There’s something deeply suspicious about someone who chooses Ready Salted when Paprika Max is right there.
It’s not just a lack of imagination, it’s a behavioural warning sign.
Because through crisps, the British public lives out its private chaos. They’re our rebellion. Our alter egos. No one needs Flamin’ Hot Monster Munch, but someone is eating them on the M25 right now, mark my words.
This carnage isn’t random either. It’s called bounded novelty.
We want variety, but only when the risk is tiny and the format is familiar. You’ll adventurously try Wasabi Tempura Seaweed Sensations, but draw a line in the sand at a new washing powder.
You might flirt with Tikka Masala Ridge Cut in the BP, but only if the rest of life remains gloriously beige.
Everyone has a crisp that outs them.
Salt and Vinegar Squares? Cheap, delicious, and completely feral, like someone who pays with actual coins and has a tattoo no one’s allowed to see.
Cheesy Doritos? Gorgeous, but violent. They slice your gums like they’re punishing you for the sin of debauchery.
And then there’s the sacred memory of the school tuck shop, that impossible choice between a 10p mix or a packet of Discos.
I always picked the sweets. I always felt deep regret.
Because my friend, a hugely unlikable chap, even now, chose the Discos, and opened them with the panache of a man unveiling the reality stone.
And as I sat there balefully with my limp cola bottles and a broken fizzy lace, I realised something profound and soul-crushing, more for your money isn’t always better.
But crisps are magic.
They’re not just snacks, they’re decision simulators. Tiny lessons in value, risk, regret, and desire.
The psychology is hedonic framing in its purest form. We’re not really choosing based on hunger, we’re deciding who we get to be for the next six minutes (ha! who am I kidding).
Adventurer. Traditionalist. Mild sadist with a craving for Scampi Fries.
Some people chase identity through crypto portfolios and gym selfies.
I do it with crisps, Torres Caviar Crisps naturally. Or Scampi Fries (with Krug obviously, I'm not a complete barbarian)
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PS. I can think of no way to tie in Luxury Academy training as a CTA so this will have to do. I suppose I could mention signing up for the newsletter but that's still quite raw TBH.