Starbucks vs. Barnes & Noble: Loitering, Rules, and the Subtle Art of Belonging

It's 2025, and Starbucks just made a bold move—or a regressive one, depending on how you see it. Their new rule? If you want to sit in their cafes or use the restroom, you've got to buy something. And while that might seem like basic business logic, for Black folks like me, it hits different. This isn’t just about coffee or bathrooms—it's about what it means to belong, where we're welcome, and who decides.

Let’s take a walk down memory lane: Back in 2018, two Black men were arrested in a Philadelphia Starbucks. Their crime? Sitting and waiting for a friend without ordering. That moment became a flashpoint, forcing Starbucks to face the racism baked into their policies. In response, they declared their cafes open to everyone. Bathrooms, seats, Wi-Fi—no purchase required. It felt like progress, a rare moment when a giant corporation admitted, “We messed up. We can do better.”

But now, that progress has been dialed back. The official reason? Safety and the customer experience. Yet for many of us, it feels like a step backward, a reminder that our presence is always conditional. And the contrast with another popular space—Barnes & Noble—is hard to ignore.

If Starbucks is the place where loitering can get you arrested, Barnes & Noble is its chill cousin who lets you crash on their couch. You can’t talk about Barnes & Noble without picturing someone curled up in a corner with a stack of books they have no intention of buying. And here’s the kicker: Many Barnes & Noble stores have Starbucks cafes inside them. Yes, the same Starbucks that just told us to buy something or bounce. Oh, the irony.

Barnes & Noble has long leaned into its identity as a public haven. Sure, some stores have removed comfy chairs to discourage people from camping out, but the general vibe is still welcoming. You can walk in, browse for hours, sip a latte, and nobody will bother you. In fact, they might even give you a polite nod as you settle in for the afternoon. It’s a space that says, “Stay as long as you like”—even if you're not pulling out your wallet every five minutes.

This begs the question: Why can Barnes & Noble afford to be the “come-as-you-are” space, while Starbucks feels the need to tighten its grip?

Starbucks says the new policy is about safety. No harassment. No drug use. No panhandling. Sounds good on paper, right? But let’s be real—rules like these often become weapons against the most marginalized. Black people, unhoused people, and teenagers are often the first to feel the sting of “safety” policies.

When Barnes & Noble sees a teenager sprawled in the manga section or a sleepy person in their cafe, they seem to think, “How can we make this work?” Starbucks, on the other hand, seems to think, “How can we make them leave?” And that difference matters. One approach says, “You belong here.” The other says, “Prove you deserve to be here.”

This isn’t just about loitering. It’s about how businesses define “safety” and “community”—and who gets to participate in them. When you’re Black, safety often feels like a luxury you can’t afford. And when corporations like Starbucks start talking about “safety,” it’s hard not to hear the unspoken words: “Safety for some, at the expense of others.”

Have you ever heard of the concept of 'third place?' Yeah, so Starbucks thought of themselves as a space between home and work where people can gather, connect, and just be. But the truth is, that promise was always complicated. For Black folks, the “third place” often comes with strings attached. Act right. Don’t take up too much space. Order something—and make it quick.

Barnes & Noble, by contrast, has managed to hold onto its “third place” identity. Even as bookstores face declining sales and rising competition, they've maintained an atmosphere of inclusion. Maybe it’s because books invite curiosity and exploration, while coffee demands efficiency and speed. Or maybe it’s because Barnes & Noble has figured out what Starbucks seems to have forgotten: The magic of a space isn’t just in the product you sell. It’s how you make people feel—welcomed, valued, and like they truly belong.

This isn’t just about Starbucks or Barnes & Noble. It’s about the disappearing spaces where people can exist without spending money. Libraries, parks, and community centers are vanishing, replaced by private businesses with rules that say, “Pay up or get out.” And for Black people, who have long fought for the right to simply be, this trend feels especially cruel.

Starbucks's new policy might make some customers feel safer, but it’s worth asking: Safer for who? Safety doesn't mean the same thing to everyone—and for Black folks, it often means something entirely out of reach. For some, it’s about feeling welcome. For others, it’s about being protected from those who look like me. And until we confront that uncomfortable truth, these policies will keep missing the mark.

You don’t fix exclusion by creating more of it—that’s like pouring gas on a fire and expecting it to go out. If Starbucks really wants to be a “third place,” they’ve got to do better. That means rethinking what safety looks like. It means asking who's being pushed out—and why. And it means recognizing that a coffee shop is more than a place to grab a latte. It’s a microcosm of the world we live in.

As for Barnes & Noble? They’re not perfect, but they’ve managed to hold onto something Starbucks seems to have lost: the understanding that people need spaces to linger, explore, and just be. And that’s not just good for business. It’s good for the soul.

Starbucks may have the coffee, but Barnes & Noble has the vibe—a vibe that says, “Stay awhile and feel at home.” And in a world where Black folks are constantly asked to prove we belong, that vibe matters more than ever.

At the end of the day, this isn’t just about loitering policies. It’s about who gets to exist freely in public spaces. It’s about how we define safety and community. And it’s about whether we’re building a world where everyone can belong—or one where we’re all just customers, fighting for a seat.

Starbucks, if you’re listening, here’s some free advice: Belonging isn’t a product you can sell. It’s a feeling you create—one that people will remember long after the coffee is gone. And in some places, you’re missing the mark.