Editor’s note: In her book “Chinese Espresso: Contested Race and Convivial Space in Contemporary Italy,” the U.S.-based anthropologist Grazia Ting Deng explores the rapid expansion in Chinese-run coffee bars in Bologna, northern Italy, after 2008, offering a window into the dynamics of a postcolonial, postmodern, multicultural urban society. Here, Deng discusses her work with Ni Yanping, a Ph.D. candidate at Princeton University and translator of the book’s Chinese version.

Ni: What inspired you to start researching Italian coffee bars run by Chinese immigrants?

Deng: It traces to my early years in Italy. In 2005, I was a visiting scholar in a small city in northern Italy. Back then, international students from China and Chinese immigrants seemed to live in two parallel worlds. A Chinese friend told me there were at least 100 other Chinese people, but they mostly worked in factories and were rarely seen in public. Some of my Italian friends described the Chinese immigrants as “invisible.”

Later, when I was choosing a topic for my doctoral dissertation, my advisor mentioned that there was a Chinese-owned coffee bar close to an Italian friend’s home. I was shocked. Coffee bars are at the heart of Italian urban culture — how could Chinese immigrants living on the margins of society come to run such a deeply symbolic cultural space? I also noticed the underlying alarm behind the slightly mocking tone of the Italian media coverage. For instance, one headline read, “Tomorrow, this historical coffee bar will start speaking Mandarin.” I asked a friend studying in Bologna to conduct a survey in the city’s historical center. Within walking distance, he found about 20 Chinese-run coffee bars. It was then that I realized this wasn’t just a few isolated cases but a sociocultural phenomenon.

My theoretical framework was still developing at that moment, but the ethnographic research question became crystal clear: Why and how could a long-marginalized immigrant group, often seen as “cultural aliens” and detached from mainstream social life, enter the core spaces of local culture?

Ni: What’s the historical context behind this phenomenon? Why are Italians leaving the business and Chinese immigrants stepping in?

Deng: So-called “traditional” coffee bars, along with small, family-run restaurants, have experienced a massive wave of closures in the past two decades. Behind this phenomenon lie deep-seated demographic issues. Most coffee bar owners were rural migrants from southern Italy or the surrounding countryside who moved to the cities in the 1960s and ’70s and had used their savings from manual labor to open a small shop. A coffee bar has a relatively low barrier to entry, doesn’t require advanced technical skills, and can sell snacks and bus tickets, or handle utility bill payments. Some even have a games room. Today, this generation of owners is reaching retirement. Their children, who are generally better educated, are often unwilling to live the same life as their parents, tied to a shop for more than 10 or 12 hours a day. They face two choices: shut down or sell up. But who will buy them? Italy has a very low birth rate, and few young people are willing to enter self-employment with such demanding hours. The most likely candidates are immigrants, especially those from communities willing to engage in labor-intensive, self-run small businesses.

The family-based, self-run management model of Italian coffee bars is not just a cultural habit but also a survival strategy. It allows the owner’s family to exploit its own labor, reducing operating costs and sustaining a livelihood on razor-thin margins. This is why large chains like Starbucks have found it difficult to penetrate Italy’s mass market.

The Chinese families who take over these bars have mostly lived in Italy for years. Some worked in factories, others as street vendors. After an initial period of capital accumulation, they hoped to open a shop, much like the earlier generations of Italian rural migrants. Other Chinese, whose businesses were hit by the 2008 economic crisis, were forced to find new industries. At that point, the large number of coffee bars up for sale, combined with the low barriers to entry, created a commercial opportunity.

Most Chinese who take on these bars are from Wenzhou, in China’s eastern Zhejiang province. Why? Since the start of China’s “reform and opening-up,” they have been the largest group of Chinese to migrate to Italy. Furthermore, Wenzhou people typically immigrate as a family and run mom-and-pop businesses, aligning closely with the traditional Italian coffee bar model.

When you look at these factors together, what you see is the convergence of forces: Italy’s aging society and economic restructuring; Chinese immigrants with their family-based labor model; and a well-timed window of opportunity. This is not ethnic replacement but the result of Italy’s demographic and economic transformation intersecting with the initiative and adaptability of immigrant communities.

Ni: You make a fascinating observation that when Chinese immigrants manage coffee bars, they don’t market their “Chineseness.” Instead, they seem to actively downplay their ethnic visibility and strive to adapt to local tastes and social norms. Why is that?

Deng: In traditional perceptions, the economic activities of the Chinese diaspora are often categorized under the “Chinatown” model or an ethnic economy — for instance, Chinese restaurants using stereotypical symbols such as red lanterns. Chinese-run coffee bars in Italy are different. In my view, this is the first time a Chinese immigrant community has adopted a core cultural product of their host country as their primary means of livelihood. They aren’t selling “Chineseness” but “Italianness.” Espresso is a cultural symbol deeply tied to Italian national identity.

The Chinese bar owners I interviewed are clearly aware of this. They share a general consensus that coffee is “an Italian thing,” so they “do it the Italian way.” This means that they try to align with the expectations of local customers in terms of flavor, service style, and everyday social etiquette, rather than applying their own cultural logic. This awareness is also manifested in their strategy for selecting which bars to buy.

