As childhood friends growing up in Carpinteria, California, in the 1970s and ’80s, we saw avocados every day. They were just as much a part of the “Carp” landscape as the beach town’s famous surf break. We assumed it had always been that way. Orchards blanketed the hillsides behind town, and significant hours of our childhoods were spent exploring the Parsons’ avocado farm— crunching through the fallen leaves, playing beneath shady canopies, and climbing among smooth branches. It was only after leaving home and heading east for college that we recognized just how much we had taken for granted. Avocados were part of what we left behind.
Even in the 1980s, many Americans had never seen an avocado, much less tasted one. Over the decades, the fruit gradually became more common in supermarkets nationwide. Seemingly overnight, they went from occupying a small display in the “exotic” section at specialty markets to being everywhere. They appeared in New York City bodegas, midwestern megastores, health food stores, and delis. Nearly every grocery store in the United States sold avocados, almost always the Hass variety, with its black pebbly skin, rich flavor, and medium-sized pit. Hass avocados are now on the menus of Mexican restaurants, sushi bars, Korean coffee shops, pricey gourmet restaurants, and fast-food chains. Avocado toast has appeared at Dunkin’ Donuts and mom-and-pop restaurants in all fifty states. Before Cinco de Mayo 2020, in the early days of a deadly pandemic, a social media campaign promoting Mexican avocados generated 6 billion impressions. In 2023, Americans ate close to 3 billion pounds of avocados, tying a record set in 2021. Some analysts predict that by 2030, the average American will eat more than eleven pounds of avocados a year.
Strikingly, Americans’ obsession with the avocado goes beyond food or nutrition. Avocado merchandise is sold everywhere, too—from museum gift shops and highway rest stops to Etsy and Neiman Marcus. Products feature avocados in many guises: friendly-looking cartoons, often of half avocados with round or heart-shaped pits, some transformed into cats, or Santa Claus, or breasts. They grin. They pose. They wear sunglasses, tiny hats, wide sombreros, or sweatbands. Some smoke and hold beers. Several wrap their arms around toast. Many sport mottos like “let’s avocuddle” and “avocado addict.” Those suffering from that affliction can buy avocados shipped directly from California farms or find thousands of avocado-themed items to satisfy cravings. Among the most unusual is a Taco Tuesday baby set with a lemon-lime plastic teether and an avocado-shaped rattle. One online store sells a T-shirt with an image of the Virgin Mary, her face replaced by a severed avocado. The caption reads: “Our Lady of Guacamole.”