The Michelin Man is in trouble. In fact, his job is on the line. For 125 years, the Michelin Man, real name Bibendum, has been the face of the Michelin Guide: a coveted series of publications that award restaurants for excellence. But last week, news broke that the guide is attempting to reinvent itself in a bid to keep up with the world of online food reviews. Much like an aged B-list celebrity on a serious comedown, the guide is looking towards the internet for validation. In its endeavour to stay relevant, Michelin runs the risk of tarnishing the very thing that has kept it afloat for over a century: its reputation. And without its reputation, the Michelin Man’s next stop won’t be The Ledbury for flame-grilled mackerel – it will be the Jobcentre for a petrol station sandwich.
Michelin’s identity crisis stems from its fear of online influencers. Accounts like Topjaw, Eating with Tod and Schooner Scorer – a man who has admirably forged a career from being a posh bloke with a Guinness – have captured the nation’s attention with their beaming reviews and rabid positivity. They’re Michelin’s direct competition, but rather than beat them, it seems Michelin is determined to join them.
The problem is that influencers don’t care about haute cuisine; influencers care about being influencers. Everything is fair game, from a sticky-carpeted pub to a Transit van selling bags of mystery meat off the M25. And Michelin has been taking notes. When questioned about fine dining, an anonymous Michelin inspector said it was ‘one of the great misconceptions’ that the guide has a preference for formal restaurants, and that it’s ‘probably a hangover from 30-40 years ago.’ That may be true, though I don’t think I’ve ever bumped into a Michelin inspector on a late-night drunken chicken shop binge.
The Michelin team is also considering sending its fleet of food reviewers to 20 new global locations in an attempt to diversify its list, which is media speak for ‘let’s work with as many tourism boards as we can until people think we’re cool again.’ And diversify their lists they have. Last year, they awarded Mexican taco stand El Califa de León a Michelin star. This is not to say that street vendors are unworthy of accolades – I love tacos – but a star should be awarded to restaurants that serve unique, boundary-pushing food, not to taco stands that have been hawking the same four-item menu for six decades. And besides, that’s why Michelin’s Bib Gourmand exists: to award restaurants that offer high-quality food at a reasonable price. In any case, I’m sure handing a Michelin star to a taco stand did wonders for the guide’s optics – which is what it’s all about, right?
Michelin’s oversaturated star system is partially to blame for their downfall. In 1926, Michelin brothers Édouard and André awarded 46 restaurants with the first incarnation of the Michelin star. All of them were in France. In 1936, the three-star system was introduced. As of today, there are 3,643 restaurants in the world with at least one star. One hundred and forty-nine restaurants have three stars, which is 129 restaurants too many. It’s great when a company expands, but not when it’s at the detriment of their reputability. A three Michelin star restaurant should leave me catatonic and drooling with ineffable glee. I expect the head chef – who in this scenario is Ralph Fiennes – to personally deliver the 20-course tasting menu to my table before blowing my brains out with a Colt .45 when the meal is over. I don’t see Alain Ducasse at The Dorchester offering me that kind of service.
Michelin is the Vogue of the food publication world, and you wouldn’t expect Vogue to start promoting Shein
But according to Michelin’s website, service doesn’t matter: ‘A Michelin star is awarded for the food on the plate – nothing else.’ If that’s true, which I don’t think it is, then we may have the root cause of Michelin’s problem. Service is everything. Does Michelin expect me to believe that a restaurant is worthy of a star even if the kitchen porter is visibly smoking crack outside and throat-punching the chef de partie? Am I expected to ignore the sommelier who drank his own supply and drunk-dialled his ex-girlfriend for the whole restaurant to hear? No, of course not. Even the world’s finest plate of food can’t make up for tardy service and shabby décor – and any other view put forward by Michelin is feigned ignorance.
The problem is that Michelin doesn’t know its own market. Yes, it may have started as an ingenious way to boost demand for cars in France and, subsequently, Michelin tyres, but in its 125 years of existence, it has become synonymous with quality – something that online food influencers are not. I expect Michelin to award restaurants that I can only dream of going to; I don’t expect them to get down in the mud with Instagram influencers. Michelin is the Vogue of the food publication world, and you wouldn’t expect Vogue to start promoting Shein.
Michelin is under the illusion that by diversifying their lists, they’ll appeal to a wider audience. This isn’t the case. Eating out has become more expensive, so there are fewer people, I would imagine, who take themselves off to a three star restaurant. But that’s not the point. The Michelin Guide gives us something to aspire towards. I scroll through their lists with gluttonous eyes and a gnawing stomach, much like a forlorn spouse scours Rightmove for properties they can never afford. On the rare occasion that we can afford a Michelin-starred meal, we expect it to be of the highest standard: excellent service, mind-blowing food, and haughty waiters. We don’t expect to find ourselves standing in the street, breathing in petrol fumes and clutching on to a wet taco as a man screams out numbers from behind a counter.
I don’t know who’s in charge of strategy at Michelin, but if I could speak to them before being forcibly removed from the premises, I would say this: don’t give in to trends. The Michelin Guide has survived two world wars, three pandemics, a dozen financial crises, and Marco Pierre White. You needn’t worry about social media fads. In fact, you’d be wise to ignore them. The internet is a harsh place, and its fans are mercurial. An influencer is only as good as their last post. Remember your founder André Michelin’s mantra: ‘Man only truly respects what he pays for.’
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