Whether you obsess or abhor the grassy, sweet, and bitter flavor, chances are you’ve had matcha. In just a few years, matcha went from a niche import to a ubiquitous flavor in the United States, found in drinks, desserts, and more (check out this matcha rotisserie chicken). As we grew more health–conscious during the pandemic, matcha surged in popularity. Offering a healthier, caffeinated boost, it quickly emerged as the go–to wellness alternative to coffee. And unlike coffee, which has long been coded as jittery and utilitarian, matcha arrived soft, pastel, and ritualistic; packaged as a slower, more mindful kind of energy.
As a veteran café–hopper since middle school, I watched matcha—the drink I ignorantly thought was underground (my TikTok username was proudly @icedmatchalattes)—start appearing on the menus of all cafés. Now, without fail, almost every café I walk into serves matcha. Blank Street even claims it sells a matcha every four seconds. From the craze, matcha–specific chains emerged, like Cha Cha Matcha, Matcha Bar, and Matchaful.
Matcha isn’t just a drink anymore—it’s a mood board. It lives on social media as a lifestyle statement. People don’t just love the taste, they love the aesthetic–pilates, morning matcha and green juice, journaling. It’s a wellness ritual that makes people feel like they’re taking care of their health (though delicious, I guarantee the Pret strawberry matcha latte isn’t packing many health benefits).
Consequently, the global market for matcha reached a record high in 2024 and is expected to almost double in the next few years, from $2.8 billion in 2023 to $5 billion by 2028.
While matcha only recently appeared in the U.S., it dates back generations ago to elite Chinese Tang Dynasty’s seventh century tea rooms, in which “brick tea” and “compressed tea” first emerged. Over time, matcha was phased out by loose–leaf green teas, which replaced powdered tea in China. However, centuries later, after studying in China, a Buddhist monk introduced matcha as an “elixir for a healthy life” in Japan, planting the seeds (literally) for what would become a cherished cultural tradition and staple.
Now, Japan is the primary grower of matcha and lead exporter for the U.S. However, with limited resources for tea farming and the sudden upshot in matcha demand, matcha trends are outpacing supply. Japanese matcha producers Marukyu Koyamaen, Ippodo Tea, and Ocha no Kanbayashi have declared purchase limits. Others have temporarily halted sales of certain matcha products. With few young people willing to take over, the tea fields are growing quiet. For many aging farmers, matcha isn’t just a crop—it’s a legacy. But in an era of rising costs and uncertain returns, that legacy is increasingly being left behind.
With that, making matcha is a timely and involved process: first, growing tencha leaves, and then, harvesting and grounding them into matcha. Tencha leaves take up to five years to mature and can only be harvested for matcha once a year. Along with this timely process, there’s a tea farmer shortage. In just the last two decades, the number of tea farmers has declined from 53,000 to 12,353 in Japan. The few that are left are aging, with no one to continue to their legacy, leaving many tea farms abandoned. Other tea farmers who don’t currently harvest matcha are not willing to make the switch; cultivating matcha is a huge investment of time and money. And, if matcha ends up being a fad, they face a huge loss.
International markets have already felt the effect of the matcha shortage. Australian cafés claimed to have waited up to three months for new shipments from Japan. The impacts of the matcha shortage are already being felt in international markets. The Matcha Bar in Dublin experiences supplier quotas on order quantities, Australian cafés are waiting up to three months for new Japanese shipments, and Singaporean supermarkets have raised matcha product prices by up to 15%. And now, with 24% tariffs on products imported from Japan in the U.S., matcha is only going to get rarer and more expensive.
Anticipating future withdrawals, matcha–lovers are doing “Japan Hauls,” with suitcases full of matcha products from Japan. Others are offended by the hauls, attributing the matcha shortage to creators’ overconsumption.
But as demand skyrockets and tradition gets aestheticized, authenticity is often the first casualty. Some processes and products erupted in controversy.
A month ago, Poda, a matcha paste, was officially launched on Kickstarter. In the founder Mujtaba Waseem’s minute–long pitch video, he mocked ceremonial Japanese matcha–making techniques, “Let’s make matcha, but we don’t need any of this crap.” The “crap,” according to him, was the chasen (bamboo whisk) and chawan (ceremonial bowl)—tools that have been used for generations. Waseem then knocks the items from the table, letting them fall onto the floor. Waseem proclaimed, “Most matcha is stale, clumpy and made in China. What if I told you there’s a better way?” His proposal is squeezable matcha paste promising an efficient and easier way to make matcha than traditional methods.
Neither amused by the product nor his cultural commentaries, people responded angrily commenting on the paste’s untraditional “murky brown green” and how the “marketing was heinous.”
Then, Matcha Girl, a viral Houston matcha pop–up, was under scrutiny for branding their $11 matcha as “ceremonial grade” and preparing batches in advance—compromising the very quality it claimed to champion. The criticism went beyond just matcha too. The founder, Lauren Galindo, personally received non–stop hate comments and even death threats for her matcha. What began as a trendy, aesthetic brand became a place of debate on authenticity and appropriation.
Matcha is everywhere, but its future feels uncertain. Once a centuries–old ritual, matcha has become a modern–day trend fueled by aesthetics, wellness culture, and viral moments. But as its popularity surges, so do controversies: overly–gratuitous matcha drinking, $11 “ceremonial” lattes made in bulk, to squeezable pastes mocking tradition. Meanwhile, the global supply is under pressure—aging farmers, slow production cycles, and trade tariffs are making high–quality matcha harder to source. The more matcha becomes a lifestyle, the more it risks losing its roots. And as trends move faster than tea leaves can grow, it’s worth asking: Are we sipping on something sustainable, or just another fleeting obsession?
P.S. Three matcha lattes were drunk in the process of writing this (apologies for the shortage).
