Why Gen Z is flocking to a restaurant most of them never grew up in.

Upon entering the Rainforest Cafe, I was greeted by a talking tree that told many plant-related facts. There was pumped up fog and thunder as the hostess led me through the aquarium archway to our table. I sat in front of a giant mushroom-topped bar, next to a chest-thumping monkey. Amazon Wonderland was located in a modest suburban strip mall in Edison, New Jersey, and I was struck by how little had changed since I was a child. The only difference was that I was now old enough to order a Mongoose Mai Tai.

Of course, some of the trepidation can be chalked up to nostalgia. It’s a powerful symbol of childhood for a generation of middle-class, environmentally conscious millennials like me who once thought saving the Earth was as simple as sharing a plate of Python pasta. But the appeal goes beyond that, beyond fond teenage memories, especially for Gen Zers who never got to experience it the first time.

Rainforest Café has recently undergone a major cultural reappraisal. For example, earlier this year April Fool’s tweet The official Empire State Building account has hinted at an exciting dining opportunity: New York’s most iconic building will now be home to the “world’s tallest” Rainforest Cafe. While eagle-eyed commenters weren’t fooled by the publication date, they were disappointed that they weren’t able to feast on jungle steak alongside the animatronic gorillas. Given the overwhelming response, both the restaurant and the iconic skyscraper granted the Internet’s wish six months later, with a pop-up Rainforest Cafe opening on top of the Empire State Building for one weekend, making them their mascot. Orangutan Ozzie one of the first monkeys to grace the building since King Kong.

On TikTokcreators reproduce That trembling what only a talking tree and canned thunder can bring, oohing and aahing in mock horror as lights flash among the artificial greenery. It is possible, however, viral tweet summed it up best: “The rainforest cafe realized that people need to feel fear when they eat wedge salad.” People remain captivated and eager to return, or at least interact with the restaurant, which is essentially also a high school birthday party fever dream.

In 2022, YouTubers Eddie Burback and Ted Nivison documented their cross-country journey to every Rainforest cafe in North America. The filmmakers were only about 20 years old at the time when the first Rainforest Cafe was built in 1994. The filmmakers were not yet alive. viewers were hooked, resulting in over 10 million views.

It’s a bit of a paradox that one of the most beautiful places on Earth in the ’90s became a destined internet sensation. But ultimately, Rainforest Cafe’s virality is a result of its design. A rare relic of the Clinton administration that predates the jet video industrial complex and yet was built exclusively for it.

As you might expect, the story of Rainforest Cafe began as a fever dream. Steven Schuessler, an advertising executive turned entrepreneur whose the designs often bordered on Wonka-style, told me that he opened a restaurant in the early 90s, using his savings to transform his home into the man-made biome of his dreams. Yes, that included thunderstorms, 3,700 extension cords, and even live turtles and baboons. Every weekend, he gave tours of his home to potential investors, hoping to find support for his dream project.

He attracted enormous attention from disgruntled neighbors, local media and even the Drug Enforcement Administration, which raided his property on suspicion of growing marijuana after running up what Schuessler called “the highest electric bill in the state.” However, it took the restaurant four years to finally find financing, with the first restaurant opening in 1994 at the Mall of America in Minnesota.

What he did set a precedent for experimental nutrition specifically designed for a version of the Internet that didn’t yet exist. This is an astonishing undertaking that even Schüssler himself admires.

“Everyone and everyone was betting against me,” he said. “Every night I looked in the mirror, cried and laughed. You need endurance, determination, fortitude. You have to be able to lose friends. It took me a lifetime. »

But with only 16 locations left in North America (Schussler sold the Rainforest Cafe to Landry’s Inc. in 2000), it appears to be as endangered as a real rainforest. In some ways, it was still a product of its time, firmly rooted in Planet Hollywood excess and hyper-thematic gimmicks. It was destined to thrive during the boom of new eateries in the 1990s. From the supermodel-approved trendy café to the ESPN zone to Hulk Hogan’s “Pastamania,” it was an era in which no pop culture niche went without lunch.

But even among its competitors, Rainforest Cafe stood out in some way. Other restaurants, such as the Hard Rock Cafe or Planet Hollywood, relied on celebrity aura and proximity to attract customers. Walls draped with movie props, signed T-shirts and signed guitars were the main attraction. In the pre-social media era, eating along with Indiana Jones’ whip or steering wheel Titanic was as close as possible to your favorite cinematic heroes and heartthrobs.

It was the last gasp of a time when the line between consumer and star was not only too clear, but rarely crossed. Thirty years later, with direct access to your favorite celebrity’s inner monologue with just one click, few were eager to eat a bowl of spaghetti in a Slash top hat booth, let alone take a cross-country road trip until the last few days. remaining Hard Rock Cafe.

Prior to the acquisition, Rainforest Cafe actually housed live, cage-free tropical birds, which required Schuessler to design an entirely new HVAC system that met health and safety standards. (“Who wants to look at birds behind glass? Nobody,” Schuessler explained.)

It was this unprecedented access to the new and exotic that he valued above all else. Not just to watch the spectacle, but to be immersed in this. In this regard, Rainforest became the progenitor of the current model of experiential eateries: pop-ups that serve not only as visually striking, Instagram-worthy installations, but also as interactive experiences in which the consumer plays an active role. It’s no surprise that digital natives would be drawn to a space that foreshadowed the immersive, boastful, ready-to-fill food spaces they were so accustomed to.

Rainforest Cafe has always been more than just a place to eat. It was a place for adventure. And it was one of the first eateries to actively promise a break from french fries. It’s not that different from places like ice cream museumwhich bills itself as a “magical gaming space” with unlimited ice cream. Conditopiawhich has popped up in cities as diverse as Scottsdale, Arizona, and Bloomington, Minnesota, follows the rules of the Rainforest Cafe game with its sickly sweet brand of sensory immersion.

However, the significance of these events goes beyond visual appeal. This is how they are converted into valuable social currency online. As the likes pile up, it’s hard not to be jealous, or at least intrigued, by the influencers lounging on the lollipop swing. TikTok. These are selfie stations designed for social posing and the occasional snack. These spaces allow consumers to be (or at least act as) celebrities, focusing on themselves as a lifestyle influencer, as Schüssler envisioned himself 30 years ago.

The Rainforest Cafe resonates 30 years later because it functions much the same way, and perhaps always has, allowing the consumer to create endless content in a new medium, topped with a bit of eco-saviorism. A backdrop created for social performance. There’s little difference between the exaggerated horror of a thunderstorm reaction video or the staged awe demonstrated while tinkering in a splash pit. The emotional impulse may be different, but the trick remains the same.

This does not mean that there is no joy or self-awareness in these experiences. When Ted Nivison got to the top of the Empire State Building pop-up, the restaurant posted an ad Video from Instagram his celebratory hug with their mascot Cha! Cha! tree frog with the inscription “Our boy has returned home.” A real victory both for the YouTuber himself and for the brand and the Internet.

“It’s incredible,” Schlusser said of the restaurant’s virality. “There are a thousand lessons we are still learning from the Rainforest Cafe.” But it’s no surprise that the restaurant has come back to life.

As sparklers burst onto my chocolate volcano cake amid a menagerie of jungle creatures, as I first experienced decades ago, I realized something: the ingredients for its viral success were always there to begin with With.