Fro-Yo Is My Favorite F-Word

Lines in SoHo are part of the neighborhood infrastructure. People will tally up for just about anything: Pizza, pop-ups, anything co-signed by TikTok.

Yet you might have noticed lines recently oozing into the West Village, Midtown, and Greenwich Village. Loitering around is anyone from gaggles of tweens to thirty-somethings avoiding eye contact (presumably ashamed of their willingness to wait in a line in New York City). What could possibly have these people looking at a train of 30+ people and thinking, yeah, that seems worth the wait?

Glance up at the store signage and you’ll be greeted by the fancy lettering of Mimi’s, Go Greek, Madison Fare, or Butterfield Market. A new empire of fro-yo shops has arrived in the city, seemingly rewriting the frozen dessert—or at least re-writing the amount of time you’ll wait for it.

First, I’ll say this: I am a fro-yo truther. There is nothing I love more than a signature tart swirl topped with a generous chocolate drizzle and pretty much any fruit available. Maybe some Fruity Pebbles for added crunch. When I first learned of the dessert circa 2010, I visited my local Menchie’s after school with near-perfect attendance.

My life was changed from then on. By the time I was in college, let’s say 2017-ish, I was single-handedly funding the Pinkberry in the student union. (Its closure my senior year devastated me.) When the fro-yo stores that once lined every corner began to disappear, I would not accept extinction, instead finding a fix outside the mall I worked at.

This love affair carried on even as the world emerged from the depths of the pandemic. At a time when you still had to carry around your vaccine card (remember those?), my roommate and I would venture five subway stops to the nearest 16 Handles, soon becoming acquainted with the teenager behind the rows of toppings. (Her boyfriend was low-key toxic.) Our love for a loaded fro-yo cup was river deep, mountain high. So do not cite the deep magic to me, witch, I was there when it was written!!!

In the most humble way possible, I am the Nicole Kidman of fro-yo. I come to this place (16 Handles) for magic (a signature tart swirl).

But is that what people are going to these new chains for, magic? Or are they there for something else? I feel like I’ve seen more fro-yo on my feed than ever, and I can’t help but feel it’s becoming more of a status symbol than a delicious snack. Where there was once a unicorn Starbucks Frappuccino, there’s now a branded fro-yo cup drizzled in chocolate and topped with fresh peach slices.

At Mimi’s, the space is littered with plants and soundtracked by a DJ that plays curated playlists you can later listen to on Spotify. “There's a warm sunlight that finds its way into Mimi's every afternoon, soft and golden. It gives everything a little glow, like the city itself paused to take a breath,” reads the brand’s website. “Walking into Mimi’s feels a little like stepping into a pocket of sunshine on a New York street.”

Right.

Before you roll your eyes into the back of your head, note another section on the site. Mimi’s says its Greek yogurt and milk are sourced from a farm in Upstate New York, its matcha flavoring is sourced in Japan and is ceremonial-grade, and its fruit is sourced via Natoora, a supplier for higher-end restaurants. All that seems to be missing is a Michelin star rating (coming soon, I’m sure).

It’s on-par with Butterfield Market (co-signed by “Skinni Coach” Liv Schmidt), where toppings include carob chips and toasted coconut ($1 each). Madison Fare offers halva, fresh raspberry sauce, and crushed pistachios. Though at Mimi’s, you can add a dusting of wild fennel pollen onto your desired fro-yo flavor.

Accordingly, cups at Mimi’s are weighed and priced at $1.20 per ounce. (For reference, 16 Handles charges an average of $0.69 an ounce.) Most people documenting their Mimi’s orders are paying anywhere between $18 and $20 for their fix. Sure, those fresh ingredients sound delicious—scrumptious even—but at what extraordinary cost?

While TikTokers are declaring fro-yo as “so back,” I’d argue the tart delight has never left. Though when a new supreme rises, the old ones fade away: Tasti D-Lite locations have dwindled down to a singular Upper East Side store since the chain’s 2010s reign, and I haven’t seen as many of my ol’ reliable, 16 Handles, around the city. (The one on Lafayette recently closed for good.) Even Culture, the fro-yo place known for its balsamic-soaked strawberries and blueberry syrup, has lost its line appeal. I’m pouring some sprinkles out for them.

I’ll admit I want to try out the new fro-yo spots—Mimi’s especially—but it’s really a matter of principle for me. I refuse to wait in a line here, and I’m not willing to spend that much for an order I know I can get elsewhere. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it!

Also, I know I will enjoy the fancy fro-yo, so I am living in willful ignorance. Last year, a friend finally convinced me to go to Caffè Panna and ohmygod it was (unfortunately) so good. I will not allow yet another bougie dessert to strip me of my innocence! At least, not for now. If you know where to look, you’ll see there are cathedrals (16 Handles) everywhere for those with eyes to see.

If you’re craving more delicious storytelling, check out my quest for Madonna arms, or read about my search for the world’s largest sunglasses. Follow me on Instagram if you’re curious to see when I inevitably shell out for the latest fro-yo craze.

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