What Your Granola Bar of Choice Says About You
From Annie’s to Special K.
You are a regular on the local Mommy & Me yoga circuit.
You are either a 5-year-old child or a 25-year-old man with multiple vitamin and mineral deficiencies.
The interior of your condo looks like it was decorated by a guy named Gareth who makes chalkboard signs at Whole Foods. You think a zippered vest is an acceptable addition to any outfit, but you only break out your Moncler puffer for black-tie occasions.
You chuckle aloud to yourself without even the slightest sense of irony while reading “Cathy” cartoons.
You wear Chacos and drapey earth-tone cardigans from J.Jill. You usually just like to listen to the “Fresh Air” podcast on your first-generation iPod nano while you jog, but you honestly can’t wait until Norah Jones’s next album drops.
You think, for whatever reason, that “Roasted Jalapeño” is an acceptable flavor for a granola bar. (It isn’t.)
Do they still make these? I mean, they were hardly even granola bars, but still.
You are a vegan with celiac disease who keeps kosher and also happens to have ethical objections to both GMOs and unfairly traded cacao.
You think you’re the Carrie of your friend group, but you’re really more of an off-brand Miranda. You always “Like” the inspirational memes your aunt posts on Facebook, and you own Sandra Bullock’s entire filmography on DVD.
I don’t know why they decided to make these less crunchy all of a sudden, and I don’t know why Oats ’n Honey is the most prevalent flavor when it can’t even hold its own in a variety pack. But I digress. If Nature Valley is your bar of choice, you are probably a really nice person to chat with at an otherwise boring party. And your teeth are really strong.
You bought an economy-size box of Nutri-Grain bars at Costco near the beginning of George W. Bush’s second term, but you’re still having trouble getting through those damn blueberry ones. Also, you have no teeth.
You have one of those “26.2” (or, God forbid, “13.1”) stickers on the bumper of your Subaru.
You’ve never spent any time in prison (unless you count that one summer after undergrad, when you almost decided to be an Outward Bound counselor), but you’ve always kind of wanted to know what nutraloaf tastes like. You still brag about having donated $10 to that Soylent guy’s Kickstarter campaign.
Once your lifestyle/#fitspo Instagram account hit 5,000 followers, you started hawking body wraps and weight-loss tea. You don’t know what sugar alcohols are, exactly, but how bad can they really be?
You buy foods that are supposed to taste like other foods (e.g., banana cream pie yogurt) and genuinely enjoy reality television. You know what the world “literally” means, but you can’t seem to stop using it incorrectly (and often).
Claire Christoff has a case of Cashew Cookie Lärabars on her Amazon wishlist. Follow her on Twitter: @clairexoff