I’ve started calling them “prison stores”, for fun. 

They’ve been around for a long time, and as is the case with so much that has become normalised in the retail ether, it all started with IKEA.

The most notable and familiar examples include Normal, Søstrene Grene, Ale Hop and Flying Tiger.

The principle is well established. You go inside, and there’s only one path through the store. And at some point you realise you can’t leave. You’re trapped. There is one way in, and one way out.

And because of their enduring success, that path out isn’t straightforward. It’s narrow and it’s full of customers feverishly filling their baskets with the most extraordinary mix of items. 

Here’s one with a multipack of Takis, a scented candle, a USB cable and some tissues. Here’s another with some toothpaste, a fidget toy and an energy drink. 

No basket is the same, and no one leaves empty-handed.

Meanwhile, the uninitiated fear they might never leave at all. Perhaps they imagine how long they might survive here (answer: yes there is some food but it’s the kind that, if eaten exclusively, would lead to scurvy in weeks).

Welcome to the prison store – a format that makes little sense in the context of modern life, and yet continues to be wildly successful.

What the fuck is going on?

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