A WELL DRESSED MAN

There is a quiet elegance in being a regular.

A restaurant where someone recognizes you when you walk through the door. A café where your order is already being prepared as soon as they see you. A barber who no longer needs to ask how you want your hair cut.

These things seem small, but I’ve come to appreciate what they represent: familiarity, built slowly over time.

Growing up in Lagos, I watched my parents develop this kind of relationship everywhere.

What stood out most was that my father had two newspaper vendors: one at the gate of our estate and another by the gate of our church. After years of consistent patronage, there was rarely much to the transaction. They saw his car coming, knew which newspapers he read and had them ready for him.

My mother, on the other hand, had a butcher who knew exactly what kinds of meat she liked to order and how she wanted each one cut. He would sometimes send one of his boys to deliver them before she had even gone to place her order.

As a child, you don’t necessarily think much of something like that. As an adult, I understand it differently. I even have my own versions now.

There is a Tim Hortons I visit often enough that the people there know my order by heart. I am now on a first-name basis with the manager of my local Starbucks. The hostess at my favourite lounge knows my preferred table. My tailor already knows how I like my clothes to fit. I see my barber every two weeks and, at this point, very little instruction is required. He knows what I want and, perhaps more importantly, what I don’t want.

Even with my own clients, relationships have developed over time. I know their preferences well enough to anticipate their needs, sometimes before they have expressed them.

These relationships began as transactions, but consistency gradually changes the nature of an exchange. You remember someone’s name. They remember yours. You ask about their family. They ask about your holiday. Somewhere along the way, the interaction becomes familiar.

There is comfort in that.

The title of this piece is, of course, borrowed from the television show Cheers. Although I don’t necessarily need everybody to know my name, I’ve come to understand the appeal. There is something grounding about having places in the world where your presence is expected and sometimes, even celebrated.

Part of becoming a regular is allowing yourself to be known, perhaps not too intimately, but through the small preferences and repeated exchanges that gradually make a place feel familiar.

Returning is also an expression of taste. It means recognizing when you have found something good and resisting the assumption that newer must always mean better.

Returning to the same restaurant means you know what you like. Using the same tailor for years means the two of you have developed a shared language. A longstanding relationship with an artisan, a barber, a butcher, a florist or even the person who makes your morning coffee means that you have found something worth returning to and have chosen to value it.

There are practical benefits, of course. Service often improves; people understand your preferences and sometimes anticipate what you need. Occasionally, they will go out of their way for you because the relationship has grown beyond that day’s transaction.

But I think the greater value is simply human.

So much of modern life is designed around convenience and anonymity. Order from an app. Tap the card. Collect the item. Leave. There is nothing inherently wrong with that, but something is lost when every interaction becomes interchangeable.

Familiarity takes time. You cannot manufacture being a regular. You become one by returning. By being consistent. By being kind. By showing genuine appreciation for people who do something well.

And perhaps that is why I value it. In a world where we are constantly encouraged to search for somewhere newer, better or more exciting, there is something rather satisfying about saying:

No, I like this place.
I know these people.
I’ll come back.

Eventually, they know that too. You have become familiar. You have become known.

– Akin