We can tell your general vibe based on your classic after-school biscuit of choice
Do not trust the person who ate a Breakaway as a child
To spend your life chasing after something that will never come back – that is what it means to be cursed. For some, decades are spent pursuing a lost love, or a now-impossible dream. For British kids of a certain generation, that moment we long for is simpler. Getting home from school after a long day of being a legend, ready to put the telly on and watch some Tracy Beaker, but first reaching for an after-school biscuit.
Simpletons and dullard would have you believe that these biscuits tell you no more than what your mum picked up at the supermarket on any given week. In fact, your choice of biscuit determines exactly what your energy is right now, in 2020.
Just a point of clarification: a biscuit must be individually wrapped to qualify as a classic British after-school biscuit. Digestives may well get eaten after the bell rings, but their sweaty communal packaging rules them out from contention.
It’s an Aero, but a biscuit. Classy. Everyone wants one. You turned out fine, exceeded expectations. A-Levels were no problem and you’re heading for a first in your diss. When you enter the world of work and realise it’s not a series of linear goals and exams, but instead you have to find your own motivation to progress, you’ll smash that too. All because you ate Fox’s Echo biscuits.
On the face of it, biggest Tory vibes going. The easy joke is to say eating Gold Bars simply turned you into a banker who loves money and says “vac scheme” a lot. But, really, rather than deep dark Tory energy, the quintessential Gold Bar eater is a bit more normal.
Your shoes were expensive, yes, but you’ll make most of the money back provided you don’t get them dirty. Sure, you’ve put a few bits and bobs up your nose, but you don’t make a song and dance about it. Where other people try very hard to be witty with their Insta captions, you just put a few flower emojis and watch the likes roll in.
You know that person from school who everyone describes as “incredibly sound” but never actually bother to invite to any meetups? The person who, when you bump into them at the pub on Christmas Eve, you have a great time and sincerely intend to make good on your promise to go for a few more pints “in that, you know, that dead bit between Christmas and New Year, before we all go back”, but never do?
That’s the Club Orange person. A biscuit you’d probably never pick, but you’re damn glad when it’s there in the tin.
It’s hard to know if this is you – in fact the only way you do is if you don’t know anyone else who fits the bill.
It’s always wine or G&T in the pub. The Mint Club lover grew up and now regularly washes their bedsheets. If their friend doesn’t have an iPhone case, they visibly recoil.
If you can identify with the Purple Club bar, you were definitely not the favourite child. But you made up for it with the world’s best prank: perfectly reassembling the wrapper to look like the biscuit was never eaten, and placing it back in the tin. Fast forward to your young adulthood and little has changed. You’re the one who always tries to start a drinking game at pres. Your repertoire of dating app questions is simply a collection of lacklustre Would You Rathers. Out of a sense of bitterness at the world, you never pay mates back for taxis and you leave the club before it’s your round. In turn, the world – with its typical uncaring cruelty – repays the favour. Who, truly, knows which flavour a Purple Club bar is meant to be?
How to rinse something so ubiquitous? Boys who liked Penguin bars now post about Call of Duty Warzone on their Instagram stories. Girls who liked Penguin bars now just post one picture of a poached egg on top of avocado toast every weekend, always with the Bali Breeze filter.
Always happy to see one of these incredibly well-constructed biscuits after school, weren’t you? The kids raised on Rocky bars are the most fun at the pub. They don’t make a weird face when you float the idea of a “J bomb” before midday. Rumour has it you’ve never been to a park without buying four Stellas.
If you know how to pronounce this biscuit’s name, it’s like you’re in some kind of club. “Blue ribbon? No, blue ribAND, you oik.” It’s the biscuit with the rogue spelling posh people delight in knowing. Sadly, this is all to compensate for the fact it’s not actually good enough for the top tier of after-school biscuit.
You’ll never get over the Oxbridge rejection, is what we’re saying.
Fox’s Viennese do not qualify for this, on account of not being individually wrapped. Instead, their closest ambassador is the Fox’s Triple. I don’t know how you’d describe this one except “a shit version of a Viennese.”
Were we still in a feudal society, I’d probably say you were the insurance child your parents had just in case your anointed elder sibling got eaten by a pig. But we’re not. You’re probably destined to work in recruitment and wolf down 15 of these on a shift while you try to convince some Leeds grad that share options in a fintech company will amount to anything more than lingering resentment for the rest of their adult life.
The top of a Breakaway bar is essentially the parquet flooring of the biscuit world. A bit showy. If you ate these as a child, you inevitably have a lot of followers on social media. If you’re ugly and not funny, and so can’t make it on Insta or TikTok, this is inevitably on Twitter. Despite your attempts to get noticed, your mates still pretend they don’t hear you asking “honestly, don’t just say yes because we’re friends, but do you reckon I’m a BNOC?” on a weekly basis.
Time Out Wafer
Like you, in spite of its undeniable quality the Time Out wafer doesn’t get much recognition because it’s quite dry.
The Time Out Wafer lover plays sports to a moderately high level, but doesn’t indulge in any of the banter. Always there on nights out, but not really anywhere to be seen at an afters.
Kids who ate Wagon Wheels were really into Nickelodeon, because if your Mum’s not stretching past CBBC, she definitely wasn’t getting you a Wagon Wheel.
Now, you watch a lot of Netflix now and pretend it’s a personality trait. You only see your parents if there’s the implicit promise of them buying you a meal and a few drinks, even after moaning to all and sundry about not hugging your mum for three months during a pandemic.