In Tehran, cafés offer rare spaces for connection, self-expression and normal life, even as inflation makes these small freedoms increasingly unaffordable.
In this field report from Iran, we spent time with people from different generations in Tehran’s cafés to find out why, despite mounting economic pressure, they are still willing to spend part of their income simply to have a few hours in which to be.
Spending time in cafés may now be one of the most important forms of collective life in Iran: a space between home and society, between solitude and company, between the desire to be seen and the attempt to forget what is happening beyond the café walls.
If cinemas were once the meeting place of generations, and theatres and concerts offered the experience of being part of a large, shared gathering, cafés have now taken their place for a significant section of Iran’s youth. Field reporting from Tehran points to an undeniable reality: the café is no longer merely a commercial establishment. It has become an informal civic space, filling part of the void left by social institutions that have been suppressed or disappeared.
Within a few square metres, indoors or outside, cafés provide a small window onto the different ways people live in Iran: somewhere to sit, talk, laugh, drink coffee, read a book, listen to music, work, meet someone and, for a few hours, pretend that life consists of more than economic pressure, anxiety about the future and the relentless stream of bad news.
We visited several cafés and spoke to people from different generations about café culture at a time when inflation and rising prices have made even leisure expensive and, at times, painful.
In Tehran, the stretch from Enghelab Street to Karim Khan and the surrounding streets is perhaps one of the liveliest areas of collective urban life. Bookshops, theatres, cinemas, galleries, music venues and cafés sit alongside one another, preserving something of the city’s cultural memory.
Here, cafés are not simply places to eat and drink; they are part of the city itself. There are tiny street cafés where customers pick up a coffee and leave within minutes, as well as book cafés and more contemporary coffee shops. At certain times of day, some fill with the sound of a pianist or guitarist. Elsewhere, old brick houses have been converted into cafés while retaining their courtyards, pools, wooden windows and ageing walls.
As evening approaches, the tables gradually fill. Young women arrive with short or long hair, dyed hair, loose trousers, oversized jackets, short coats or clothes that reflect their personal tastes far more than the dress codes imposed on women in public space. Some wear heavier make-up, others only eyeliner and pale lipstick. Some have large earrings, nose or ear piercings and carefully designed nails; others arrive in the simplest clothes imaginable.
Their appearances vary greatly, but something brings them together: the desire for a few hours of normal life in an abnormal country.
The young men are just as varied, from T-shirts and jeans to sportswear, oversized shirts, hats and long hair. Some wear shorts; some wear earrings. Couples occupy tables for two. At larger tables, groups of friends sometimes talk for hours while ordering nothing more than a single cup of coffee.
In a space like this, the café is less about coffee than about a place where, whatever your clothes, tastes or way of life, you can be yourself for a few hours.
Yasmin, a translator and teacher in her thirties, goes to a café roughly once a week. Although concerts are her favourite form of entertainment, she says ticket prices have made cafés a substitute for many other activities:
“I really love going to concerts, but tickets have become genuinely expensive, so going to cafés has become my main form of entertainment. Here I can meet a friend, sit and talk for a few hours, and I don’t have to spend a huge amount of money on an activity that only lasts a few hours.”
Yasmin’s friend Mina is a teacher and takes a sharper view of the cultural situation. She tells Radio Zamaneh:
“I used to love going to the cinema, but now not going has become a form of protest for me. When you reject compulsory hijab, you can’t bring yourself to go to a cinema where women are still forced to observe it. Theatre is somewhat better, but actresses there are still required to wear hijab. So the best place is the café. You see all kinds of people, with different clothes, looks and styles. It’s a diversity that looks like real life itself.”
This “diversity” may be the most striking feature of Tehran’s cafés. Since the Woman, Life, Freedom movement, the body, clothing and appearance have become an even more important means of individual expression for many young women and girls. Their semi-private character gives people somewhat greater freedom to dress and present themselves as they choose than many other public spaces.