In the early stages, especially when first-generation immigrants buy their first bar, they tend to choose more “traditional” bars, which tend to share several characteristics. First, they have a relatively fixed clientele, with regulars who are often retirees and immigrant workers. This stable network of regulars provides a reliable customer base. Second, the offerings are relatively simple, consisting mainly of coffee drinks like espresso and cappuccino, a few alcoholic beverages, breakfast pastries, and paninis. There’s no need for complex craft cocktails or specialty dishes. This straightforward menu allows new owners to get started quickly. And more importantly, these regulars tend to order what they know — they don’t expect or even welcome innovation.

When Chinese immigrants buy a shop, they are taking over a fully developed operational system including the physical layout, furniture and equipment, and network of suppliers.

They also benefit from Italy’s highly developed coffee industry infrastructure. Coffee bars primarily sell espresso-based coffees. Local roasters sell pre-blended, packaged beans directly, often supplying the espresso machines and other equipment as part of the deal, along with on-site technical support. It’s a highly specialized supply system. A Chinese operator only needs to learn how to use the espresso machine to produce coffee that meets their customers’ expectations.

Ni: In your book, you emphasize the coffee bar as a social space and highlight the conviviality among different ethnic groups within. Were there any moments that struck you most? And why does this vibe seem to stop at the door?

Deng: The moment that moved me most was probably when a Chinese owner and two young Bangladeshi men chased a thief down the street. When they returned, they were greeted with concern and cheers from customers waiting anxiously at the door. The incident became the talk of the neighborhood. At that moment, the Chinese owner and customers from different ethnic backgrounds came together as a community.

Another moment was a personal experience. When I first began my fieldwork, I was too shy to initiate conversations with the middle-aged and elderly male customers. It wasn’t until I fractured my arm and returned to one coffee bar with my arm in a cast that things changed. To my surprise, customers who had never spoken to me before gathered around, asking about my injury and telling me that they had noticed me a while ago but didn’t want to intrude. That accident became a vital icebreaker, allowing me to experience a genuine and immediate human connection.

Unfortunately, this coffee bar-centered community culture is becoming a thing of the past. Unlike many older Italians whose daily lives still revolve around the neighborhood bar, younger people tend to lead more mobile and dispersed lives. This is not unique to Italy but common across many European cities.

As for why the seemingly harmonious daily interactions inside the Chinese-run coffee bars rarely extend beyond them, there are several reasons. First, for the Chinese owners, the bar is primarily a place to make a living. After working long hours, often 12 hours or more, they prefer to return to their families or spend time in the Chinese community, doing things they enjoy rather than continuing to cater to the preferences of Italian customers. One interviewee told me: “I’m already tired of dealing with them every day at work. I don’t want to see them after I get off.” Others mentioned that their interests are different from those of Italians, so socializing outside the bar rarely occurs.

Of course, structural factors are also crucial. The traditional coffee bars run by Chinese immigrants are often social spaces frequented by working-class men. One interviewee said that she initially had assumed Italians were all well-educated and refined, but when her family started running a bar, she discovered the reality was quite different. Many regulars drank every day, spent their money recklessly, neglected their families, and some of them were rude. This made her reluctant to extend the superficial conviviality of the bar into her personal life.

Furthermore, the Chinese owners are often the adult children of first-generation immigrants, while their customers tend to be much older. They are at different life stages and in different social circles, making overlap difficult. The Chinese family-run business model is heavily dependent on intra-ethnic kinship and social networks. Inter-ethnic marriage, for example, can be viewed as a potential challenge to the stability of the family and business model.

Ni: How do second- and third-generation Chinese immigrants understand their relationship with their ancestral country?

Deng: Last year, I interviewed the owners of a clothing company in the northeastern city of Prato, a Tuscan city. They are a Chinese couple in their 30s, both moved to Italy as teenagers with their parents and retained their Chinese citizenship. They now have two children, a 14-year-old daughter and an 11-year-old son, both born and raised in Italy but Chinese citizens. Children of immigrants born in Italy must wait until they are 18 to choose whether to acquire Italian citizenship. I asked their daughter, “Do you plan to become an Italian citizen?” Without hesitation, in fluent Mandarin, she replied, “Of course not. Even if I take Italian citizenship, Italians won’t see me as Italian. But by then, I won’t be Chinese either. I’ll be nothing.” Her answer left a profound impression on me — this was a 14-year-old already contemplating “Who am I?”

From what I’ve observed, a strong sense of Chinese identity is common. However, this identity differs from national identity in the context of the Chinese mainland. As the girl later emphasized, she is a “Chinese of Italy,” or more specifically a “Chinese of Prato,” not exactly the same as Chinese groups elsewhere. This is a distinct diasporic identity that draws on its connection to an ancestral homeland, yet finds its fullest expression in the particular, lived realities of the immigrant group.

Reported by Ni Yanping.

A version of this article originally appeared in The Paper. It has been translated and edited for brevity and clarity, and is republished here with permission.

Translator: Chen Yue; editors: Wang Juyi and Hao Qibao.

(Header image: Moment/VCG)