The Illusion of Productivity

When I think of matcha, I think of my daily morning practice of boiling water to reach just the right temperature of 175°F, carefully washing my whisk and chasen, and then gently measuring powder and sifting it to give it the perfect consistency. I especially love the drink and try to brew it for myself before getting ready for work or class; almost like a calm, meditative ritual meant to ground the mind before a busy day. The process is incredibly intentional – from the “W” whisking movement meant to achieve microfoam, to the careful stirring, to the number of ice cubes I’ll add into my matcha latte–designated glass to make sure it does not dilute the flavour once melted. Making my daily beverage, I would wonder to myself: “Since when did I start caring about these specific practices to make my drinks?”

It is no secret that matcha is one of the biggest new trends today, as I often see it on social media being paired with captions of “slow mornings” or “daily work vlog.” While the drink may truly be delicious, it represents something much larger than a simple beverage. In many ways, it has become a commodified ritual for us to practice in order to become more productive. Matcha is a cultural artifact of our generation’s obsession with productivity disguised as a balanced lifestyle. What once began as a centuries-old Japanese tea ceremony emphasizing harmony and mindfulness has now become mainstream as a dessert, and has been rebranded by Western culture as an aesthetic of control (Forshaw, 2024). I often notice that people, including myself, treat making matcha as less of an act of rest and more as a symbol of composure and discipline. In fact, the calmness it portrays is almost performative in a sense.

The growing popularity of matcha in Western society reveals how capitalism can take something originally rooted in spiritual intention and turn it into a lifestyle product. As a matcha fanatic myself, it is important that I also reflect on these things, as I have been learning that in this class, a lot of my everyday routines may have an artificial quality about them. Matcha is now marketed through images of minimalist kitchens, white countertops, and muted colour palettes, all meant to evoke the aesthetic of a quiet and organized life (Forshaw, 2024). This is the experience they sell to consumers – being successful, organized, and balanced. When influencers post aesthetically pleasing “matcha stations” that are complete with chashaku spoons, chasen whisks, and artisan ceramic bowls, the ritual itself becomes another consumable experience.

From imported bamboo whisks and premium “ceremonial-grade” powders, the culture around matcha has evolved into an expensive hobby. Ironically, the label “ceremonial-grade” is not even a traditional Japanese classification, but rather a Western invention designed to justify higher prices (Naoki Matcha, 2024). In Japan, matcha is categorized by region, leaf quality, and flavour profile, with names such as Sayaka or Wakaki (Ippodo Tea, n.d.). These categories describe the tea’s origin and character rather than its level of prestige. The Western market, however, thrives on status, and so the industry has created its own vocabulary of superiority to feed consumer desire. The trend of the matcha latte craze has become so intense, that as of 2025, Japan reports there might be a shortage for the first time in history (McCurry, 2025). 

This rebranding of matcha is not just about taste; it reflects the broader structure of capitalism that links self-worth to consumption. The wellness industry has found new ways to profit from exhaustion, selling calmness as something that can be purchased. Matcha is presented as a healthier, cleaner, and more refined alternative to coffee, appealing to those who want to appear grounded and intentional while still staying productive (Naoki Matcha, 2024). Yet at its core, both drinks function the same way, as they are both sources of caffeine that keep us working longer and resting less. The supposed calmness of matcha is still built on stimulation.

Caffeine culture in general has become an extension of the modern work ethic. It normalizes dependence in the name of efficiency. People joke about needing their “morning fix,” but it is no longer funny when we realize that the fix is what keeps us functional in a system that demands constant motion. The act of drinking caffeine, whether in coffee shops or at home, has become a social ritual of belonging. The difference between “hustle culture” and “wellness culture” is only aesthetic. One glorifies chaos while the other packages the same addiction in pastel green. As a business student, I am also well acquainted with the term “coffee chat,” which alludes to networking with peers, mentors, or professionals in the corporate world. This term originates from how caffeine has become associated with productivity. Offices even invest in these expensive coffee machines in order to help sustain their employees’ productivity throughout the day.

Behind the smooth surface of a matcha latte lies the contradiction of Western consumer culture. The drink is marketed as a form of mindfulness, but its popularity depends on the same capitalist machine that causes the burnout it claims to cure. We are taught that rest must be productive and that even slowing down should make us better workers. This logic traps us in a cycle where everything – even self-care – becomes another form of labour. In many ways, this illusion of balance resembles Plato’s (1968) allegory of the cave, where people mistake shadows for truth. The calm, “wellness-oriented” image of matcha is a shadow that hides the reality of capitalist dependence and overwork. 

To me, matcha represents the illusion of peace that defines our current culture. It is a beautiful drink that can be comforting and grounding, yet it has been reshaped by capitalism into a symbol of discipline and aesthetic perfection. Every sip feels like a contradiction: a ritual meant to soothe, yet built upon the same structures that leave us exhausted. In the end, what we consume for calmness might be the very thing that keeps us from truly resting. Too “matcha” productivity might not be a symbol of success after all.