What your favourite crisp flavour secretly reveals about your risk-taking style, psychologists say

The bowl lands on the table and, without thinking, everyone reaches for the same thing they always do. One friend dives for the salt and vinegar, bracing for the sting. Another hovers until they spot ready salted, relieved it’s there. Someone else pretends not to care, then quietly hoards the chilli crisps in the corner. On the surface, it’s just snacks and habit. Underneath, psychologists say, there’s a quiet pattern: the flavours you reach for tend to rhyme with how you handle risk elsewhere in your life.

A research team in Manchester asked over 800 adults to pick their “desert island” crisp flavour, then ran them through tasks that nudged them towards or away from risk-games of chance, hypothetical work decisions, even choices about travel and health. The differences weren’t cartoonishly huge, but they were consistent. People who gravitated to certain flavours took slightly bolder bets, or sidestepped risk earlier, even when the stakes were only imaginary. No one is diagnosing you from a Pringles tube. Yet the data hints that what you snack on might track with how you step into uncertainty.

Why crisps are a neat little personality test

Food choices are one of the few repeated decisions you make almost on autopilot. You don’t bring a spreadsheet to the crisp aisle; you glance, feel a tug, and your hand knows where to go. Psychologists like these micro‑moments because they compress lots of invisible factors-comfort, novelty seeking, tolerance for discomfort-into a single, quick action.

Crisps, in particular, bundle risk and reward in tiny, crunchy form. Strong flavours promise a hit but might disappoint. Exotic editions feel exciting but could be awful. Plain options are safe but, to some, boring. When you’ve chosen the same thing for years, it often reflects what you do with similar trade‑offs at work, with money, and in relationships. You’ll bend a little for taste, but only so far.

The Manchester team argue that this isn’t about crisps as destiny; it’s about crisps as a mirror. The label doesn’t create your risk style, it reveals it. That’s why flavour patterns still showed up even when they controlled for age, income, and how hungry people were. The flavour you call “your favourite” has usually survived dozens of tiny experiments. It’s a settled bet.

Ready salted: the quiet comfort‑risk balancer

Ready salted fans get mocked for being “plain”, but the data painted a subtler picture. These were people who liked familiarity, yes, but they weren’t allergic to risk. In money games, they took moderate, calculated punts when the odds were clearly explained, then stepped back once the return felt “good enough”.

In interviews, ready salted loyalists spoke about “not overcomplicating things” and “sticking with what works”. They took new jobs when the role was clear, tried new restaurants if a friend vouched for them, and booked holidays to places they’d at least heard of. They weren’t the first to leap, but they didn’t freeze either. Their risk‑taking style was cautious pragmatism: move when it seems sensible, not just because it’s different.

Psychologists have a term for this: satisficing. You don’t hunt obsessively for the perfect option; you pick something that comfortably clears your bar, then get on with your day. If ready salted is your default, you may be better than you think at “good enough” decisions that don’t chew through your energy.

Salt and vinegar: the sharp‑edge thrill tester

Salt and vinegar devotees came out spikier. They tolerated discomfort in the lab’s taste tests-bitter liquids, unexpected sourness-better than most. On the risk tasks, they were more likely to try bolder options once, then adjust sharply if it went badly. Their pattern wasn’t reckless; it was “test the edge, then back off”.

One participant described their crisp choice as “liking to feel something happen”. The same person reported a history of switching jobs in bursts, trying new sports, and saying yes to trips with very little planning. Across the group, salt and vinegar fans had a slightly higher appetite for short, intense experiences with clear endings-roller coasters, spicy food challenges, negotiations where the stakes are high but time‑limited.

This maps onto what researchers call sensation seeking: a tilt towards experiences that wake you up a bit, especially when you can see the outcome quickly. If this is your bowl, you may take on risk in bursts, then retreat to regroup, rather than living in a constant hum of danger. You like your uncertainty packaged, like the crisp packet itself.

Cheese and onion: the social risk‑takers

Cheese and onion lovers face a simple fact: these crisps linger. They sit in the air and on your breath long after the packet’s finished. Yet people who chose them as their top flavour were less bothered than most by what others might think. On questionnaires, they scored marginally higher on “speaking their mind” and “taking the lead in a group”, even when that meant possible conflict.

In social‑risk scenarios-giving feedback to a friend, disagreeing with a colleague, asking for a promotion-cheese and onion fans were more willing to act, provided they cared about the relationship or outcome. They didn’t pick fights for sport. They simply accepted that short‑term awkwardness was a price worth paying for longer‑term clarity.

One psychologist in the study joked that cheese and onion is “the flavour of people who will tell you there’s spinach in your teeth before the interview”. The risk they lean into is interpersonal. They’re ready to carry a bit of social heaviness if it serves a purpose. If this is your go‑to, you might be braver in conversations than you feel inside.

Smoky bacon, prawn cocktail and the wildcard crew

Flavours like smoky bacon and prawn cocktail sat in a playful middle ground. Their fans often talked about them as “a bit of fun” or “weird in a nice way”. In risk tasks, they leaned into creative gambles-unusual career paths, side projects, odd holiday choices-more than into high‑stakes financial risks.

