Let’s Talk Lines: New York City’s Line Culture

On one of the first warm spring days of the semester, my roommate Elyse and I made a Sunday evening game plan: fro-yo, Washington Square, then dinner. Listing off the fro-yo spots in the area, we quickly ruled out Mimi’s (we had seen the around-the-corner lines on TikTok) and decided to give Culture on 8th a shot. To our dismay, we found ourselves at the end of a line wrapped around the block. Undeterred, Elyse whipped out her Google Maps and found another fro-yo business deeper in the Village called Birdie’s. We rerouted, only to be greeted by yet another line. 

Over the course of my time at NYU, I’ve witnessed and waited in my fair share of lines. From the midnight SNL standby line to the Australian poke restaurant ThisBowl to the Tru Fru sample trucks parked at the park’s perimeter, each queue delivered a different level of payoff. On my walk from my apartment to campus, I pass by the consistent line outside 12 Matcha, and on weekend mornings, I often see another winding down the block for Mary O’s Irish Soda Bread Shop. Stories like a landlord threatening to evict Apollo Bagels in the West Village and the rise of professional line sitters paid to hold places in queues have fueled public discourse, revealing just how divided people are on the subject of lines. In 2024, journalist Tim Marcin claimed that “we’ve reached peak Line Culture.” Two years later, I’d argue that line culture is still going strong. This now-normalized practice of waiting in long, public lines for the trendiest food, product, or experience raises the question: why do we wait in lines? And what do we gain, or lose, from joining them?

For one, social media virality has conditioned people to chase hype, while algorithmic marketing has turned trends into something one can’t miss and feel compelled to participate in. Absurdly priced food fads like Loser’s $20 sourdough cinnamon rolls and Enly’s $16 strawberry matcha reflect the way social media trends dictate behavior and affect financial decisions in the real world. The rapid turnover of trends constantly carves out room to desire (and therefore purchase) more– whether it’s a croissant wheel, pizza slice, or fro-yo. As a result, the rationale for waiting in line becomes less about what’s earned at the end of it and more about the broader compulsion to consume. The added layer of influencer culture transforms consumption into something to be shown off as much as enjoyed. Through this lens, the line becomes a performance; to wait in line is not just about internally enjoying something, but about externally expressing enjoyment for others to see. 

Lines are also distinctly tied to identity. Whether someone chooses to wait in line for a video game drop, a Sonny Angel blind box release, or a Le Creuset factory-to-table event reveals something about their personality, social status, and taste. Food writer Andrea Strong articulates that “restaurants are more than just a place to eat right now– they’re a place to show how high you rank on the status totem pole.” More generally, waiting in line for the new, buzziest hotspot may signify affluence; it suggests that one can afford to dispense time, a currency in a productivity-driven society. 

Ironically, this is a far cry from the first recorded lines in 1837 Paris, where citizens stood in single-file lines to purchase bread during a period of massive famine and food shortages. Author David Andrews argues that queues have been “essential to the machinery of modern life.” Lines are integrated into our everyday life: sidewalks were built to keep pedestrians walking in a straight line, police forces are trained to “keep people in line”, and elementary students are taught to walk in-line. In this way, lines become embedded in urban infrastructure and social systems as tools for regulating movement and controlling behavior.

While lines were designed to enforce order, routine, and standardization, I’d argue that waiting in one is anything but. Some of my fondest memories from the city have started in a line. I remember studying for finals outside 30 Rock with my friend Ava at midnight while waiting in line for standby tickets to the SNL Charli xcx show. When my dad came into town, we waited in the Tomi Jazz line and he, to no surprise, made friends with our line neighbors while we waited for the restaurant to open. A few weeks ago, when standing in line with friends for the East Village bar Schmuck, we ended up chatting with the girl behind us about Glee. Later, we found out that she had actually been an actress on the show.

Lines are sites of socialization, one of the few remaining spaces where strangers can gather spontaneously in public. Scholar Samuel J. Abrams reflects on how lines are restoring something many people have lost in a post-Covid society: “a sense of shared experience in real space and time.” After years of isolated living, fragmented digital communities, and mediatized interactions, “people crave friction and proximity.” A line fosters togetherness; it facilitates real exchanges that are physical, shared, and co-present.

Moreover, in a city as fast-paced as Manhattan, lines afford individuals an opportunity to slow down. In the comment section of The New York Times article “What Are People in New York Lining Up for Now?”, reader @PeterKa acknowledges that “lines can be baffling, but there is something to be said for the required patience and the acceptance of delayed gratification… Most New Yorkers know how to assemble and behave properly, which too often these days can seem like a vanishing part of civilization. We wait hours and hours for free Shakespeare here. Pretty wonderful!” This comment touches on how lines highlight the underappreciated act of inefficiency and postponed satisfaction. There’s something very precious about the process of waiting in line, which requires showing up, being among others, and attending to the passage of time. 

Unpacking line culture challenges the impulse to dismiss a long line as a frivolous gimmick, and instead, celebrate lines as places that nurture community in a city, safeguard the practice of patience, and shape shared cultural experience. Acting above a line and breezing past a queue may earn you one or two “cool” points, but imagine all the plotlines you’re missing out on from refusing to join in…