It’s clear by now that Whole Foods’ march toward benevolent, organic, feel-good corporate dominance cannot be stopped.

The grocery store – or “America’s healthiest grocery store”, as it prefers to be known – has more than 435 outlets across the US, Canada and the UK.

And, just last month, Whole Foods plopped down its latest outlet – in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

Williamsburg is a place that, depending on your point of view, is a hub of culture, music and art, or a place that is home to wealthy ad agency workers who want to live in lavish, brand-new condos while still enjoying the “authenticity” of Brooklyn life.

Happily, both perspectives make the neighbourhood prime feeding ground for Whole Foods, given the company’s target audience: an audience that wants the farm-to-table produce and aura of philanthropy you get at a farmers’ market, but with more attractive packaging and nicer shopping baskets.

On Friday morning the new store was predictably awash with customers. Whole Foods prides itself on offering local produce, and the Brooklyn plant is no exception. Upon entering, the first thing I saw were some beautiful white orchids. The second thing I saw was a sign above them. “Grown in New Jersey,” it said.

It didn’t stop there. There was a cabinet labelled “baked goods”. It turned out some of the baked goods had been baked right here in Brooklyn. There was even a picture of the bakers. The store features more than 800 Brooklyn-made products from more than 75 Brooklyn suppliers.

As I headed downstairs, into the belly of the beast, the store opened up. It is cavernous at 51,000 square feet. As you come down the escalator there is a sign bearing Whole Foods’ “higher purpose”:

“Nourishing the health and well-being of people and planet by being the authentic purveyor of food for the greater good.”

It’s certainly a noble idea, but I rather doubted the sincerity of the message, given it was displayed on one of those letter boards where you can change what it says at any given moment, like messages children craft on refrigerators with magnets.

Moving forward, I encountered the fruit and veg section, where I was met by 11 different types of onion.

Suffice to say, it is extremely comprehensive. Comprehensive and local. You can buy organic red onions from New York. Organic yellow onions from New York. Horseradish root from New Jersey.

That said, there is foreign stuff too. Apples from Argentina. Pears from New Zealand.

Sometimes two of the same products, one produced locally, and one produced abroad, are positioned next to each other, enabling shoppers to secretly vent their xenophobia.

“Screw you France, I’m buying the New Jersey onion.” “Get stuffed, Holland, my Savoy cabbage is coming from Vermont.”

If one of the staples of Whole Foods is healthy, organic produce, another is the pricing. It is expensive. You can buy orange juice – a 16oz orange juice – for $7.99. Or 27 organic diapers for $11.99. Or 15oz of chia seeds for $13.99.

If it proves anything, it’s that people will pay whatever you charge them. Whole Foods could double the price of its sprouted buckwheat acai blueberry cereal and people would probably still buy it. Just as long as it still contains organic maqui, Himalayan crystal salt and coconut nectar.

On Friday Manon Hallay, a 21-year-old dance student and Williamsburg resident, was among the Whole Foods patrons.

“It’s great,” she said as she emerged from the store, blinking in the sunlight. “But it’s so expensive.”

Hallay claimed to have been buying “breakfast food”. I looked in her bag. It contained one loaf of bread and a bottle of lemonade.

Nola Romano, 41, appeared to have done a more comprehensive shop.

“Meat and vegetables,” she declared when I asked what she had purchased.

“Because there’s not many places to buy good vegetables round here,” she said. “Or meat.”

Romano was dressed in leggings, sneakers and a sports top. Whole Foods is perfectly placed to draw in the healthy-lifestyle crowd, given its location next door to an Equinox gym – think a normal gym, but priced like maintaining a racehorse – and many of the customers seemed to be dressed in workout gear. But appearances can be deceiving.

“Oh it’s a facade,” Romano said when I noted her sporting attire.

“I’ve done no exercise today. Except carry these,” she said, motioning to her meat and vegetable bags.

Romano also noted the high prices – “although if you buy their store brands it’s cheaper” – but a look around Brooklyn Harvest Market, a couple of blocks away, suggested Whole Foods prices aren’t that different from other local options. The butternut squash was 50c cheaper in Harvest Market, sure, but then the organic diapers were $2 more. The chia seeds were $4 less in Harvest, but Whole Foods offered cheaper yellow onions.

So there’s competition. But it seems nobody else does the local produce thing quite like Whole Foods. Or at least nobody else assails their customers with local produce propaganda quite like Whole Foods.

And it’s not just that you can find “over 30 cheeses made within 100 miles of here”. It’s that Whole Foods is really good at creating an environment where people want to spend time.

In the Williamsburg store they’ve created a faux neighborhood, like on a TV set where there’s a precious manicured street with fake signs and fake store fronts. You can stand outside “Fine Cuts” butchers and watch a real-life butcher handling his meat. You can sit in the “N4 taproom” and drink a local IPA while enjoying the sports on TV. You can flip through the New York Times style section as you drink a latte in the coffee shop.

Or maybe you’d like to pay a visit to the smoothie bar. Or visit Luke’s Lobster “tail cart” – an old-fashioned wooden thing where someone who may or may not actually be called Luke sells lobster tails from Maine. You could even stop in at the vegan and paleo parfait bar for a chat over some chickpeas. The resulting atmosphere is more food hall than big-box grocery store.

It is relaxing. It is homey. It is aspirational. It feels like a community.

It isn’t, though.

“Are you trying to sell me something? If you’re trying to sell me something then don’t fucking talk to me,” said a woman leaving the store as I trotted over with my notebook.

After spending an hour in Whole Foods I felt I knew how to talk to their customers. I opened my mouth to explain.

‘I’m locally sourced!’ I wanted to say. ‘I’m 100% organic!’ ‘I’m expensive!’

I didn’t get the chance. “I’m in a hurry,” the woman called over her shoulder as she ran across the street.

Not even Whole Foods can ensure every customer leaves in a good mood.