Prawn cocktail loyalists in particular scored higher on measures of curiosity: they enjoyed learning for its own sake and were more likely to pick the novel option when the consequences were light. Smoky bacon eaters showed a blend of nostalgia and experimentation, mixing steady life choices with quirky hobbies and small, controlled risks that let them feel original without feeling exposed.

Here, risk‑taking looked like a series of gentle deviations from the script. They weren’t breaking the system; they were colouring in the margins. If you light up at the sight of a limited‑edition flavour, or still hunt down the discontinued ones of your childhood, your risk style may be playful rather than dramatic: bending rules to see what happens, while keeping the foundations solid.

Chilli and “max” flavours: the all‑in testers

People who went straight for the hottest, punchiest crisps-chilli, “flame‑grilled”, “max” or “extra” versions-tended to show the broadest risk appetite. They weren’t just open to strong taste; they were more accepting of prolonged uncertainty. In the lab’s delayed‑reward games, they were willing to wait longer for bigger hypothetical pay‑offs, and less rattled by swings along the way.

In interviews, they spoke about “getting bored easily”, “needing something to chase”, and “leaning in when things get intense”. Several described periods of freelancing, entrepreneurship or high‑pressure roles as “worth it” even when the outcome wasn’t guaranteed. They paid for this occasionally, with stories of burnout or overcommitment, but they rarely regretted the attempt.

Psychologists link this pattern to approach orientation-a focus on potential gains more than potential losses. If you keep a stash of chilli crisps for late‑night sessions, you might be the person who pushes projects into new territory, provided someone around you is good at brakes and boundaries.

Light versions and “anything but that”: the safety strategists

Then there are the people who say they “don’t really mind”, or always pick “light”, “baked” or “lower salt” versions. On average, these participants were more conservative in risk tests, especially when health or long‑term stability was on the line. They preferred small, consistent gains over big, jagged ones, even when told the maths slightly favoured a bolder bet.

They spoke fluently about trade‑offs-sleep versus overtime, saving versus spending, staying versus moving. Many framed their crisp choice as part of a wider pattern of “not overdoing it” or “keeping options open”. The risk they were most wary of was regret. They’d rather miss a dazzling upside than sit with the feeling that they’d pushed too far and can’t undo it.

Researchers see this as a form of preventive control: you steer your behaviour to avoid predictable downsides before they appear. If you float between neutral flavours or pick the “healthier” crisp even at parties, you may be the one scanning for hidden costs while others chase the spike.

Putting your packet into perspective

It’s tempting to read all this and decide you’re a salt‑and‑vinegar‑cheese‑and‑onion hybrid with chilli tendencies. Reality is softer. You almost certainly like more than one flavour, and your risk style shifts with context, mood and phase of life. The study’s point isn’t to box you in; it’s to show that tiny, stable habits can reflect your deeper comfort with risk, in ways you might not notice day to day.

If you want to experiment, you don’t need to rewrite your personality. You can do what the researchers did and play with micro‑shifts. The next time you’re in a low‑stakes setting-a film night, a picnic-try picking the flavour you usually side‑eye. Then notice how your body and mind respond. Do you brace? Do you feel oddly pleased? Bored? That reaction can teach you something about your edges, even if you only move them by a millimetre.

The quiet lesson is this: your risk‑taking style isn’t fixed, it’s practised. You rehearse it in big decisions, yes, but also in supermarket aisles and shared bowls. Change a tiny rehearsal often enough, and the bigger choices can start to feel different too.

Quick flavour‑to‑risk snapshot

Crisp flavour lean	Typical risk‑taking style	What it often means in life
Ready salted	Cautious pragmatist	Moves when odds are clear, happy with “good enough”
Salt & vinegar	Burst risk‑taker	Tests edges, then retreats and recalibrates
Cheese & onion	Socially bold	Will risk awkwardness for honesty or progress
Smoky/prawn/quirky	Playful experimenter	Likes creative, low‑stakes gambles
Chilli / “max”	High‑intensity seeker	Leans into big gains, tolerates uncertainty
Light / “don’t mind”	Safety strategist	Prioritises stability, avoids future regret

FAQ:

• Is my favourite crisp flavour really a scientific test of my personality? Not on its own. The research finds tendencies, not certainties. Flavour choices can echo your risk style, but they don’t define it.
• Can I change my risk‑taking style by changing what I eat? Swapping crisps won’t magically rewrite your brain. But using small choices to practise different responses to discomfort can gently widen your comfort zone over time.
• What if I like almost every flavour? That often matches a flexible risk profile: you adapt to context and can enjoy both safe and bold choices. Pay attention to which flavours you buy repeatedly-that’s where your habits live.
• Does this apply to other snacks too? Similar patterns appear with coffee strength, spice levels and even ice‑cream flavours, but the data in this study focused on crisps. The broader idea is that stable taste preferences can mirror how you approach uncertainty.
• Should I worry if I only ever choose “safe” flavours? Not necessarily. Lower risk appetite has advantages, especially for long‑term planning. The key is knowing your tilt so you can balance it, not forcing yourself into a different style because a snack suggests you should.