Sara and Mohammad are both in their late forties and both hold master’s degrees. They have been in a long-term unmarried partnership for years. One is an office worker and the other teaches music. Unlike Yasmin and Mina, they are not particularly fond of modern cafés. On weekends, they prefer book cafés and old houses that have been converted into cafés.
Sara, whose style is simple but distinctly artistic, tells Radio Zamaneh:
“At weekends, we prefer going to old houses that have been turned into cafés. Every house has its own architecture, its own history, its own story and its own life. Just like the people who go there. It feels as though, with each house, you enter a different period in the history of this land.”
She continues:
“I think cafés are almost the only places outside the home where we can still gather. We may occasionally go to a restaurant, but spending time in a café is something different. Unfortunately, even sitting in a café can sometimes become something you long for, because your mind constantly goes back to all the other expenses you have to cut just so you can afford to come here. That is painful for me, and for the generations after us, when we are already struggling just to cover everyday costs.”
For teenagers, the situation looks somewhat different. Tina and Nasim are 17 or 18 and are preparing for the national university entrance examination. Both took part in the Woman, Life, Freedom protests as well as the protests of December 2025–January 2026. Their make-up, hairstyles, piercings, clothing and even the way they speak differ noticeably from those of their parents’ generation.
Tina tells Radio Zamaneh:
“Going to a café is better than sitting at home. When evening comes, you want to get out. But where can you go? A park? Sometimes you can go to a park — you can exercise with your friends in Laleh Park, for example, or walk around the park by the Iranian Artists Forum. But a café has everything you want: coffee, a table, chairs. Every café has its own look, its own tables and chairs. Every place we go creates its own photographs and memories for us.”
Nasim immediately brings up money. For a generation that does not yet have an independent income and still relies largely on family to cover its expenses, she says, spending time in cafés is no longer a cheap form of entertainment:
“Going to a café is more about the space you are in than what you eat or drink, because you can’t afford to spend much. Every time two people go to a café, it costs around one million tomans. If you go four times a month, that’s at least four million tomans, maybe a little more or less.”
She continues:
“At first you think that isn’t much. But life these days isn’t just about going to cafés. If you want to buy a book, you have to pay a million tomans. Then there are taxi and Snapp fares, clothes, classes, the gym, maybe a doctor, and so on. Put all of that together and it can easily come to twenty million tomans a month for one person. That’s when you’re forced to cut four café visits a month down to two, and spend the other two occasions just walking around the streets, going to a park or meeting relatives.”
Yet coffee itself also appears to have acquired a different place in Iranian lifestyles in recent years. Official statistics and reports published by domestic media point to a striking social paradox: while inflation and structural economic crises have severely eroded people’s purchasing power, the number of cafés and demand for them have risen dramatically.
According to trade associations and urban studies, the number of cafés in the capital has grown rapidly in recent years. An official at Tehran’s Chamber of Guilds said last year that applications for licences for cafés and coffee-related businesses had risen by more than 35 per cent in central parts of the city.
Some news agencies, citing Hesam Rabiei, head of the Iranian Coffee Association, have reported a 70 per cent increase in coffee imports, attributing the rise in consumption to changing tastes among Iranians. The same reports say that 270 industrial units involved in coffee processing are currently operating across the country.
Coffee in Iran today, then, is no longer simply a drink. It has become part of a new way of life. A generation may begin the morning with takeaway coffee, work in a café at midday, meet a friend there in the afternoon and post a photograph of their coffee on social media at night. Under these conditions, the café has become part of the rhythm of everyday life.
Samin, 45, single, and working as an adjunct university lecturer, has used cafés as workplaces for years. She tells Radio Zamaneh that she once spent far more time in them, but rising costs have changed that habit as well:
“Because of the economic situation, I have to come less often. Or when I do come, I make do with a simple tea so that I can afford to come several times a week. I can work better here.”
That sentence perhaps captures the situation of cafés in Iran today: people still need them, but their ability to afford them is diminishing day by day.
