Psychology in Everyday Life: The Psych Files

I'm known in my family for bad dad jokes. I text them to relatives and get the eye-roll emoji back. So when two psychologists published a paper this year on what makes a dad joke funny, I had to look.
Paul Silvia and Meriel Burnett scraped more than 32,000 jokes from Reddit's r/dadjokes, coded every one for length, concreteness, and 156 topics (dads, chickens, pirates, Halloween), and tried to predict which ones got upvotes. That worked badly, and the reason why is a lesson in measurement. So they picked 501 jokes, had 621 adults rate them, and tried again. This time the features mattered: concrete language helped, a punchline that lands far from where the setup pointed helped, and ending the punchline with a question hurt.
Then they turned it around and asked who finds these jokes funny. Two clusters showed up. One is cultural conventionality: parents, the more educated, the religious, the politically conservative, and (this is in the paper) anyone who identifies as a cat person or a dog person. The other is what the authors call social boldness: people who like to stand out and don't mind tweaking other people. I run through the first cluster on myself and explain why the religion and politics findings are probably about something other than wordplay.
Along the way you'll hear the three funniest and three least funny jokes in the study, plus a few of mine, and a skeptic's section on what the study can and can't tell us: correlation versus causation, a personality measure that didn't hold up well, and the fact that about 70 percent of what makes a joke funny to a given person is still unexplained.
Source: Silvia, P. J., and Burnett, M. I. (2026). What's brown and sticky? Peering into the ineluctable comedic mystery of dad humor with a handful of machine learning models, hundreds of humans, and tens of thousands of dad jokes. Psychology of Aesthetics, Creativity, and the Arts. https://doi.org/10.1037/aca0000896

A new study of about 1,700 married couples found that partners who exercise together, usually by walking, tend to have stronger marriages, and the headlines quickly turned that into "one simple habit for a happier relationship." In this short episode I use that study to walk through one of the most useful ideas in all of psychology: correlation is not causation. The same finding fits three very different stories (walking improves the marriage, a good marriage is what gets couples out walking in the first place, or some third factor like shared free time, health, or less money stress drives both), and the study cannot tell them apart. I explain how researchers could actually settle it with a randomized trial, point to the real experiments from Arthur Aron's self-expansion research showing that novel, exciting shared activities can genuinely strengthen a relationship (and why a calm evening walk may not be the same thing), and leave you with two questions to ask the next time you see "one simple habit" for a better anything: compared to what, and how do they know which way the arrow points?

Why do your good deeds feel like "still me" while your bad ones feel like "a different person back then"? Research from Felipe De Brigard's lab at Duke University, published in the Journal of Experimental Psychology: General and in Memory and Cognition, shows that people judge their own past lies and hurtful acts more harshly the further back they happened, and that remembering a wrong act makes you feel like you have changed, while remembering a right act makes you feel like the same person you have always been. The effect holds after controlling for how long ago the event occurred, and it disappears when people remember other people's behavior, which points to a self-protective bias rather than a general belief about change. In this episode I explain how this relates to the self-serving bias, walk through how the studies were designed, and look at the limitations. Terms and citations are on the website at thepsychfiles.online.

What do a false ending to the Star Spangled Banner, a food delivery website where nothing ever arrives, and a monkey waiting for a squirt of juice have in common? In this episode I sit down at the piano to demonstrate the deceptive cadence, the musical trick of setting up the "home" chord and then stepping sideways instead. I use it to explain a new trend: "dopamine sites," where people order meals that never come and take smoke breaks with cigarettes that don't exist. The popular story says dopamine is the brain's pleasure chemical, released when you get the reward. The research says otherwise. I walk through Wolfram Schultz's work on reward prediction error, Kent Berridge and Terry Robinson's distinction between wanting and liking, and Valorie Salimpoor and Robert Zatorre's study showing that dopamine is released in the seconds before the musical peak that gives you chills. I also cover George Loewenstein's question about how much you'd pay to kiss a movie star (and when), and a study from Carey Morewedge and colleagues showing that imagining eating 30 M&Ms led people to eat fewer real ones. Along the way, Mr. Spock turns out to have been right about wanting and having. References and definitions of key terms are on the website.

What is embodied cognition, and did it survive the replication crisis? This episode of The Psych Files examines the famous embodied cognition and social priming studies — power posing, the hot coffee study, the Macbeth effect, the facial feedback (pen-in-the-teeth) study, elderly priming, and the action-sentence compatibility effect — and the large-scale replication studies that failed to reproduce them. Learn how small samples, publication bias, researcher degrees of freedom, and experimenter expectancy effects produced findings that later evaporated, and how psychology responded with pre-registration, multi-lab replications, and adversarial collaborations like the Many Smiles project. A clear, sourced guide to the replication crisis in psychology for students, teachers, and anyone who watched the power posing TED talk and wondered what happened next.