Why is New Zealand going loco for froyo?

Fans queue for hours for pay-by-the-gram frozen yoghurt bowls that can cost $30 – or more. What's going on?

On a chilly recent Saturday in Ponsonby, jackets were on and hoods were up. Hungry punters shivered in long queues that snaked through a concrete building as a DJ blasted bangers. They inched their way forward for up to an hour and a half, passing the time by listing exotic toppings for excited social media editors clutching cameras: “Cookie dough … biscoff crunch … boba pearls … rainbow strips … Dubai chocolate.”

They did all this for the froyo. Yomi, a self-serve frozen yoghurt brand, has experienced a meteoric rise in popularity since opening its first store in Mount Maunganui in December. Now there are four outlets, including Saturday’s Ponsonby opening, and more are coming. “Insane,” is how Michael Sparrow, who founded the company with his wife Rachel, describes it. “It’s a wild ride.”

The Sparrows are not alone. Demand for froyo is surging, with brands like Yora, Yogurberry and Yogo Bay taking over city centres around the country. Most are self-serve, allowing customers to squeeze their own frozen yoghurt flavours into tubs then help themselves to toppings, like chia seed puddings, cookie dough balls, viral Japanese cheesecake and warm fountains of gooey caramel and chocolate.

Tubs are weighed on scales at the counter. Anyone used to paying under $10 for an ice cream may get a shock. “$30 for a medium-sized bowl… actually ridiculous,” declares a recent review for Yomi’s Takapuna store. Michael admits he's sold a $38 bowl, but says that’s not typical. “If you want to come in and get a few small things, it might be $6-7,” he says. “If you want to pile it up, it might be $20 or $25.”

Michael and Rachel started Yomi after watching Australia embracing the global froyo craze. Neither had hospitality experience: she’s a former Air NZ pilot, he’s an ex project manager for the Department of Conservation. “One day we were like, ‘Shall we just do it?’” says Michael. Before signing their first lease, Michael’s father, a financial advisor, staged an intervention. “Can you please not do this?” he told them. “You’re leveraging everything. It’s incredibly risky.”

Soon, Michael’s parents were working at Yomi’s Mount Maunganui store. His mother was in the kitchen cutting strawberries, his father helped with maintenance. A Wellington store is opening later this month, and their expansion shows no sign of slowing. The Sparrows are doing this with a one-year-old in tow and Rachel is pregnant with their second child. “With one store I had a good work-life balance ... time with the family, exercise,” Michael shrugs. “It’s a hell of a lot harder to do that.”

Frozen yoghurt’s been around before, enjoying its first wave of popularity in the 80s, before a second wave hit in the 2010s. This one’s propelled by social media and teens. “It appeals to a younger generation that likes luxury snacks and treats [and] the appeal of higher protein content,” says Susan Linton, president of the International Frozen Yoghurt Association.

But history is littered with forgotten food trends, like cronuts, Prime energy drinks and MrBeast's Feastables chocolate. We’re in the middle of an economic crisis and hospitality is doing it tough, with restaurants, bars and cafes constantly closing. To quote a disbelieving Brodie Kane who recently came across a froyo queue in Takapuna: “A fucking frozen yoghurt shop?”

Bodo Lang is not a froyo guy. Giapo, the long-running Auckland ice cream and gelato store which experienced viral fame with a $23 squid-shaped chocolate cone, is where the Massey University marketing professor takes his friends. Cold treats are an easy sell, says Lang. “Frozen yoghurt sounds healthy, but essentially what they’re selling is sugar,” he says. “We like sweet things … they’re selling pleasure.”

Teens and 20-somethings looking to make their own decisions also drive this boom. “They want to be in charge of their lives, not what mum or dad puts on their plate,” says Lang. “This is a place where they can enact self-determination. They get the sugar kick, the experience, the mixing, the fun in store that they have with their friends. It’s a great combination.”

But that doesn’t explain why expensive desserts are taking off in this economy. Lang believes froyo remains an affordable treat for those with disposable income. “If you can’t afford the beach house any more, or the flights to Hawai‘i, or the big fancy dinner out, you might say, ‘Look, we’re having dinner at home, but we’re going out for dessert,’” he says. “People are looking for little rewards.”

Frozen yoghurt’s history points to boom and bust cycles. Kiwiyo was a frozen yoghurt empire in the early 2010s with more than 20 New Zealand stores but now has two, instead focusing on wholesaling and licensing. Yoghurt Story seemed to put a full-stop on the last craze in 2016 when it was found guilty and fined for selling froyo that didn’t contain any yoghurt. 

Michael, from Yomi, is doing everything to buck these trends. His stores open from 7am to offer healthy breakfasts, including açai, LSA, protein powders and fresh fruit, then stretch late into the evening for those craving desserts. To expand its age appeal, Yomi partners with gyms and offers run clubs. Toppings rotate with regional varieties. “It’s constantly evolving,” he says. “Come back in a year, there’ll be a new selection.”

As we spoke in his Ponsonby store, a “coming soon” sign could be seen in a storefront window across Ponsonby Rd. It was for Shibbys, a Yomi competitor from Newmarket that will soon open its own branch a stone's throw from Yomi. Shibbys didn’t respond to a request for comment, but its Instagram account recently shared renovation photos.

Is this a sign of over-saturation? Michael believes this frozen yoghurt boom has a long way to go before it reaches that point. “In Melbourne’s CBD, there’s 30 of them,” he says. “You can walk to all of them. It’s crazy.” (The Spinoff checked Google Maps; this appears to be accurate.)

Like Lang, I'm an ice cream guy, but it was time to try this froyo craze for myself. To Yomi's soundtrack of bass-heavy house tunes, I pulled a tub off the wall and pulled on a lever to squirt gooey purple acai into it. The toppings selection was overwhelming. I chose mango boba pearls, sliced almonds and granola crunch, trying my best to avoid the chocolate pretzels and melted chocolate and caramel fountains. 

At the counter, I placed my tub on the scales and held my breath. It came in at just over 200 grams – a cost of $10.35. Michael waved my wallet away and I dived in, enjoying the late afternoon treat despite the chilly temperatures outside. When I got home, my daughter, 12, instantly clocked the empty Yomi container and shot me a look of disgust. Then she asked: “What toppings did you get?”