If you're still eating these 6 foods as an adult, it's a sign you haven't grown up (brutal but true)

Last week, I watched a 38-year-old colleague microwave dinosaur nuggets for lunch. As he arranged them on his plate—T-Rex facing the pterodactyls—I felt recognition, not judgment. Because the night before, I'd eaten cereal for dinner. Not breakfast-for-dinner as some quirky choice. Just cereal. Standing over the sink at 10 PM like a raccoon who'd learned to use a spoon.

We talk endlessly about adulting—taxes, relationships, keeping plants alive. But nobody mentions the food habits that expose us as grown-ups in costume. The psychology of emotional eating shows that what we eat alone says more about our emotional development than any résumé could. Here's my brutally honest take on the foods that out us as perpetual kids.

1. String cheese as a primary protein source

I'm not talking about grabbing one from your kid's lunchbox. I mean buying the Costco bag for yourself, calling it meal prep, and feeling accomplished about "cheese and crackers" for dinner—minus the crackers.

There's something about peeling string cheese that returns us to simpler times. Stressed about quarterly reports? I'll demolish half a bag while rewatching The Office. The comfort food phenomenon isn't the issue—it's that my crisis management peaked at age seven. Real adults buy actual cheese. They own cheese knives. I'm peeling mozzarella like it's therapy, each string a tiny rebellion against maturity.

2. Lunchables (or their sad adult recreations)

You've hit a specific rock bottom when you're 35, assembling tiny ham circles on crackers at your desk. Or worse, making "adult charcuterie" that's just Lunchables with pretension—same processed meat, fancier packaging, triple the price.

I convinced myself my "snack plates" were sophisticated. But research on food choices suggests we crave compartmentalized foods when seeking control. Arranging babybel wheels in neat rows isn't meal planning—it's playing with edible toys. The day I felt genuine excitement about pizza Lunchables at Target? That's when I knew.

3. Cereal for dinner (repeatedly)

Not occasionally. When cereal becomes a food group. When you have opinions about optimal milk-to-cereal ratios. When it's been dinner more than three nights running.

The blood sugar rollercoaster from Frosted Flakes at 9 PM explains my 3 AM cereal cravings. It's a dystopian loop of sugar and regret. My pantry resembles a grocery store cereal aisle because somehow, variety in cereal feels like dietary balance. Last month, I ate Lucky Charms while doing taxes. The irony was perfect—calculating adult responsibilities while sorting marshmallow rainbows.

4. Uncrustables (buying them, not making them)

Making a PB&J? Normal. Buying frozen, crustless, perfectly round ones because using a knife requires too much emotional labor? That's different.

I discovered these during a rough patch last year. The decision fatigue was real, and somehow eliminating the "crust or no crust" decision felt like self-care. But pre-made sandwiches designed for picky five-year-olds isn't self-care—it's surrender. When I got genuinely excited about grape versus strawberry options, I'd crossed into concerning territory.

5. Go-Gurt (or any food in squeeze tubes)

Yogurt tubes. Applesauce pouches. Any food you essentially nurse from plastic packaging. We call it "convenient," but convenient for what? Avoiding spoons?

The regression to childhood eating patterns is real. I brought GoGurt to a morning meeting once, thinking I was being efficient. The room went silent as I struggled with the tube, making unfortunate sounds. Nothing says "senior management material" like sucking yogurt from a cartoon tube. Yet my freezer still has them, next to ice cream sandwiches I pretend aren't breakfast.

6. Dinosaur nuggets (or any shaped nuggets)

Not regular nuggets—specifically the shaped ones. Dinosaurs, stars, Disney characters. The ones costing more for less chicken because apparently food needs costumes.

Here's my confession: I'm a grown man with stegosaurus preferences. The developmental aspects of eating behavior say shaped foods trigger positive childhood associations, but when does nostalgia become arrested development? When you're arranging dinosaurs in battle formation before eating them. I've done this. Recently. During a Zoom call (camera off, thankfully).

Final thoughts

I'm not suggesting we need Victorian-era propriety, suffering through formal meals with proper cutlery. There's nothing wrong with convenience foods or nostalgic eating—life is hard, and if string cheese gets you through Tuesday, respect.

But maybe examine why, as an adult, my freezer resembles a school cafeteria. The link between food choices and emotional regulation isn't about judgment—it's awareness. These foods aren't just quick fixes; they're edible security blankets, protecting us from the truth that nobody actually feels like a real adult.

Here's the brutal honesty: we're all winging it, hoping nobody notices we had Dunkaroos for lunch. The guy eating dinosaur nuggets? At least he's upfront about it. The rest of us hide our regression behind meal-prep containers and fancy coffee orders, pretending we've figured it out.

Maybe acknowledging our food-based childhood clings is the first step toward... not growing up exactly, but at least buying real cheese occasionally. Baby steps. Or should I say, dinosaur nugget steps. Either way, I should probably stop eating cereal for dinner. Tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow.