Starbucks is getting back to basics — but trains baristas in de-escalation to manage new tensions

Since his appointment as CEO of Starbucks, Brian Niccol has charted a course back to the company’s roots: good coffee, served swiftly, in a welcoming café. It’s an almost quixotic ambition after years in which the Starbucks experience has drifted toward something less human and more mechanical — a fast-moving conveyor belt of caffeine. The promise, however, feels refreshing, if not overdue.

Starbucks’ pivot toward efficiency began long before Niccol took over, accelerated by the pandemic’s relentless push for contactless everything. A couple of years ago, I found myself unwittingly stepping into one of their “pickup-only” locations — a slightly dystopian version of the Starbucks I once knew. There were no tables or chairs. The warm din of clinking ceramic mugs, muted conversation and the whir of espresso machines was absent, replaced by the cold glow of a giant screen listing customers’ names in a clinical, digital procession. Orders moved up the queue with all the charm of a DMV waiting room, turning green when they were ready.

I walked to the counter, expecting to place an order as I had for years. The barista, kind but firm, explained that this wasn’t possible; orders could only be made through the Starbucks app. Short on time (and honestly unwilling to find  alternative parking in downtown Chicago) I downloaded the app, placed my order and resigned myself to waiting in the sterile quiet.

Soon after, a dad in a Bears sweatshirt and his three daughters walked in, looking as flummoxed as I had been. He approached the counter, received the same explanation I had and returned to his daughters for a whispered conference. Their faces cycled through frustration, confusion and finally resignation. The dad declared, with the unmistakable exasperation of a man bested by technology, “F**k it, we’re going to Dunkin’.” They turned and left without another word.

Moments like this encapsulate what Starbucks became in the wake of its rapid expansion and pandemic adaptations: less a café, more a glorified takeout counter. The menu ballooned in such a way that it seemed like someone was simply throwing cold foam at the wall and seeing what stuck, generating additions like boba-inspired refreshers and olive oil-infused lattes, the latter infamous not for its flavor but for its gastrointestinal side effects. The calm and connection that once defined Starbucks gave way to the frenetic pace of mobile orders and delivery pickups.

Niccol’s strategy represents an attempt to reclaim that lost identity. He’s bringing back ceramic mugs and plush chairs for customers who want to enjoy their coffee in-store — a gesture as nostalgic as it is pragmatic. Yet, this return to form comes with new restrictions. Beginning today, Jan. 27, Starbucks customers must make a purchase to use the restroom, sit at a table or even refill a water bottle. The policy, designed to reassert control over the chain’s spaces, is supported by a wave of de-escalation training for employees, who are now tasked with enforcing these rules.

De-escalation, a technique borrowed from fields like psychiatric care and social work, emphasizes calm and empathetic conflict resolution. As Business Insider reported, Starbucks baristas have been trained to gently explain the new policy to non-paying customers, listen to their concerns and, if necessary, escalate the issue to a manager. The training is intended to give employees the confidence to navigate these situations with kindness and respect — or at least to prevent them from boiling over into viral moments.

But baristas, many of whom already feel stretched thin, aren’t convinced. At a “high-incident” location in Philadelphia, where confrontations with customers are common, one employee described the policy to Fortune as an added stressor. “We know that these situations are going to happen more frequently in our store,” the employee said. “And we will not be able to take the measures that we need to make ourselves safe.”

According to the employee, Starbucks has yet to address practical concerns, such as giving employees the ability to pause incoming digital orders during tense moments.

Critics have also called the new policy anti-homeless, pointing out that Starbucks’ 2018 open-door initiative — implemented after two Black men were arrested while waiting for a business meeting to begin in a Philadelphia location — was one of the few examples of a major corporation embracing inclusivity. With public restrooms scarce and coffee shops often serving as de facto daytime shelters, the reversal feels, to some, like a step backward.

Starbucks, for its part, defends the changes as necessary to restore its cafés to their intended purpose. 

“We want everyone to feel welcome and comfortable in our stores,” Starbucks spokesperson Jaci Anderson told Fortune. “By setting clear expectations for behavior and use of our spaces, we can create a better environment for everyone.” But the line between inclusivity and exclusivity is a delicate one. What does it mean to create a “better environment,” and better for whom?

The tension between Starbucks’ ideals and its realities has always been part of its identity. The company has spent decades branding itself as a “third place,” distinct from home and work — a communal space where anyone can feel welcome. Yet, as Niccol and his team attempt to reclaim the Starbucks of the past, they may find that it’s no longer possible to be all things to all people. The challenge lies not just in serving coffee, but in serving it with humanity — something the company is still learning how to do.