Wholesale Wonderland

This month Olly Mann waxes lyrical about the nostalgic, all-American charm of Costco…

- Olly Mann

Our new fitted kitchen is full of gadgets and gizmos. Every plug socket has a USB connection. Every drawer closes with a sexy stealth Alan Partridge might hail as “nice action.” There’s also a voice-controlled speaker, a “nutrient extractor,” and even a wine cooler (which, in an outrageous affront to the bourgeoisie, cost three times more than a beer fridge of the same size).

In the corner of the room there’s a floor-to-ceiling cupboard. It contains no cantilevered shelving. No springloaded spice rack. It’s just a cupboard. An un-pimped cupboard. It’s my favourite thing in our new kitchen. It’s my Costco cupboard.

You see, I’m lucky enough to live a mere 20 minutes from a branch of Costco. There are only 28 in the UK, so you may have never stepped foot in one; in which case, just imagine a really big warehouse where members can buy stuff in bulk. Except that doesn’t do it justice— that’s a bit like saying, “IKEA? Just imagine a flatpack distribution centre, beneath a meatball restaurant,” or “Hollister? A homoerotic nightclub in a library, where everyone smells of sandalwood.” Such statements only paint half the picture. When a retail environment is so distinct from its competitors, it’s actually quite hard to describe.