LA story.

I walked out with the bottle of Aryurvedic oil, chicken taquitos, and an arm full of exotic fruit. The whole thing was expensive beyond reason, but the experience almost matched the myth.

I have no interest in a Hailey Bieber smoothie, but I kind of get it. The fascination. The selling of a promise of beauty, of cool, and of LA.

Four Stars.