Why do dogs resemble their owners?

At Consell de Cent with Enric Granados, the observer has a very creamy pistachio ice cream, right at the opposite corner of a brunch spot full of girls who laugh and laugh and don't seem to be from here. A burly man, with bushy eyebrows and a grumpy face, walks an English bulldog that walks with exactly the same hip sway. Next to him, a sophisticated girl with a designer coat and the poise of a sphinx leads a stylized greyhound that looks like it came straight from a Milan runway. We even have the local version of Kim Kardashian: a girl with infinite nails and a tight dress holding a Pomeranian so perfectly groomed it's painful, as if it just came out of a beauty salon. The Weimaraner, agile and muscular, goes back and forth at full speed while the gym guy runs his daily kilometers. An elegant lady, who takes great care of herself and is always well dressed, makes a perfect pair with the wire-haired dachshund with "whiskers" and eyebrows that give it a very dignified and serious air, ideal for accompanying the lady to have a snack and run errands.

This is not a coincidence; it is a somewhat terrifying reality. Owners and dogs end up looking so much alike that, sometimes, it is hard to tell who is walking whom.

Psychology attributes it to the so-called "mere exposure effect," a phenomenon discovered by Robert Zajonc in 1968. It is used in marketing, advertising, and politics to increase familiarity with brands, products, or candidates. The idea is that we are attracted to what is familiar to us. Unconsciously, when we go to look for a puppy, we look for a mirror. If you have curly hair with untamable volume, your chances of ending up with a water dog or a poodle skyrocket alarmingly.

But what interests me most is their character. Dogs constantly watch us without us even realizing it. They are probably the ones who know us best and, at the same time, they are emotional sponges. As the months pass, in an almost imperceptible way, they mimic us, and we mimic them too. That is when people say things like “they are like people,” “how do they know,” or “it’s just that they understand everything.”

If you are one of those people who drink three coffees before leaving the house and speak at the speed of light, congratulations: your Jack Russell will share exactly the same neurosis and will live at a thousand revolutions per minute, just like you. On the other hand, if your favorite Sunday activity is changing your position on the sofa, your pug will have developed the mystical ability to snore in unison with you.

The mimicry borders on the ridiculous. There are hypochondriac owners, who suffer because of any draft and burden the poor animal with a Gore-Tex raincoat, a scarf, and neoprene boots because it’s drizzling. The dog, of course, ends up walking like an astronaut on the Moon, inheriting the owner’s trauma. Or the dad bods, those who sign up for the gym only to end up at the bar terrace; their Labrador—theoretically an athlete—ends up having the shape of a brioche bun from tasting the leftovers of the tapas.

So the next time you look in the mirror before leaving the house, take a look down. If you have the same sleepy expression, the same heavy walking pace or, worse still, you match the color of your jacket with that of the harness, do not kid yourself. It has already happened. You have become the same person (or the same dog). And the worst part of all is that they, probably, must feel a certain shame or not, we will never know.