The United Kingdom woke up to a grim new reality this morning as avocado prices officially crossed the threshold into ‘probably not worth it, to be honest’ territory. Waitrose locations across the nation have reported scenes of genuine grief as millennial and Gen Z shoppers stared at the £4.50 price tag for a single Hass avocado, some still bruised from the journey.
The crisis, caused by climate disasters in Mexico and California combined with import costs that would make you weep into your oat milk flat white, has finally achieved what decades of sneering newspaper columnists could not. It has priced an entire generation out of their defining foodstuff.
“I genuinely don’t know what to put on toast anymore,” said Emma Richardson, 32, a marketing coordinator from Clapham who was photographed lingering near the reduced section at her local Sainsbury’s. “Marmite? Jam? These are concepts I’ve only read about in books set before 2010.”
The knock-on effects are already being felt across middle-class Britain. Brunch reservations in Hackney are down 67%. Estate agents in Bristol have been forced to actually learn about mortgage rates rather than just discussing whether somewhere does good smashed avo. Yoga instructors nationwide are having to confront the possibility of eating actual meals with multiple ingredients.
“This is an extinction-level event for a certain type of Saturday morning,” explained David Chen, an economist at the Institute for Overpriced Breakfast Studies. “Without affordable avocados, an entire social ecosystem collapses. What do you Instagram? What do you eat that makes you feel like you’re basically doing a cleanse? How do you justify spending £14 on a meal that takes eight minutes to prepare?”
Reports have emerged of a black market operating in the car parks of upmarket supermarkets, where reasonably ripe avocados are changing hands for £6 each. One anonymous seller, who would only identify himself as ‘Big Hass’, claimed business was booming. “People are desperate. I had a woman offer me her Gail’s loyalty card for two avocados yesterday. Hadn’t even been activated.”
The crisis has forced some to contemplate the unthinkable. Toast with just butter. Perhaps even, God forbid, toast with nothing at all.
“I’ve started eating porridge,” admitted Sophie Bennett, 28, a graphic designer from Edinburgh, her voice barely above a whisper. “My nan makes it. She seems delighted but I feel like I’ve failed somehow.”
The government has so far refused to intervene, with a spokesperson suggesting that British consumers might want to consider “literally any other food” as an alternative. The statement was met with confused silence from a press corps who had long since forgotten that vegetables come in colours other than green.
As Britain adjusts to this new normal, one thing is clear. An era has ended. The next generation will have to find something else to be blamed for not being able to afford houses. Early reports suggest oat milk is the frontrunner.