I’ve lived in Bondi long enough to have tried every wellness fad under the sun.

I’ve done cold-pressed juices, aerial yoga and the occasional ‘detox’ that’s really just skipping dinner. I draw the line at run clubs, though.

Still, curiosity got the better of me when a new health store opened just 400 metres from my home.

It’s been dubbed ‘Sydney‘s Erewhon’ – the cult U.S. supermarket known for its A-list clientele and exorbitantly pricey smoothies.

The venue’s name? Common Supply. A misnomer, perhaps – there’s nothing remotely ‘common’ about it.

It’s just opened on Campbell Parade, courtesy of the team behind Pocket and Makaveli – two Bondi spots I’ve always found a bit ‘mid’, to borrow Gen Z parlance.

On opening weekend, crowds formed a queue that could rival a Berghain door line.

Bondi has long been searching for a place that reflects its own wellness identity: clean (supposedly), aspirational (questionable), and unapologetically expensive.

And Common Supply seems to have found the formula – even if it is a Shein knockoff.

Despite being open less than a month, the Sydney café has become a magnet for gym-goers, health-conscious foodies and influencers seeking post-workout protein plates, smoothies and matcha lattes.

On my first visit, at 6:30am, my friend and I were the only customers.

I ordered my usual – a small double-shot flat white. My friend asked for a macchiato. The barista paused, genuinely confused, before muttering, ‘Yeah, I guess I could make that.’

Can you even call yourself a barista if a macchiato stumps you?

It’s a small thing, but it speaks volumes. This isn’t a café designed for coffee drinkers – it’s designed for content creators.

Still, for the wellness warriors chasing the next ‘moment’, Common Supply delivers: Maple Sea Salt Lattes ($7.50), Mushroom Cacao ($6.50), Iced Vanilla Cold Foam Matchas ($8.90). Smoothies start at around $16 – but climb north of $20 once you tack on the essentials, like protein powder and collagen.

And while you’re waiting for your $20 beverage, you can browse the shelves of ‘wellness essentials’. The fridges are stocked with takeaway options, including chia pots, cold-pressed juices and $6 water in tin containers for the thirsty girlie on the go.

But the real kicker was the collagen hot chocolate powder that’ll set you back $80. That’s right – eighty dollars. For cocoa powder.

Let’s be clear: this is not a supermarket. It’s not even a restaurant. It’s a smoothie bar with delusions of grandeur.

It’s a place where you queue for 15 minutes to hand over your credit card for a drink made by someone who looks like they learned to steam milk on YouTube.

On my second visit last weekend, I counted 23 staff – none appeared to be over 30. The chaos was palpable: a swarm of twenty-somethings darting around behind the counter, each seemingly unsure who was doing what.

Smoothie-makers were in chaos. High-fiving gym bros behind the counter were oblivious. The girls taking orders looked like they’d rather be anywhere else.

One thing is for certain: none of the staff have worked a shift at Boost Juice.

And yet, for all the eye-rolls it invites, Common Supply will probably thrive – even in a doomed spot where so many businesses before it have gone under.

Smoothies, somehow, are aspirational. Erewhon managed to turn the humble drink into a status symbol – a frothy blend of oat milk, hyaluronic acid and an aura of celebrity.

The Hailey Bieber Smoothie was the poster child for this madness.

It was created to promote her skincare brand, Rhode, and marketed as the drinkable version of her perfectly dewy complexion.

My first thought was… drinkable skin? Sounds very Ed Gein. Still, if you could sip your way to Mrs Bieber’s flawless face, who wouldn’t be tempted?

So yes, I’ll probably go back.

I’ll roll my eyes at the high-fiving staff, but deep down – even the cynics among us can’t resist a sip of the Bondi Kool-Aid.

Just as long as I’m not roped into ordering a Tammy Hembrow–endorsed smoothie.