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On September 15, there was an emotional stir across Chulalongkorn University’s campus. A photograph emerged of an empty shopfront, with only its noticeboard still standing—a relic of what once was. The name on the board was “จีฉ่อย – Jee Choi,” a shop that had gained legendary status since the 1970s. But last week, this legendary shop closed its doors for what seems to be the final time. The Facebook posts that followed expressed sorrow, capturing the deep affection people had for this place.
Jee Choi, operated by two Chinese-Thai sisters, was more than a store; it was a pillar of the old Sam Yan Market, now transformed into the sleek Sam Yan Mitr Town. Its reputation was unmatched. It became known as the “magic shop,” a place where you could seemingly find anything your heart desired. Students, locals, and even random passersby would marvel at the sheer diversity of goods in that small space.
The internet age amplified its mythical status. Even Uncyclopedia—a satirical site akin to Wikipedia—immortalized the store. The satirical entry about Jee Choi joked, “This shop colors the university neighborhood with life. It sells everything and, if it doesn’t have what you want, it can get it within two days. It’s open 24 hours.” The post humorously listed items sold there, from toys and soft drinks to flight tickets, hula hoops, and even K-pop concert tickets. The humor masked a reality: the shop truly was the go-to place for anything and everything, no matter how unexpected the request. From the famous story of a student asking for a hard disk—only to have a grandma produce one from the back of the store—to more outlandish challenges like a kimono or even a dentist’s chair, Jee Choi delivered.
I recently organized a space online for people to share their memories of the shop, and the stories poured in. Some of these recent anecdotes are even more real than the satirical Uncyclopedia tales. One person reminisced about needing supplies for a freshman orientation event in 2010. It was 10 PM, and every major store had already closed. While they could have waited until the next day, they decided to test the legend of Jee Choi. To their delight, the grandmas had everything they needed, and the project was finished that night. Another story from 2011 described a student who had an early English exam. To their shock, they found out jeans weren’t allowed, but with no malls open, they rushed across the street to Jee Choi. Sure enough, they got a pair of slacks just in time for the exam.
These stories reflect something powerful about the Sam Yan community. The destruction of that community didn’t come from the shop owners choosing to retire—it came from the university. I know this because I’ve spoken with one of the sisters who ran the shop. She shared with me that she didn’t keep the shop running for profit (especially in recent years, when fewer people frequented it), but because she loved the students and the sense of connection with the community. Yet, the university raised rents year after year, eventually making it impossible for her to continue.
Some critics claim the shop declined because it didn’t adapt to modern times. But they forget the shop was thriving even as big superstores like Tesco Lotus came in. Many students preferred Jee Choi over impersonal malls. The shop’s decline wasn’t about adaptation; it was about being forced out. Chulalongkorn University moved the shop from its prime spot to a back alley to make way for the corporate expansion that brought Sam Yan Mitr Town into existence. Even from this remote location, the shop held on for decades, its reputation strong.
When Jee Choi closed, I shared the news on my Facebook page. The shop’s owner called me soon after, upset. She told me that the university had asked her to remove the sign that still hung on the front of the empty shop. It bore the words “One Legendary of Chula,” a title reflecting the shop’s pride and history. Before she even had time to respond, the university removed the sign themselves. She was furious, and rightfully so. The store had been operating under a legal lease, and the removal of the sign was unjust. After public outrage, the sign was eventually returned to its rightful place, but the damage was done.
What happened to Jee Choi isn’t unique. As Davarian Baldwin points out in his book In the Shadow of the Ivory Tower—a book I hope will soon be translated into Thai—universities around the world are expanding at the expense of local communities. Baldwin’s concept of “UniverCities” highlights how institutions once focused on education are now more interested in profit, often destroying the very neighborhoods that once supported them. Chulalongkorn’s treatment of Jee Choi is a stark reminder of this phenomenon. It’s not just about one shop’s closure; it’s about the loss of a culture, a community, and a history.
The rise of massive malls and corporate partnerships is erasing the charm of local, family-run shops. Superstores, void of any real connection to the people they serve, are replacing places like Jee Choi. This trend, both in Bangkok and worldwide, is the result of shortsighted, profit-driven decision-making by universities and corporations alike. They prioritize immediate gains while neglecting the long-term consequences for the community and culture.
I’m not writing this essay out of regret or nostalgia. I’ve already taken action, campaigning for the university to reconsider its decisions and allow the shop to remain. While we haven’t succeeded yet, the memory of Jee Choi lives on in the minds and hearts of those who visited, studied, and grew up around it. In a way, the shop still exists as long as people remember it, and I have hope that one day, it might return in some form.
Universities that chase money at the expense of their roots become hollow and disconnected from the very people they’re supposed to serve. Jee Choi, and the countless stories surrounding it, represent the values that once made Chulalongkorn a vibrant, student-centered place. If we can revive that spirit, then perhaps we can also restore the connection between universities and their communities.
