What your coffee says about you.

One of my favourite things to see when out and about, is when dogs look like their owners, and owners look like their dogs. A crossfit enthusiast with biceps and triceps bulging out of their muscle tees walking an American Staffy. A prim, proper, yet perpetually alarmed lady with a sphere of curls walking a poodle. A scruffy yet lovable vagabond walking Hairy McLairy. A blonde, sun-is-always-shining optimist eating an egg and bacon roll with a golden labrador. A very tall person with a Great Dane. A toddler with a Dachshund. 

With coffee it’s different. I love when someone has an unexpected coffee order. Unexpected to me that is. 

See, as a barista, I often assume what kind of coffee a new customer would order, based entirely on outward appearance. Small cappuccinos belong to 78 – 95 year olds. Large lattes go with girls 16 – 29. Large mochas go with boys 18 – 22, after which they switch to large caps (two sugars), after which they switch to small strong flat whites (no sugar). Filters are accompanied by men 24 – 43 wearing graphic tees and corduroy caps. 

But the stereotype rarely reflects reality. And the further it gets from the stereotype, the more I love it.

My surfer, rock climbing friend who has a very wide range of very cool caps, very cool tees and is in a punk band, has no time for filters. He orders a small oat weak decaf latte. My mum’s friend particularly would not touch a skim cappuccino, but instead enjoys a Costa Rican filter. A very talented barista I know orders a flat white but “if you’ve got a spare shot lying around just use that, no need to make a new one”.

There was one customer and order combo in particular that stood out to me. It was maybe fifteen years ago, working at a waitress (whose owner had sole operation rights over the machine. I was allowed to touch it once, made a terrible cup of coffee (with no training so not entirely my fault), foam as thin as your grandma’s hair, and was never let near that machine again), when a customer sat down in my section. I was nervous. He was a biker. Not a BMX biker. Black jeans, leather vest, studded belt, sleeve tattoos up his burley arms. He ordered a pot of earl grey tea, with two cups please – his mum will be joining him soon. What cakes do we have available?

And do you know what I like even more than owners looking like their dogs? When they look the complete opposite. A crossfitter with a dachshund. A goth with a puppy golden labrador. A toddler with a great dane. Hopefully accompanied by an adult. Juxtaposition is my jeux de vivre.

The moral of this story, that is, what you should take away from my musings on cultural norms and our innate desire to fit into social society (I understand I’m not speaking for everyone), is if you base your order based on what your friends, your subculture, or even your barista say you should be drinking – stop it. Order whatever the heck you want. It’ll make you happy, and more importantly, me as well.