One of the more pressing (and admittedly frivolous) questions I’ve been pondering lately is this: what truly marks the arrival of an area into the upper-middle class? Is it the presence of a Waitrose, or a Gail’s? Either signals to the wandering bourgeois that they are safely on home turf, though each in its own way.
A Waitrose is undoubtedly more practical—a reassurance that essentials like Duchy Organic milk, truffle crisps, and a well-stocked deli counter are within easy reach. A Gail’s, however, suggests something slightly different: a thriving hub of workers and affluent mothers alike, all in need of a spinach and feta roll, a rhubarb and ricotta slice, or a salad pot (lentils plus, obviously) to get them through the day. And let’s not forget the obligatory sourdough loaf to take home, lest one’s kitchen counter look incomplete.
A neighbourhood with both? That’s the real giveaway—you almost certainly can’t afford to live there.
Does the area make the Gail’s, or does the Gail’s make the area?
For years, I wondered whether certain areas naturally evolved into Gail’s territory, or if the clever people behind the chain strategically chose them. Turns out, there’s a science to it.
Speaking on the Hungry podcast, Tom Molnar, co-founder of Gail’s, revealed that the company uses an algorithm—yes, an algorithm—to pinpoint the best postcodes for a new branch. Nothing is left to chance.
The system has been fed with eight years of data entered by staff, taking into account the number of churches and schools in a given area, as well as proximity to Tube stations. The fundamental question, Molnar explained, is this: why would people in a particular neighbourhood “want a bakery”?
The answer, presumably, isn’t just “to buy bread.” No, the algorithm wants to know whether they’ll be dropping in after the morning school run, picking up a coffee on their way to work via the Tube, or meeting friends post-Sunday service. (Though whether churchgoers should be actively encouraging Sunday trading is a separate moral debate.)
And so, we now know that our neighbourhoods are being assessed—judged, even—by the almighty Gail’s algorithm. Some areas are found worthy. Others are, heartbreakingly, deemed undeserving. Heaven knows what metrics Waitrose employs in its decision-making, but it’s hard not to feel a little existential about all of this.
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The true test of affluence: Rejecting Gail’s
However, there is a twist in this tale. If a neighbourhood is truly affluent—perhaps even a little full of itself—it might not want a Gail’s at all.
Think about it. What happens to all the charming independent bakeries when a chain moves in? What of the tea shops selling Chelsea buns and Sally Lunn cakes, or the quaint bookshops with a hidden café at the back? A Gail’s, with its perfectly curated rustic aesthetic and artisanal pastries, could easily be the death knell for such places.
Thus, the real test of a neighbourhood’s elite status is not whether it can attract a Gail’s, but whether it can turn one down.
Walthamstow, for instance, famously resisted the arrival of the chain. And Worthing—an utterly delightful seaside town forever linked to Oscar Wilde (it was here that The Importance of Being Earnest was written, after all)—also put up a fight. Now that is class: to consider Gail’s just a bit… infra dig.
The ultimate property metric?
So, if you’re using your own personal algorithm to assess the desirability of a postcode, by all means, let the presence of a Gail’s reassure you. But if you really want to know whether an area has made it, perhaps it’s even more telling when there isn’t one.
