The Digital Ritual of the Wawa Hoagie

In the fall of 2015, Pope Francis visited Philadelphia. There were security perimeters, portable toilets, and a Mass for hundreds of thousands along the Benjamin Franklin Parkway. Unlike other public events in the city, however, the atmosphere was surprisingly pleasant. No one wore C-collars or set anything ablaze. Philadelphia's affection for the pope was warm yet understated, much like its affection for Wawa.

It’s no surprise that Wawa, the beloved convenience store and deli with over 850 locations across six states and Washington, D.C., was deeply involved in the pope’s visit. They hurried to unveil their flagship store downtown ahead of His Holiness's arrival; when the mayor cut the ribbon, he vowed to present the pontiff with a hoagie of his choice. Wawa also provided branded water during Mass, catered to numerous first responders, and even set up a cardboard Pope for selfies.

A towering billboard proclaimed, “Wawa welcomes Pope Francis,” perfectly summarizing my childhood in a way that felt almost intrusive. Growing up in the Philadelphia suburbs and attending Catholic school for 13 years, my classmates and I spent countless hours at our local Wawa, devouring turkey Shorti Hoagies and guzzling French vanilla coffee. I may not remember the last time I took communion, but I always seek out the digital ritual of the Wawa hoagie when I return home.

The inaugural Wawa convenience store opened its doors in 1964 in Folsom, Pennsylvania, branching out from the company’s dairy roots. Soon, it expanded throughout New Jersey and Delaware, but the Wawa we know and cherish truly emerged in the 1980s with the introduction of the deli counter and coffee. (As the corporate timeline proudly notes, the chain earned the title of 'Best of Philly' for coffee and deli in 1986.) During that time, Wawa catered to suburban life, mirroring middle-class tastes with offerings like Shorti Hoagies introduced in 1992, no-fee ATMs in 1995, and hot breakfast sandwiches for commuters in 1996 — the same year many locations added fuel stations.

What I love about my Wawa is that it transcends the typical gas station store. The larger Super Wawas represent the chain’s reach into the exurbs and other states, at least in my mind. Some suburban townships actively oppose Super Wawas due to their threat to local family-owned gas stations, or because their size and 24-hour hours might bring a chaotic mix of traffic and unwanted crowds. Despite the regional devotion to the chain, there’s a tension over Wawa’s massive growth. And it really has become massive; a 2011 article from Philadelphia magazine revealed it was the eighth-largest coffee seller in the U.S., and if it weren’t privately held, it would rank among the Fortune 500. By 2021, the company had expanded by over 300 stores along I-95.

However, this expansion hasn’t diminished the cult-like following of Wawa, highlighting the paradox of a regional chain. Like all businesses, it must grow to satisfy investors, but it also needs to stay true to its roots and maintain a quality that justifies the pride of its community. Visiting Wawa, accessible almost anywhere in the Delaware Valley, offers not the impersonal comforts of national chains but the unique, familiar offerings that reflect Philadelphia’s character. Wawa bolsters a mini-economy of local brands by featuring items like Herr’s potato chips and Tastykakes, alongside its own Wawa-branded products, including milk. Their hoagies are crafted using Amoroso’s rolls, a local bakery whose crusty, flaky Italian rolls are to Philadelphia’s culinary landscape what corner deli bagels are to New York, or generic baguettes are to Paris — a daily staple essential to the local flavor.

And as it continues to extend beyond its original borders, Wawa stays true to its identity: it still calls a hoagie a hoagie, even in Florida. The ongoing rivalry with Sheetz, another gas station and convenience store brand, underscores Wawa’s roots in Philadelphia and the Delaware Valley, distinguishing it from other areas of Pennsylvania where touchscreen-ordered sandwiches are referred to as “subz.”

Describing what it means to be from Philadelphia—specifically my suburban experience in the 1990s—can be a challenge. Many people across America grew up in suburbs that replaced farms, attended Catholic schools, and sipped sugary French vanilla coffee to feel mature. There's a version of me who might have lived in suburbs over orange groves, gone to school near Toledo instead of Philly, or grabbed that coffee from 7/11 or Sheetz. The uniformity of suburban life leads us to latch onto small specifics, even if they aren't particularly unique. Perhaps we hold onto them even tighter. I felt a wave of nostalgia when I saw a pin featuring the classic Wawa logo—the one with the sunset and a silhouetted goose—adorned with “Jawn” in the Wawa font. It was at the checkout of a Whole Foods back home; just as I felt understood, I also felt a bit marketed to.

I downloaded the Wawa app to help with this essay, and every time I see the logo, I’m tempted to open it and order an Italian hoagie; at the very least, I want to know when I might be near a Wawa again. However, I don’t wish for a Wawa in Los Angeles. If there were only a couple here, it would feel like a novelty rather than a necessity. If Wawas popped up all over Southern California, the chain would lose its special connection to home. Wawa's strength lies in its vastness combined with its regional focus, making it a beloved giant. In a city that has cast off kings, it’s the only brand substantial enough (sorry, Comcast) to host dignitaries and serve them a hoagie of their choice.

Naya-Cheyenne is a multimedia illustrator and designer based in Brooklyn, originally from Miami.