Love your coffee black? Science says you might be a little… dark

Black coffee is one of those things we don’t just drink—we perform it. A single mug, untouched by cream or sugar, can signal discipline, minimalism, maybe even a little edge. It’s the drink of detectives, of deadline-driven writers, of people who say they like things “straight, no nonsense.” But then a study comes along, throws out the word “psychopath,” and suddenly your morning ritual sounds… sinister.

In 2016, a paper from the University of Innsbruck in Austria triggered a wave of tabloid headlines. The finding? People who liked bitter tastes—black coffee, radishes, tonic water—were more likely to score higher on measures of Machiavellianism, psychopathy, narcissism, and sadism. Not quite the charming latte art vibe.

So what does this actually mean? And more importantly, what does it not mean? If you reach for black coffee every morning, are you secretly wired for cruelty—or just in a long-term relationship with caffeine? Let’s take a deep breath, pour another cup, and explore what this study—and our broader taste rituals—are really saying.

Published in the peer-reviewed journal Appetite, the study surveyed just under 1,000 adults. Participants were asked to rate how much they liked different types of foods and drinks: sweet, salty, sour, and bitter. They also completed personality tests that assessed traits from the so-called “Dark Tetrad”: psychopathy, narcissism, Machiavellianism, and everyday sadism.

The connection that made headlines was between bitter taste preference and higher scores in traits like everyday sadism—the kind of psychological edge that finds entertainment in discomfort or minor harm. The standout bitter items? Radishes, tonic water, and black coffee. In contrast, people who preferred sweet flavors generally scored higher in agreeableness—a trait linked with warmth, empathy, and cooperation.

But here’s what most headlines skipped: the correlation was statistically small. In the words of psychologist Steven Meyers, who analyzed the findings for Health, the results “need to be interpreted with caution.” They point to an interesting pattern, but not a rule. Not a diagnosis. Not a litmus test. Still, the idea stuck. Because black coffee, like bitter chocolate or neat whiskey, already lives in our culture as a mood, a vibe, a signal of seriousness. The study just gave it a spicy new twist.

Let’s zoom out. Why does bitterness matter in psychology at all?

Bitter flavors are biologically significant. Our aversion to bitterness is hardwired—a protective instinct designed to help us avoid toxins in nature. Most poisons are bitter. Babies spit out their medicine for a reason. So when someone learns to enjoy bitterness, they’re pushing against that instinct. That can signal control, discipline, or at the very least, acquired tolerance.

In psychology, this self-conditioning is fascinating. It can be part of an identity performance—“I take it black because I don’t need sweetness”—or a sensory signal of personality traits like stoicism or minimalism.

But liking black coffee doesn’t mean you want pain or that you’re insensitive to others. It might just mean you’ve built up tolerance. Maybe you started drinking it to cut calories. Maybe you just got used to it while pulling all-nighters in college. Over time, the taste stopped shocking you—and maybe even started feeling like home.

There’s a quieter explanation behind black coffee’s appeal, one that’s less about personality and more about lifestyle rhythm. For a lot of us, the first cup of coffee isn’t even about flavor. It’s about function. It signals the start of something—work, focus, solitude.

Black coffee doesn’t ask anything of you. No milk to steam, no sugar to stir. Just heat, aroma, and a jolt of chemical clarity. In a world full of chaos, it’s strangely stabilizing. For those who keep a tight morning flow—wake, brew, sip, move—black coffee supports the system. It doesn’t derail it with frothing or flavor tweaks. It shows up, does its job, and doesn’t get sentimental.

That simplicity is soothing. And for many, it’s health-conscious, too. No hidden calories. No insulin spikes. No dairy-induced digestion issues. So while it might look intense to order an espresso with nothing in it, the reason might be far less psychological than we think. Sometimes, it’s just the smoothest way to get out the door.

Another wrinkle in the “coffee and character” theory: culture. In countries like Italy or France, black coffee—especially espresso—isn’t edgy. It’s the default. No one’s reading your personality into your macchiato.

In the U.S. and UK, though, coffee culture has evolved into a lifestyle language. Your order can feel like a brand. Oat milk iced latte? Approachable and artsy. Nitro cold brew? Trendy and intense. Pumpkin spice latte? Basic—but self-aware. So when someone orders black coffee in that context, it can feel like a statement. And in a world hungry for shortcuts to understanding others (especially in dating or hiring), we look for meaning in these signals—whether or not it’s actually there.

But taste, like style, is often borrowed, learned, or shaped by access. You might drink black coffee because that’s what your dad drank. Or because you watched someone you admired do it. Or because that’s what was free at the office for years. The idea that it reveals something “deep” about you might say more about the observer than the drinker.

Let’s look at the other side. If black coffee gets the bad rap, do sweetened drinks make you a better person? The Innsbruck study found some association between sweet taste preference and higher agreeableness. But again, this was a modest trend—not a predictive trait.

It’s worth noting that agreeableness itself isn’t always a social win. People high in this trait may avoid conflict, struggle to set boundaries, or suppress negative emotions. So liking a caramel latte doesn’t make you an angel—it might just mean you’re socially attuned, or emotionally tired, or just really love whipped cream.

Food and drink preferences are also deeply emotional. Sweetness is tied to childhood, comfort, and reward. Many people use sweet flavors to self-soothe or recreate emotional safety. So while a mocha might read as “friendly,” it could also signal someone needing a little emotional grounding that day. The real answer lives in the context.

There’s a reason these studies—flawed or not—get so much attention. We want the world to be legible. We want the people around us to make sense. So if someone orders something unfamiliar or “extreme,” we reach for shorthand. Bitter = edgy. Sweet = nice. Milk = comfort. Straight = strength. It’s the same logic that drives personality tests, astrology memes, or Spotify Wrapped. We’re looking for storylines. And coffee, with its ritual power and social visibility, makes a compelling one.

But what these shorthand misses is how fluid taste really is. You can drink black coffee every day and still be nurturing. You can love syrupy sweet drinks and still be ruthless in a boardroom. You can change your order based on the weather, your sleep, or whether you're PMS-ing. Taste doesn’t define us. It reflects us—in the moment. And even then, only in a whisper.

If we stop asking, “What does this coffee say about me?” and start asking, “What does this coffee do for me?”—the whole conversation shifts. Maybe black coffee makes you feel clear-headed. Maybe it reminds you of a quiet kitchen before the rest of the house wakes up. Maybe it’s the only thing that keeps your IBS at bay. Or maybe you love it for its lack of pretense. No toppings. No complications. Just a moment of groundedness before the world kicks in.

Those aren’t signs of psychopathy. They’re signs of preference. Of ritual. Of design. We build our days with sensory cues. The smell of toast, the fizz of toner, the hum of the fridge, the first sip of coffee—these are small data points that tell our nervous system: you’re okay. You’re home.

So, are black coffee drinkers more likely to be psychopaths? Technically, very slightly. Statistically, not meaningfully. Culturally, maybe performatively. Personally? You probably already know the answer. The next time you find yourself on a coffee date, skip the psych profile. Don’t obsess over their order. Watch how they treat the server. How they listen. Whether they interrupt.

Character shows up in the small stuff—yes, including rituals. But not in the way we’ve been told. A bitter brew doesn’t make you bad. A sweet one doesn’t make you soft. Your personality isn’t hiding in your cup. It’s in your pause. Your choices. Your presence. So drink what you like. Just don’t spill it on someone else.