French Fries and the Performance of Taste
This essay was originally published in 2016 and remains part of Dandelion Chandelier’s exploration of style, identity, and American cultural behavior.
In times of heightened cultural tension, when conversations about class feel increasingly charged, it can be strangely comforting to pause and consider one of America’s great social equalizers: McDonald’s.
What’s that, you say? Rich people don’t eat at McDonald’s?
Dear reader, you could not be more wrong.
Plenty of wealthy people not only eat regularly at McDonald’s, they also stop at Burger King (one of my well-to-do friends calls it “The BK Lounge”) and Wendy’s. Add to that the West Coast celebrity hangout In-N-Out Burger; the John Legend–Chrissy Teigen–Kim-and-Kanye double date at Waffle House; the much-reported fondness of a then-presidential candidate for snacking on fried chicken aboard a private jet; Justin Timberlake’s affection for Taco Bell; and the sartorial splendor on display in the line outside Shake Shack in Madison Square Park.
In the mid-2010s, data bore this out. A Centers for Disease Control report revealed that children from higher-income households consumed fast food at higher rates than children living below the poverty line. A Gallup poll from the same period showed a similar pattern among parents: higher-income households were significantly more likely to eat fast food weekly than lower-income families.
I suspect this behavior skews male and young — though I happily exempt myself when it comes to certain fast-food indulgences, and don’t get me started on fried chicken. Gender and age aside, I can tell you many stories of high-ranking businesspeople nearly missing flights because they had to stop for Burger King fries in the terminal; colleagues smuggling White Castle burgers into first class; business meetings held over Taco Bell; and the riotous joy with which the announcement of all-day breakfast at McDonald’s was received in our office.
fast food and the discipline of wealth
When I first started working in New York City and had my initial exposure to the world of very wealthy men, I was struck by how little they appeared to eat. It’s a long-standing cliché that rich women don’t eat much, but their male counterparts often don’t either. One after another, at business lunches and dinners, colleagues and clients would order fish and vegetables, vegetables and more fish, no dessert, little or no alcohol — to the point that an executive assistant once leaned over and whispered, “Look at these guys. They eat like birds.”
restraint, nostalgia, and private appetite
After more than twenty years in their company, and having climbed a few rungs myself, I’ve come to understand the other side of that behavior. In formal settings, wealthy men and women perform discipline: restrained drinking, minimal carbs, little red meat, almost no fried food. But travel changes that. Late nights at the office change that. Casual days with no meetings change that. Then you see hamburgers, fries, pizza, milkshakes, Chinese takeout, donuts. Nothing artisanal. Nothing aspirational. Dollar-menu food, eaten with enthusiasm.
There is something quietly endearing about knowing that the so-called masters of the universe are as susceptible as anyone else to the four basic food groups: salt, sugar, fat, and carbs. They simply have to demonstrate more public restraint than most.
what french fries reveal about american taste
Why do people who can afford to eat almost anything still find themselves drawn to fast-food counters? I suspect it has less to do with rebellion than with memory. Sometimes we want food to surprise or impress us. Other times we want it to soothe. Fast food — fries, burgers, fried chicken — often lives at the very beginning of our taste memory. It is among the earliest food we remember loving. Comfort food earns its name honestly.
Despite the many unresolved questions around social cohesion in America, I find myself oddly heartened by the fact that one of the wealthiest people I know is genuinely excited to try the latest novelty item at Burger King. Call me naïve, but I can’t help thinking that if more Americans could agree on one simple truth — that dipping almost anything in hot oil, frying it, and salting it generously makes for an occasional pleasure — class harmony might not be entirely out of reach.
If you are what you eat, then perhaps we are all more alike than we care to admit.
French Fries and the Performance of Taste is a cultural essay examining how fast food reveals class behavior, restraint, and identity in modern America. Through observation and anecdote, it explores why people with access to every luxury still reach for fries — and what those choices quietly signal about how taste is performed rather than possessed.
