Ah, breakfast, the most important meal of the day, if you are to believe your mum and, er, science. One look at Instagram and you will be inundated with runny poached eggs to perfect porridge shots that make your 3 minute Scottish variety look like the most shameful breakfast serving in history.
Thus we have to wonder, what does your breakfast say about you? In this non scientific analysis, we threw caution to the wind and really dug into the psyche of the average breakfast consumer to genuinely terrify ourselves whilst writing this piece.
There are two types of cereal eaters; the first is someone who still thinks that cartoons in the morning is acceptable – well into their early thirties, the other is someone who has been specifically told that they need more fibre in their diet.
Sugary overloads to cardboard consistencies have made you numb to the outside world neither trusting your government, loved ones or phone. You have a quirky twitter handle which includes what appears to be a random set of numbers but are a mixture of your blood cholesterol results and your geographic coordinates, you also like your tea the colour of “one shade from Casper.”
Poached Egg with avocado on sourdough
You’re trying too hard to fit in, if this is how you start the day, buying LPs and whitling your sixth hundred spoon for your Etsy store is how you end it. You wish you went by the name, Taylor or Janice instead its more than likely James/Emma.
You’re a hipster, a bad one at that, and you dare add sriracha which is now classed as the Devil’s Blood in hipster communities. You drive a German sports vehicle but wouldn’t be seen without some grease mark on your clothing proving that you are still “one of the people.” Fight the power!
You think you’re Bear Grylls but that’s where the comparison ends, thinking. You’re more like Jack from finance. Jack’s an OK person, he has his finances in order, he understands his overdraft charges and he enjoys Dermot O’Leary on a Saturday Morning. Jack is quietly basking in his 1.7% tracker fund and he will keep that one to himself.
Be less Jack.
You voted REMAIN and you don’t give a fuck that someone sees you eating the continents all buttery propaganda weapons, especially if you feel sleepy and lethargic just an hour later. You see yourself walking through Parisian streets, imagining a simpler, smokier life, instead you’re in your local Spar picking up a copy of i and telling Carol behind the till to warm up the three day old pastry.
Remember, loafers must be stored in a non damp cupboard and that scarf you have for indoor use, you look fabulous!
You’re biggest dilemma is if you go for the ready sliced variety or a whole loaf and risk potential digit loss aside from that, the most rebellious part of your day is if you stick the butter knife in the jam jar, pissing everyone else off in the household and then bragging about it on social media. Your favourite shows are NCIS & Columbo as you like to boast that they would never catch you.
Secretly you listen to Joni Mitchell and do intricate charcoal stencil work, actually you’re highly creative even if your breakfast says otherwise.
You start your day thinking about protein, you finish your day thinking about gains, you’re the most boring person modern society has created, and no, we don’t want to see your abs. You’re so boring that you’ve been advised to not talk to people who operate heavy machinery and when you say “what are the macros in that pie?” we all think, “what a twat.”
So your body fat is less than 7% and you enjoy catching a reflection in people’s sunglasses, great, but you’re still boring.
Your world views are a mixture of a London Cabbie and Al Murray Pub Landlord which obviously means you’re a smart cookie but your conspiracy theories are spine chilling, especially the one about Paul McCartney being a Lizard.
You want to enjoy a Danish pastry but worry that it is breaking some secret code and that you will never get recruited to an elite branch of MI6.
Coffee, Cigarette and Aspirin
You just don’t give a shit about life, and belong in a time where this behaviour was permisable, that’s right, you’re a 1970s Rock God. If Robert Plant is wailing in your head or Clapton’s “Cocaine” is on repeat, you’re doing it right.
You’re the life and soul of a party if not the kind of person that everyone eventually worries about.