I have conducted extensive field research at no fewer than fourteen Starbucks locations, ranging from the airport terminal variety to the strip mall flagship across from a dentist. The methodology was rigorous: order one drink, sit for three hours, judge people. Peer-reviewed by my own conscience.
What I’ve discovered is that the laptop a person pulls out of their bag is the single most accurate personality test ever devised by humankind. Forget Myers-Briggs. Forget the Enneagram. The MacBook is the soul made aluminum. The HP is the soul made… mostly plastic.
Allow me to present my findings.
The 16-inch MacBook Pro (Space Black)
This person has a job at a company you’ve heard of. The space bar has a small shine to it that suggests legitimate keystroke volume. They are running seventeen Chrome tabs, two VS Code windows, a Slack notification that reads “u up?” from someone named Brennan, and Figma. Always Figma.
They will not look up. They cannot look up. They are in a meeting via AirPods Pro, which is why they keep making facial expressions at no one. At one point they will whisper “yeah, totally” with the urgency of a man defusing a bomb. At another point they will sigh so loudly that a barista pauses mid-pour.
Their charger is plugged in even though the battery is at 94%. This is non-negotiable.
Drink pairing: A triple shot oat milk cortado, $7.85, ordered with the confidence of someone who has expensed it and the calm of someone who will absolutely expense it again tomorrow.
The MacBook Air (Starlight or Midnight)
This person is “working on something.” The something is a Squarespace site for their candle business, a Substack with three subscribers (one is their mom), or a screenplay they have been refining since the Obama administration. The Air is open. Nothing is being typed.
They have AirPods in but no audio is playing. They are listening to your conversation. They will mention it later to a friend as “this thing I heard at Starbucks.”
Approximately every twelve minutes they will physically lift the laptop, rotate it ninety degrees, and place it back down on the table. Nobody knows why. They do not know why.
Drink pairing: An iced caramel macchiato with extra drizzle, photographed against the wood grain of the communal table, posted with the caption “Monday mood ☕✨” before being consumed in two sips and forgotten.
The iPad Pro with Magic Keyboard
A minimalist! How brave. This person has rejected the “bloat” of a traditional laptop and embraced the future. The future, it turns out, is watching The Office on Netflix while a blank Notes app blinks unused in the background.
They will eventually pull out an Apple Pencil and “sketch.” Nobody will see what they’re sketching, but it is treated with the gravity of the Sistine Chapel ceiling. At some point they will pinch-zoom on absolutely nothing for the sheer pleasure of it.
They paid $1,799 for this setup so they wouldn’t have to carry a laptop. The bag they brought it in could comfortably hold a 16-inch MacBook Pro.
Drink pairing: An iced matcha latte with oat milk. They will refer to it as “my matcha,” as though there is only one matcha and they have a deed to it.
The Microsoft Surface (Laptop Studio or Pro)
The contrarian. The person who refused to join the Apple cult, and they want you to know it. The keyboard is detached and reattached approximately every six minutes in a tactile reminder of their independence. They have a stylus. They have used the stylus twice in eighteen months, both times in front of strangers at Starbucks.
This is a management consultant. Their inbox is open. Their inbox is always open. There are 4,712 unread emails and they are not concerned, because somewhere in their psyche is a Russian-doll system of folders called “Action,” “Action 2,” and “Action FINAL Real.”
They are on a Teams call. It is muted. It will remain muted for the duration of the call. They will get credit for attending.
Drink pairing: A Venti Blonde Roast, no room, in a personal ceramic travel mug they brought from home to save the planet, after driving thirteen miles in a leased BMW.
The Dell XPS
This is the developer who chose this on purpose. They have opinions about Linux. They will tell you those opinions if you make eye contact, which is precisely why you will not make eye contact. The laptop bears a single sticker, either a vendor logo from a conference in 2019 or the silhouette of a famous hacker who has been dead for some time.
They are SSH’d into something. Whatever it is, it is broken, and they are the only one who can fix it. They will be here for nine hours. They brought their own charger and a backup charger and an extension cord. They have a strategic relationship with the outlet.
