Katharine Cook Briggs and her daughter Isabel Briggs Myers created the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI) during WW2 to help women entering the workforce for the first time identify suitable jobs. The self-reporting questionnaire ascribes each user one of 16 personality types; each type consists of four different components based on the theory of psychological types by psychiatrist Carl Jung. He summed up his theory by writing, “What appears to be random behavior is actually the result of differences in the way people prefer to use their mental capacities.”
The components measure whether you’re introverted or extroverted (denoted by “I” or “E”), whether you take in information via sensing or intuition (“S” or “N”), whether you make decisions based on thinking or feeling (“T” or “F”), and whether you implement the information you’ve processed by judging or perceiving (“J” or “P”). Although it’s sometimes dismissed as pop-pseudo-science, it’s still widely used for everything from a hiring tool to attracting dates on Tinder. But you know us—it’s all about that bacon. So, I couldn’t help but wonder: What would happen at brunch according to your Myers-Briggs personality type?
You order scrambled eggs on toast, largely because anything else seems inappropriate rather than any innate appreciation of eggs. The table next to you are taking photos for Facebook. “Caption it 'mimosa is a breakfast food',” they all laugh, and you die a little inside. Your eggs arrive; you remove the parsley garnish before eating.
You order a muffin and a coffee to go. You don’t have time to eat in; you’re off hiking. The coffee machine starts spluttering and the waiter flummoxes. You spot the problem right away: “May I?” He nods enthusiastically, it spurts back into action, and you prescribe decalcifier monthly on your way out the door.
You order peanut butter and banana oatmeal, and settle in to read a novel you’ve been meaning to start for months. There’s just never the time. You feel equal parts thrilled and guilty at having an hour to yourself. On your way out, you spot a homeless man and you go back in and buy him a granola bar.
You take a break from exploring the Evolution of Chinese Ceramics exhibition and nip into the gallery café. You order the huevos rancheros and admire the natural light. Your breakfast arrives and is a sight to behold—perfect sunshine yolks surrounded by a sea of rich, aromatic salsa. You adjust a piece of cilantro before posting a photo to Instagram. #vscofoodie
You order a croissant and pray it doesn’t come with a side of small talk. It does. You indulge the bored barista and agree the weather does seem unusually miserable for August. Eventually, you escape to a corner and start writing notes for your novel exploring the perpetual and inevitable cycle of human suffering.
Your stomach rumbles. You were up all night writing case studies for the wildlife sanctuary you volunteer for, and consequently forgot dinner. Never mind, because you can have a delicious breakfast to make up for it. You order the eggs Benedict but you get eggs Florentine. Oh well, you think through a mouthful of spinach; your iron levels were a bit low, anyway.
It’s 7 a.m. and you’re the first to arrive. You order egg and steak with a side of hash browns on the merit that you won’t need to think about food again today. You’ve got a busy day in the lab. A woman comes in and orders a detox juice to “cleanse myself of toxins.” You weep for humanity (metaphorically).
Your waiter brings over the omelette you forgot you ordered. You suddenly snap back to reality and mutter something about the origins of the universe. You should head to work soon; you’re going to be late. You order another coffee and contemplate the puritan work ethic instead.
It’s 12:01 p.m. and the breakfast menu has stopped. But you need a cream cheese bagel like a junkie needs a fix, so you charm the waitress and she puts in your breakfast order. Washed down with a triple shot latte and a red bull chaser it’s bye-bye hangover and hello to another day in the fast lane.
You’ve never seen the appeal of brunch; it’s either breakfast or lunch. Anything else is superfluous, surely. You order a bacon sandwich and, halfway through, you’re interrupted with a frantic work call. Ian in accounts has messed up again. You take it, calm the waters and return to your breakfast. You steady Eddie, you.
You head to the new pancake shack and are pleased to see it’s buzzing with a crowd. You order the Ultimate Sweet ‘n’ Savoury Pancake Challenger Stack louder than is strictly necessary. Midway through, your face slick with syrup, you begin to regret your decision. The crowd starts chanting your name and all is well in the world once again.
You’ve organized a brunch for all your friends to catch up. When the waiter arrives, you’ve been too busy listening to Tom’s hilarious account of backpacking around South East Asia to decide on food, so you order French toast on a whim. The toast is just OK, but your pals are as happy as clams at high tide. Mission accomplished.
You head to the new Japanese-English joint in town and dive into an English breakfast udon soup. Miso and bacon rashers don’t tickle everyone’s fancy, but you’re curious. It’s pretty salty, but no regrets.
Since Sarah split with her boyfriend she’s gone a little bit crazy hermit girl, so you coax her to brunch. She wants an açai bowl but is intrigued by the Cronuts, so you agree to split one of each (even though you privately think açai bowls are ridiculous). Afterwards she seems genuinely cheered and says she’s glad to have a friend like you. You feel your heart glow.
You decide to check out the new raw café. The sign reads, "Good for you, good for the planet!" and you feel sweet joy at the prospect of bringing up the negative environmental impact of almond milk. You have a healthy debate and leave with a cacao shake. It’s pretty good, actually.
It’s 7 a.m. and you’ve already tweaked your investment portfolio and completed a one-hour personal trainer session. You order a breakfast burrito on the basis you can use the other hand to achieve inbox zero while eating. The waitress incorrectly charges you for two espressos. She won’t be making that mistake again.