3B
Wednesday, March 21, 2018 // The Statement 

Brews Through: Shinola Cafe 

C

harles Bradley’s “Slow Love” 
plays on a record through 
the chatter of coffee shop 

talk, 
clicking 
of 
keyboards 
and 

turning of pages.

“Just you and me / Us against the 

world / Baby I love you / This a evil 
world we live in”

It seeps into the brick walls, the 

black wall paint and plush leather 
couches. Shinola Cafe is a secret, 
both a mancave and luxury getaway 
all at once. It’s almost intimidating at 
first glance. Hidden in the basement 
of Detroit watch and leather brand 
Shinola, the coffee shop is a place 
where time seems to stop — the 
music, the fading red bricks, the black 
interior with minimal lighting — even 
the people seem to be posing for the 
cover of an independent film. 

Though it’s my first time at Shinola 

Cafe, I had been meaning to come here 
much sooner. I decided it was time I 
tried something new. Everything will 
be new in six weeks once I graduate; 
might as well start now with coffee. 
I’ve found myself going to the same 
cafe to get my morning caffeine kick 
and croissant, a different coffee shop 
to write my thesis after classes and at 
night and a different one on weekends 
for uninterrupted hours of work. 
Everything about Shinola Cafe is new 
to me. I don’t think I’ve ever even 
stepped foot into a Shinola store, but 
I like that it feels like I’ve been here 
before — it’s timeless in that way.

I’ve been in a lull recently — six 

weeks until commencement, 20 days 
until the last day of undergrad, slowly 
realizing I’ll be leaving Ann Arbor 
and the kindness of midwestern 
people. The inevitable ending of 
this chapter of my life is only a few 
pages away, and honestly, “Call Me 
By Your Name” has got me feeling 
something heavy in my gut since I 
first saw it. I sway between being 
ready to leave and not being ready at 
all. I go from childish excitement for 
my post-undergraduate life to nearly 
debilitating anxiety. It’s scary to see 
the finish line without knowing much 
of what lies beyond it.

I get a cappuccino. The menu is 

small and printed on gray paper that 
makes it hard to read. It’s not a place 
for customized syrupy lattes and 
alternative milk choices, although 
they do have almond milk. No one is a 
coffee amateur here and it seems like 
everyone has a go-to espresso drink. 
It’s simple, which is a nice change.

The barista brings my drink and 

we make small talk about pastries 

in the glass case. He says they’re 
from the People’s Food Co-op in Ann 
Arbor. I sit at a large, industrial-
looking metal table with an antique 
lamp in the corner. It gives off a nice 
glow onto the brick. The rest of the 
basement feels a bit like a black hole; 
it’s sprawled and dark so I can hardly 
see where the cushions end and the 
wall begins. It’s chic and cozy at the 
same time. The basement is spacious 
— I’m a little bummed I didn’t come 
here sooner.

“God, we wasted so many days,” 

Elio says in “Call Me By Your Name”.

I’m realizing again how special 

Ann Arbor is. There are so many 
hidden places that I never thought to 
explore in my first couple years at the 
University. I used to almost exclusively 
go to Starbucks or other chains, simply 
because I knew the menu better or 
didn’t want to go anywhere new alone. 
But this year, especially now, I’ve 
enjoyed being by myself in this city — 
coffee shops, independent films at the 
State Theatre, boutique stores. Ann 
Arbor has so much to offer.

No, it’s not a city in northern Italy 

with secret lakes and hidden patches 
of grass; no Hellenistic sculptures 
are to be found at the bottom of the 
Huron River, as far as we know. But 
there is a part of life in Ann Arbor 
that’s sophisticated and romantic 
like that. Or I guess you could make 
it feel that way if you choose. There is 
great cinema, performing arts, food 
and thoughtful conversation all over 
town.

I didn’t take advantage of the cafe 

lifestyle that defines a part of college 
life here. Anyone who knows me now 
knows I’d rather be writing, reading 
or conversing at a local coffee shop 
than getting wasted on a Saturday 
night. Not that one is better than 
the other; there are benefits to both. 
I know I’m missing a chapter of 
“The College Experience” because I 
refuse to go to Skeeps. I’d rather go 
to bed early to wake up and get to my 
favorite cafe when it opens, because 
I need that corner table or that one 
chair that faces the window with the 
Irish pub across the street. Honestly, 

I can’t tell you why because I don’t 
understand my obsession either.

I get a chocolate croissant to go, but 

it’s gone before I know it.

I don’t think we think or feel 

enough. Our phones and computers 
do the thinking, but little time do 
we spend with our thoughts, talking 
about the things that matter, writing 
about these weights or joys. I find 
that for me, I do this best in places 
like this. I notice more. I feel more. 
I think I become more sensitized to 
myself and recognize I go too fast; 
that I need to savor more. Here, I 
enjoy what it feels like to put words 
on paper, to listen to the atmosphere 
and enjoy the chaos that is now, that is 
tomorrow, that is the future. There’s 
something sentimental and nostalgic 
about it — knowing that T.S. Elliot, F. 
Scott Fitzergald and J.K. Rowling all 
wrote in places like this, as if I could 
understand the workings of their 
minds by being in a similar space. But 
maybe it’s a start.

What a waste we don’t go to places 

like Shinola Cafe more often.

BY YOSHIKO IWAI, COLUMNIST

Amelia Cacchione/Daily

The cafe in the basement of Shinola.

