How Similar Are You Two

Two people stand back to back on a vast black plain cracked with glowing gold lines, each holding a glowing clay copita out to the side. From one rises a plume of amber light carrying orange peel and agave; from the other a plume of silver and indigo carrying smoke and a sprig of herb. The two plumes braid into one bright knot of gold light above them. — Two glasses. Two people. One conversation.

Two flights, one table

Last weekend my wife and I went out and each ordered a flight. I chose tequila. She chose mezcal.

Small pours, side by side. We tasted one, then the other, between bites. She’d hand me hers, I’d hand her mine. Does yours feel ceremonial? Mine is fresh, like citrus. That one is smoke, then sweet. We disagreed about half, but who doesn’t, right? We both enjoyed every second of it.

A dark wooden table by candlelight: a flight of clay copitas on one side, a flight of glass copitas from clear to amber on the other, small plates of orange slices, pepitas and mole between them, and two hands passing a glass across. — I took tequila. She took mezcal. Then we started trading.

It was romantic. It was bonding. And the drinks weren’t what made it so. The conversation was. Tell me why you love one more than the other and you will have me listening for hours. Two people paying attention to the same thing and telling each other what they found.

People who sip have opinions

This is the part of the category I love most.

People who sip an agave or sotol spirit tend to be aware of how it feels. Not just what it tastes like. How it feels. Ask someone why they love a tobalá, or why they always go back to the same reposado, and you’ll hear feelings.

Meeting people who like to taste different ones is already a gift. You learn something every time, about the spirit and about them, about their open mind.

And I’ve watched it happen more times than I can count: a get-together goes from pleasant to a “memorable moment” of people sharing in no time.

A long dark table at a get-together, seen from above by candlelight: glasses of different spirits resting on the wood, joined by thin gold threads, and hands all around mid-conversation, pointing, gesturing, one pressed to a heart. — From pleasant to memorable, in no time.

There’s a reason it works

Researchers at the University of Chicago paired up strangers and gave them something to eat. Some pairs got the same food, some got different food. Then they played a trust game with real money. The strangers who had eaten the same thing trusted each other more. In a second study, pairs negotiating against each other reached an agreement almost twice as fast when they’d eaten alike.

The same researchers checked whether any shared detail would do. Pairs wearing the same colour shirt didn’t get the same boost. Sharing what goes into your mouth is different. We trust what we taste, so we trust the people who taste it with us.

Three findings in three rows. Strangers who ate the same food trusted each other more, in a trust game played with real money. Negotiators who ate the same food agreed almost twice as fast. Strangers who wore the same colour shirt did not get the same boost. — Woolley & Fishbach, University of Chicago, 2017.

There’s a second finding I think about. Psychologists who study couples have shown that doing something new together, side by side, makes partners feel closer than doing something familiar. A flight you’ve never tried is exactly that. New, shared, and worth talking about.

So we built a way to see it

Open any member’s profile in Agave Amigo and you’ll see a heading: How similar you are. Under it, a number.

That number compares what the two of you share:

Your Agave Crest: the plant, the colour, and the two words that describe how you like your pour, built from the Memories you rated five stars.
Your Top 5 and the bottles in your Vault.
The Experts, venues and people you both follow.
The badges you’ve earned and the city you live in.

Two members side by side with eight signals between them: Agave Crest, Top 5, Vault, Experts, Venues, People, Badges and City. Signals both members have are joined by a gold line and compared; signals one of them has not filled in are dashed and not counted. — What the number compares.

It only compares what you both have. Something one of you hasn’t filled in is never counted as a difference. It’s free, it works in both directions, and brands never see it.

It isn’t a verdict. It’s a reason to start talking. When the tiles show you share a plant, or a colour, or the same way of describing a pour, you already have your first question: what did you love about it?

How to make your number mean something

The number is only as good as what you give it. So here’s what I’d ask you to do tonight:

Create your account at agaveamigo.com.
Upload a photo. It becomes your avatar, and it’s how people will recognise you at the table.
Save your Memories. Every tequila, mezcal, sotol, bacanora or raicilla you loved: what it was, where you were, how it felt. The ones you rate five stars build your Crest.

The more you save, the more grounded your number gets, and the more honest it is about who you really have in common.

Three steps, tonight.

Then pour two

Ten articles ago, this library started with a simple idea: a spirit is easier to choose, and easier to love, once you can put words to it.

It ends here, at a table, with two glasses and two people comparing notes.

The end of the night by candlelight: one hand holds a clay copita beside a small glass on a dark table and offers it toward an open hand, while two thin threads of gold light rise from the glasses and twist into one. — Two tastes, one thread.

Order two different ones. Hand yours across. Ask how it feels.

You might find your people. You might find out you already won.

How Similar Are You Two?