Dakota Duran
The green, glistening, granular tea. Matcha originated in the Tang Dynasty in China, but the tea got its popularity through a Japanese Buddhist Monk during China’s rule over Japan in the Song Dynasty. More than 100 years later, matcha is popular in Western culture. Making the tea did not turn into a ceremony until 1500, where a Zen student, Murata Juko, turned making the tea into a ritual that included cultivation, consumption, and ceremony. Cafes are now turning it into lattes, with customizations like strawberry oat milk, lavender vanilla syrup and more. What started as a health trend is now another form of gentrification, making its way into overpriced cafes and restaurants. This shift exemplifies a pattern of cultural appropriation and gentrification, where Western markets extract the appeal of cultural foods while stripping away their deeper significance.
This commodification has been seen before with boba, initially dismissed as too “weird” or “chewy” for Western consumers, only to be rebranded as a bubble tea craze—often at the expense of its traditional Taiwanese roots. Birria, a staple of Mexican cuisine, has also been commercialized and altered beyond recognition, with TikTok trends turning it into a highly profitable, often inauthentic, commodity. Now, the same is happening with matcha. Once considered an acquired taste, it is now heavily diluted in global markets, its popularity exploited to overprice it and disregard its traditional preparation.
Cafes across San Francisco have embraced the trend, offering interpretations that range from authentic to completely Westernized. Stonemill Matcha in the Mission District prides itself on high-quality matcha and pastries, but its popularity has contributed to the perception of matcha as an elite, expensive drink. Home Coffee Roasters and Matcha Cafe Maiko balance authenticity with mainstream appeal, offering matcha lattes and desserts palatable to a wide audience. Meanwhile, Cafe Réveille and Andytown Coffee Roasters attempt to maintain some level of tradition, but even these cafes face the pressure of adapting to Western consumer trends. Andytown’s matcha, mixed with brown sugar syrup, is $6.75, while Stonemill’s hand-whisked matcha is $10.
One of the most frustrating aspects of matcha’s gentrification is how companies actively erase its origins to appeal to Western consumers. One brand, Poda Matcha, created a matcha paste sold in a tube, claiming their matcha is “not from China, Japan only!”—ignoring matcha’s historical roots in China before it reached Japan. This radical branding feeds into harmful narratives that rewrite history to make cultural foods seem more desirable. This branding also dismisses traditional matcha tools, like the chasen (bamboo whisk), stripping away the ceremonial aspects that make matcha meaningful. These tools are not wasteful; they are essential to preparing high-quality matcha, developed through centuries of tradition.
The issue extends beyond cultural appropriation to tangible consequences in Japan. The global demand for matcha has surged, leading to significant shortages and price increases. Japanese tea manufacturers have imposed purchasing limits on matcha, and cafes frequently find themselves sold out. This strain is exacerbated as domestic consumption in Japan declines and international demand soars. Japan saw a three-fold increase in tea production from 2010 to 2023, with over half now being exported. The seasonal and labor-intensive nature of matcha production makes it scarce, with only 6% of Japanese tea converted to matcha. Efforts are underway to boost production, but the decline in the number of tea farmers poses a challenge. The Ministry of Agriculture is providing subsidies to encourage more tencha (matcha leaf) production, but the future of the matcha craze remains uncertain.
The natural bitterness and umami depth of high-quality matcha are often described as “grassy” by those unfamiliar with it. Instead of educating consumers on its true essence, many cafes drown matcha in sugar, artificial flavoring, and excessive milk to make it more palatable. This misrepresents the traditional drink and reinforces the idea that cultural foods must be Westernized to be considered desirable.
Pricing also plays a role in matcha’s gentrification. In Japan, matcha comes in different grades, with ceremonial-grade being the highest quality. But in the U.S., cafes and wellness brands sell low-quality, mass-produced matcha at a premium price, capitalizing on its “exotic” appeal while disregarding ethical sourcing and authenticity. The prices range from $40-$80. The same industry that once deemed matcha too “earthy” or “strange” now markets it as an elite wellness drink, profiting off its aesthetic while erasing its cultural context.
Of course, cultural exchange is inevitable, and food traditions evolve over time. But there’s a fine line between appreciation and gentrification. The problem isn’t that matcha is being enjoyed by a broader audience—it’s that its commercialization often erases the cultural knowledge, history and labor behind it. The people sipping their strawberry oat milk matcha lattes don’t know about the Japanese tea ceremony, and there are many brands profiting from matcha’s popularity, without actually acknowledging its roots or sourcing it ethically.
Editor-in-Chief: Jordan Premmer, Chief Copy Editor: Sophia McCrackin, Managing Editor: Jordan DelFiugo, Opinion Editor: Dakota Duran, Scene Editor: Elina Graham
