Ann Arbor — Someone asked me the what the vibe was like here in this Midwest college town. I told them, it’s no longer a college town. It’s a big city.
Ann Arbor wanted to be Athens, but now it’s Rome. Less bastion of learning and democracy, more crowded multi-ethnic mercantile empire. It’s grown so much since its humble beginnings that it is now overwhelmed by its own greatness, to paraphrase Livy.
Ann Arbor is crowded now, with the hustle and bustle of a city far bigger than it has the capacity to maintain. The demand for barcades, exposed brick, IPAs, and U-M degrees is apparently limitless.
The population of Ann Arbor, if you include students, has grown by roughly 20,000 people in the last 10 years. This doesn’t include the surrounding towns, either, which have all grown massively in recent years. Housing supply, and even cultural amenities like new restaurants, haven’t grown in nearly the same proportion.
Step out on the weekend, and you’ll feel the vibe immediately. I felt it myself on a Friday and Saturday night, stopping by some favorite haunts.
First, the Jamaican Jerk Pit. In my opinion, the best restaurant in Ann Arbor, though not the fanciest. Home-cooked Jamaican food served in a split level, half-basement restaurant.
I walked in and asked for a table, and was seated right away, but was told it would be 45 minutes to an hour before any food would be ready. The waiter said they were overwhelmed with delivery-app orders.
Sure enough, DoorDash drivers trucked in and out of the restaurant constantly. The restaurant was busy, most tables were seated, and more delivery-app orders kept coming in. The jerk chicken and plantains were outstanding as always, but they took nearly an hour to arrive.
This clued me in immediately to the general state of Ann Arbor in 2025. The city is a victim of its own success.
It’s grown so much that it’s swallowed itself whole. The university, the bars and restaurants, they’re all so desirable that the city is overwhelmed with crowds. The population growth and demographic changes (mostly due to the highly international student body) have shifted the culture as well.
Bits of old Ann Arbor float around like islands within the city. Ann Arbor from the 1960s, Ann Arbor when it was filled with hippies. You still see flashes of it, old head shops, places like the Fleetwood Diner, the Arboretum.
Yet the People’s Republic of Ann Arbor, as it was then known, has transitioned from a communist enterprise into a neoliberal city-state.
Frita Batidos is a great example—it opened when I lived there more than a decade ago. Cuban food and milkshakes, with the millennial aesthetics and tastes. Avocados and white walls, picnic-style benches indoors. A time capsule of the Obama era.
You order at a counter, and they bring your food out to you. In 2014, this was novel. No need to deal with a waiter, lines moved fast, and the cuisine was an exciting addition to the culinary landscape. It was the hip new spot.
I was shocked to see a line out the door of Frita’s, running down the block on a Friday night in 2025. They were slammed, every table was full, and that line wasn’t moving. I stood at the end for 10 minutes without moving an inch closer. I didn’t have time to wait an hour in line, so I bailed.
If it were a new restaurant, sure, maybe then the hype would make sense. But Frita’s is a decade old. The food is still great, apparently, with a very high 4.7 rating on Google Maps. But good luck getting your Cuban burger and milkshake on a weekend night.
Down the street, Blank Slate Creamery. A great ice cream shop off Main Street, which also opened in 2014. The line ran down the block. Yet again, not a new spot, just a good one, with demand exceeding its grasp.
Car traffic was closed off on the entirety of Main Street and the surrounding blocks, a new summer thing Ann Arbor likes to do. As if parking wasn’t already hard enough to find. It’s nice, admittedly, to walk the streets on your feet, but it did nothing to assuage the crowds.
Bands played on every corner, and a silent disco was happening with headphone-clad revelers dancing in the middle of the street. People were walking everywhere. Every restaurant was filled to the brim, with packed seating indoors and outdoors stretching well into the street. The afternoon rain had no effect, waiters simply wiped off the tables.
I went around the corner to Blimpy Burger, founded in 1953. One of those remaining little islands of old Ann Arbor. University construction forced it to relocate a decade ago, over to its new location off of Main Street.
It still felt like old Ann Arbor inside. Even in the new location, Blimpy kept their grungy aesthetic. The signs are all hand-written, the cooks are still surly and demand you order in a specific way. They still give you change with as many two-dollar bills and 50-cent coins as they can.
I was shocked to see they take credit cards now. Has Blimpy Burger gone woke? Not a single DoorDash driver or terminal was on the premises though. Great for the vibe and keeping the line short. It’d be contrary to their ethos, but you have to wonder if it’s inevitable.
Apart from the restaurant scene, Ann Arbor nightlife seems caught at a crossroads. On the one hand, Zoomers are drinking less than any previous generation. On the other hand, there are 10,000 more students in Ann Arbor than a decade ago, and they are still out and about in droves.
Mash Bar, another new joint 10 years ago, arose during the Millennial cocktail revival (you’re welcome). A great little basement bar underneath Blue Tractor, with a variety of classic whiskey cocktails on the menu.
The whiskey sours were great. I had a few and listened to the live band. It wasn’t overwhelmingly crowded, but every table was full, mostly with groups of students talking amongst themselves. Only maybe half had a drink in their hands.
A great bar if you like cocktails, but tastes seem to have shifted. The kids go out, but mostly to run around and socialize. Drinking is secondary.
8 Ball Saloon, with darts and pool tables, was beyond packed. There was a gig at the Blind Pig, and crowds spilled out into the street. Vendors sold hot dogs out front, and business was booming.
LIVE nightclub, down the street, had a line stretching well around the block and looked full already. Lines at the big Ann Arbor college bars like Rick’s and Scorekeepers are nothing new, but a line at LIVE, well to the west of Main Street? The crowds are spilling over.
That might be fleeting too, with plans in the works to demolish that entire corner and build yet another 10-story high rise. Ann Arbor needs more housing, more and more every year.
The thing is, it’s good to see the city doing well, brimming with activity. It’s good to see businesses succeeding. It’s good to have great food, cultural events, all of it. Don’t mistake me for a pessimist or some anti-gentrification crusader.
But it’s worth acknowledging when a city is full to the brim, to the point where the lines and crowds start to drown out desirability. Ann Arbor has a lot that draws people in, but it can’t sustain this level of growth, in this way, indefinitely.
The city doesn’t simply need more housing, either. It does, but the current strategy of high rises and increased urban density is undoubtedly crowding the city. Ann Arbor needs more cultural centers, or expanded ones.
It needs to find a little breathing room. That way, more and more Ann Arborites can find themselves blissfully three drinks deep in a walkable city with the love of their life. As it stands now, they’re lucky to get a dinner reservation.
Bobby Mars is art director of Michigan Enjoyer. Follow him on X @bobby_on_mars.