They are not drinking the coffee. They ordered it as rent.
Drink pairing: A plain black coffee, room for cream they will not use, refilled three times via a complicated rewards-program loophole they have memorized like scripture.
The ThinkPad (almost certainly a T-series)
Look at this magnificent slab. The keyboard has the little red nub. There is a sticker for a Linux distribution you have never heard of and one for Emacs, an editor invented when dinosaurs roamed the earth. The screen bezel could accommodate a small dairy farm.
This person is not on Twitter. This person is on the mailing list of the kernel. This person has, at some point, used the phrase “well, actually,” and was correct every single time. You will quietly respect them. They will not notice.
Their laptop is older than several of the other customers in the store. It will outlive all of them.
Drink pairing: A black drip coffee. They asked if you had pour-over. You did not. They forgave you, but only just, and their disappointment hangs in the air like steam.
The HP Pavilion (or any HP, really)
A real estate agent. A small business owner. Someone’s aunt who is “getting things done.” The laptop is roughly the size of a coffee table book and weighs eleven pounds. The fan, audible across the cafe, is delivering a TED talk on thermal management to anyone who will listen.
They are on Facebook. Specifically, a Facebook group called something like “Henderson Moms Selling Stuff.” They are crushing it. The laptop is, in its own defense, doing exactly what they need it to do, which is exist while they do things on Facebook.
They will receive a phone call. They will answer it on speakerphone. The entire store will learn that Cheryl is being unreasonable about the wedding..
Drink pairing: A Venti Caramel Ribbon Crunch Frappuccino, extra whip, extra drizzle, additional pump of vanilla. The receipt is twelve inches long. They tipped on the app.
The Asus ROG (or any laptop with RGB lighting)
Nineteen years old. The laptop weighs as much as a paving stone and has more lights than the Las Vegas Strip. They received it for “school,” which is happening on the screen in one tab while Discord, Steam, a Twitch stream, and a YouTube essay about why Elden Ring is broken occupy the other twenty-three.
The fan kicks on the moment they open the lid. It does not turn off. It sounds like a small Cessna preparing for takeoff. Customers at neighboring tables exchange glances. Nobody says anything.
They have not opened a book. They will not open a book. The book is in the bag for vibes.
Drink pairing: A Mango Dragonfruit Refresher with extra ice and a side of “no whip, I’m cutting.” They are not cutting. There is a Cake Pop on the side.
The Chromebook
A student, or a person whose primary computer has been confiscated by their company’s IT department. They are writing a paper. The paper is due in forty-five minutes. They will finish it. They will get a B-plus. They will not be happy about it, but they will accept it as the natural order of things.
The screen has a fingerprint on it from approximately 2019 that no amount of microfiber will resolve. They have made peace with it. We should all aspire to such peace.
Drink pairing: A free water cup, refilled three times. They are not technically a paying customer. They know this. You know this. Starbucks knows this. Nobody is going to mention it. This is the social contract that keeps civilization standing.
The Person With No Laptop
The most powerful entity in the building. They are reading a hardcover book. They are not on their phone. They are not waiting for anyone. They are simply here, drinking a coffee from a ceramic mug because they asked for one, and they have nowhere to be for the rest of the afternoon.
They are watching all of us. They are taking notes mentally. They are winning a contest the rest of us did not know we had entered.
Drink pairing: A simple drip coffee, no modifications, in the ceramic mug. They asked for it “for here.” They meant it. They will return the mug. They will say thank you. They will leave a tip in cash.
Closing field notes
If you are sitting in a Starbucks right now reading this on your laptop, take a moment. Look down. Look at the machine. Look at the drink next to it. Look at what you are wearing. Look at how you are sitting.
You know what you are. We all know what you are.
That is the beautiful thing about Starbucks. It strips us of pretense and reduces us to our truest, most embarrassing selves, illuminated by the cold blue glow of whatever brand decided to manufacture our personality.
Now if you will excuse me, I have to close this MacBook Pro, plug in the charger that does not need plugging in, and pretend I was doing real work this entire time.
— Gal Ratner