rethinking the commons: how vending shapes urban life and family well-being
It’s hard to place vending machines on the map when it comes to well-designed cities. The truth is, the spaces between our destinations shape our daily health more than we realize— namely the amount of space.
Our cities were built around cars. The grocery store is often a drive away, plus a walk across the parking lot, plus a scan of an entire warehouse full of stocked shelves— not to mention any car seats to be buckled and unbuckled and hands to be held getting in and out of the vehicle while looking out for other cars. That means the “commons,” the spaces we share, have quietly shifted. Instead of walkable main streets full of shops and merchants with food and drink, most of our shared life now happens inside institutions: The YMCA, the hospital, the school, the community center.
These places have become the new heart of public life. They are where kids play, where parents connect, where recovery and community and learning actually happen. And yet, when you step inside many of them, the most basic form of comfort for time spent — good food access— is often missing. And it’s obvious why: modern economic conditions make it harder than ever to staff and maintain the overhead of small concessions to keep them open and available.
The Missing Layer of Urban Design
Urban thinker Jane Jacobs famously said that cities work best when they reflect the “sidewalk ballet” — the natural rhythm of daily life. People watching each other’s kids, grabbing coffee, running errands, and bumping into neighbors are all small, ordinary interactions that grow safety, vibrancy, and trust.
But in the modern built environment, the sidewalk ballet we tend to do our parts of the dance in isolation, across all corners of our personal urban landscapes. Families move between structured destinations — school, parks, sports, appointments — without many supportive stops in between. In those transitions, time and energy are scarce. Hunger hits at odd hours. Kids melt down. Parents compromise.
That’s where micro-infrastucture like Perry’s Pantry comes in: small interventions that help public spaces function more like community hubs again. The beauty is, this isn’t a major renovation or capital project, but a small swap that upgrades how people feel in your space almost immediately.
Designing for Parents, Not Just For Buildings
Every parent has lived that moment of juggling a stroller, a backpack, and a hungry kid with no snacks left and nowhere to get something decent to eat. Most vending options in public buildings were designed decades ago, when convenience meant processed and cheap. But the world has changed, and so have families’ expectations. The crunch parents have for meal prep in days increasingly filled with activities means snacks need to reach a higher bar.
When a YMCA, hospital, or ice rink intalls a Perry’s Pantry, they’re extending a hand and offering something valuable to fill the gap that is created by the time spent in their facility.
The New Commons
If cityscapes of the 20th century were defined by highways, the 21st century is being redefined by nodes of community— the places where people naturally gather and overlap. These spaces are our new commons, and often spread apart from each other to accommodate parking space for their visitors. How we design them determines how people feel inside them and the overall ease of their day.
Lighting, seating, signage, and food access all communicate belonging. They show whether a space was built for everyone, or just for those who planned ahead. In that sense, vending machines are not trivial, they’re part of the emotional infrastructure of a city. A family that can count on a healthy option at their child’s practice or appointment is a family that feels supported by their community.
That’s not just convenience.
Building a Healthier Everyday
At Perry’s Pantry, we think of every location as a mini public square— a small part of a much larger ecosystem where nutrition, design, and small joys can come together.
Our machines are stocked with thoughtful curations of snacks and drinks that make healthy the default, but we’re also rethinking the presence of vending itself: bright, welcoming, intentionally-designed into the space. No more dusty black box hidden by the stairwell.
Institutions have long invested in physical infrastructure [HVAC, lighting, Wi-Fi] as the baseline of comfort. Nutrition deserves the same consideration. When public spaces make it easier to take care of the necessities of our days, they become places where everyone can thrive, not just pass through. And the comfort people feel translates into the most important metrics: member satisfaction and retention, student engagement and equity, or patient and caregiver well-being on-site. That’s how a simple snack upgrade becomes a feedback loop of community trust.
