It’s possible that you love nothing more than an iced cold glass of freshly mowed lawn in the morning — bovines and equines have championed this method for centuries. However, it is also possible that if consumed first thing on a Monday, you are repenting for your weekend sins. Forgive me for that Fireball shot, for that 3 a.m. pepperoni pizza, for that 3:04 a.m. bonus slice of plain cheese…
You’re a doer, and the day doesn’t do until you’ve had your Greek yogurt, though it’s unclear (even to you) if you like the taste or have simply been manipulated by good marketing. Rarely is being a John Stamos not a phase, however: few can sustain a full six months of back-to-back yogurt breakfasts. There’s a limit.
Oatmeal’s your alternative once the thought of tart dairy makes you barf-y.
Ah, the brave Yoga Bowler. Like a downward dog into lotus frog, your daily açai bowl appears effortless, but has been known to send others to the hospital upon improper execution. (Let us not forget that the chia seed yin beside that blended Pitaya yang may cause a tree to grow in your Brooklyn belly.) You follow Kayla Itsines on Instagram not for her workouts but for the frozen-bowl-inspo she posts, although your teeth have developed abs to protect themselves against the enamel shock that comes with every chilled bite.
An understated morning bird, The Smoothie Sister is of the more tolerable early risers when it comes to She Who Makes Her Breakfast versus Grumpy Rushers. The latter group will empathize with your smoothie, assuming it means you, too, are “on the go.” It appears unfussy — you just threw a bunch of crap in a blender, pressed a button and hoped for the best, right? But it hints at aspirational adulthood: you visit grocery stores with mild to moderate frequency, whereas the rest of us are hoping our roommate the Green Juicer left a slice of Saturday’s cold pizza in the fridge.
Speaking of cold ‘za…
You wake up starving and know that eating something is more responsible than not, but you’re a consumer — not a planner, and you’re late — so if there’s something you can grab with one hand while the other searches for the same phone that you’re already on (nice shoulder/ear move there, Wolf of Call Street), you’ll eat it. If it requires a toaster, unspoiled milk or one less hit on the snooze button, however, The College Kid would rather go hungry.
The New Yorker isn’t really a breakfast person. You’re not really a people person either, but the large black coffee makes the morning commute a little bit easier. Bonus points for the digestion regulation, too.
Peter Pans believe that breakfast, like “age,” is just one more societal construct intended to let the man win and keep you down.
JK. Cereal rules. You’re just finally old enough to eat a bowl of marshmallows without your mom telling you what to do.
The Boardroom Snacker forgets about breakfast until A) someone has a birthday, and you remember you love doughnuts, B) your boss is in a good mood and surprises everyone with bagels, C) there is an unattended muffin in the break room, no one is looking, and you’ve got two minutes to kill.
If breakfast is the meal of kings, then you are sunny-side up royalty. Like any good Windsor, of course, The Full Monty keeps it low key on the weekday. Monday through Friday your true identity is hidden behind the civilian crumble of a granola bar. Come Saturday morning, you put your crown-n-cape on: two eggs, sausage, hash browns (vote below: crispy or squishy?), toast and OJ. Oh, and a Bloody Mary. And an iced latte. Something sweet, too. This doesn’t count your friend’s waffle, which you convinced her to order so that you can have a bite or half.
As for what this says about you? You’re hungover. Hello.
Bacon egg and cheese on a roll (no commas, you’re in a hurry): the breakfast sandwich is the hangover cure alternative for those days you’re already five minutes late to work. Pro tip: Do not attempt to order this from a kosher bagel shop. This Breakfast Sammy writer learned that one the hard way.
The Corner Store‘s go-to: toasted bagel and schmear. It’s fast, delicious and most importantly, cheap; breakfast should never cost more than your metro card. You’re an unapologetic creature of habit whose favorite condiment (besides cream cheese) is gluten, and though you’d never say it out loud, you secretly relish in the fact that you liked bagels before they were in fashion.
The Rebel eats breakfast, alright, but you’re punk rock about it. Tuna sandwich? Classic. Burrito? I dare you. Last night’s pasta? Anarchy in the USA. Nothing’s off limits because you DGAF and laugh in the face of culinary convention. But you still need coffee with that burger and fries; this is breakfast after all — you’re not insane.