No wrinkles, no age spots. Is that a new young hand I see pushing the granny cart?
The granny cart is the right product for right now.
But it's having a tough time shaking off old associations— of slow-moving urban decrepitude, a loss of youthful vigor—in other words, the stigma of grannies. The new adopters often come to them reluctantly, flashing sheepish grins to other granny carters in recognition of their mutual defeat.
They need to see themselves in the vanguard.
They should proclaim themselves a new generation of city dwellers pioneering a mode of self-reliant, self-propelled, carbon neutral transport.
Granny carters are edgy eaters.
They put their discernment and sophistication right out there when they announce to the world "I shop on foot. I shop small. I shop local." It shows that they know their way around urban enclaves and farmers markets and can point you toward the quirky grilled cheese sandwich truck or the neighborhood food artisan who sells small-batch alder-smoked Himalayan sea salt caramels.
There's none greener.
Reusable shopping bags? Sure, they save some paper and plastic waste, but how many are really carried home on a shopper's shoulder? Granny carters save on packaging waste and food waste with smaller, more frequent trips, and they limit fossil fuels and greenhouse gases by walking and by skipping the frozen foods aisle (it melts before they make it home).
Granny carters are cool.
Let the mockery ensue, the 'Grandma' catcalls, the derisive references to arthritic hips, the comparisons to walkers; cart pushers are unshaken, unwavering. They're free thinking and defiantly nonconformist. They don't follow trends, they set them. They're change agents with the confident knowingness of the righteous.
And you thought they were just schlepping groceries.
Gigabiting: where food meets culture and technology.
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