Why your coffee addiction is a superpower

I’ve never felt much sympathy for addicts.

Not the gamblers refreshing their portfolios at 2 a.m., nor the wine devotees who have rebranded a nightly bottle as “self-care,” nor the doomscrollers mainlining outrage as if it were a dietary need.

For decades, coffee attracted suspicion like a stranger at a school gate.

Addiction, to me, has always looked less like an illness and more like a failure of will. Which makes this confession awkward.

Mr. Coffee

I am, demonstrably, an addict — a coffee addict, to be specific. Three cups daily, minimum. Four when my sleep quality files for early retirement. I have never pawned jewelry, put my family through an intervention, or woken up in a city I have no memory of arriving in. But remove coffee from