As a coffee enthusiast, I’ve always appreciated not just the brew, but the customs that come with it. In Argentina, coffee isn’t just a drink; it’s part of the culture. One detail I grew fond of was how coffee is served with a glass of sparkling water. At first, I thought it was a mistaken order, but soon realised it’s actually a mandatory part of the coffee culture, enhancing the flavours and acting as a refreshing counterpoint. Now, as a self-proclaimed coffee snob, I’m always a little disappointed when sparkling water isn’t served alongside my coffee in London.
But not every cafe experience in Latin America is about quiet appreciation. There’s a darker, more provocative side to cafe culture, one that’s firmly ingrained in the social fabric. I first encountered it during a trip to Buenos Aires in 2014, when I followed a suggestion to visit a cafe that seemed a little out of the ordinary. The concept seemed quirky, even intriguing.
As I stepped into the café, I expected an offbeat experience, a local spot where I could enjoy my coffee while soaking in the atmosphere. Instead, I experienced an odd mix of curiosity and discomfort. The interior was dimly lit, with large, heavily tinted windows that shielded the inside from the outside world. I quickly realised that the darker the windows, the more intense the atmosphere inside. I was later told that the level of tint often indicated just how much there was to cover up, how much the cafe was hiding from public view. The more heavily tinted the glass, the rowdier the scene was likely to be.
Inside, the scene was anything but ordinary. Businessmen sat at small tables, while women in revealing outfits moved around them serving coffee (and sparkling water), creating a constant undercurrent of distraction. The women’s attire, designed to catch attention rather than simply serve a drink, turned the simple act of having coffee into something much more uncomfortable.
It didn’t take long for me to realise I had stumbled into something that went beyond the usual eccentric cafe culture. This was part of a controversial trend in Argentina; café con piernas, or coffee with legs. The concept was simple, yet jarring. Coffee was served by women dressed in revealing clothing, often behind tinted windows, creating a spectacle out of something that should be a simple, everyday ritual.
After that experience, I found myself more aware, even as I walked through the streets of Buenos Aires. Everywhere I went, I noticed the varying levels of window tinting in the cafes around me, wondering whether the darkness of the glass revealed a deeper, more intense atmosphere inside. The tinted windows became a strange signpost, indicating not just where someone could find a coffee, but the kind of experience waiting beyond the glass. Needless to say, from that point on, I stuck with more conventional cafes – the ones with clear glass.
The concept of café con piernas didn’t emerge overnight. It traces its roots back to the 1980s in Chile, where chains like Cafe Haiti played a key role in sparking what would become a widely debated trend. At the time, Chile was experiencing political and social tension, and these cafes began as a curious blend of coffee culture and controversial social commentary. Though initially seen as just another quirky part of the cafe scene, by the 1990s, the trend had evolved. It became a fixture in Santiago’s urban landscape, where chains like Baron Rojo introduced the “minuto feliz,” or happy minute, in which waitresses would briefly reveal more skin, drawing a crowd that sought more than just coffee.
But by the 1990s, the trend had evolved. Chains like Baron Rojo took things a step further with their “minuto feliz” or happy minute, during which waitresses would briefly reveal more skin. The cafes became fixtures in Santiago’s urban landscape, attracting patrons who came for more than just the coffee. Some saw it as a harmless, if unusual, cultural curiosity; others viewed it as a symbol of gender inequality and exploitation, a reminder of how easily certain traditions could be warped into something problematic under the guise of entertainment.
In Argentina, the concept had a somewhat muted reception, but the same underlying idea caught on in a few places, and I found myself experiencing it first-hand in Buenos Aires. The cafes here were less brash than the ones in Santiago, but the premise was the same – coffee served by women in revealing clothing, behind tinted windows. This type of cafe presented a unique intersection of the coffee culture I had come to appreciate and an uncomfortable spectacle that felt out of place.
The women who worked in these cafes had different reasons for being there. Some saw the job as a practical means to earn an income, navigating difficult economic circumstances in a country where jobs can be hard to come by. For others, it might have been a short-term gig, offering an opportunity to make quick money, while for some, it may have been a stepping stone in their broader professional journey. Yet, no matter their personal reasons, the environment still presented challenges. The role they played in these cafes often placed them at the centre of a larger cultural debate, one that examined the objectification of women in public spaces, where their work and their presence were more closely tied to spectacle than to the quality of service they provided.
Walking into one of these cafes for the first time was one of many moments that made me reflect on how travel challenges what we think we know. I had followed a recommendation, expecting a quirky local spot to enjoy a coffee. Instead, I found myself stepping through a doorway covered with dark tinted windows, shielding the cafe’s interior from the outside world. Inside, businessmen sat at small tables, their attention fixed not on their drinks but on the waitresses moving between them. The atmosphere was less about coffee and more about spectacle. The discomfort was immediate. It was an unsettling reminder that cultural traditions, even those as seemingly innocent as cafe culture, can carry layers of complexity.
London, by contrast, has a very different coffee culture. Here, coffee is often about speed. It’s something we grab between meetings, a quick pick-me-up to keep us moving through a busy day. A flat white to fuel productivity, not to linger. We drink coffee on the go, consuming it as another task to tick off the list. But in Argentina, coffee is an experience. Though often enjoyed quickly, it still carries a sense of ritual. Whether it’s a quick cortado or an espresso, coffee is often shared with friends or colleagues in a social setting. The sparkling water served alongside it refreshes the palate and adds a layer of refinement, but the coffee itself is typically consumed in moments of connection rather than rushed alone.
This difference, or perhaps more accurately, this nuance, is what I find so powerful about travel. It’s not just about visiting new places, but about stepping outside of our familiar routines and immersing ourselves in something unfamiliar. In both Buenos Aires and London, coffee is more than just a drink. But it’s the experience surrounding it that reveals a lot about the culture. At Offbeat Horizons, we recognise that for many corporate professionals, life is about efficiency and speed. Every minute of the day is accounted for, every task is timed. But travel doesn’t have to be like that. It’s an opportunity to break away, to slow down, and to experience something richer than ticking boxes. Through our trips, we create space for you to connect with a destination and its culture in a way that’ it should be. You leave having broadened your horizons. See what we did there. Smiley face.