‘That is Just the Way I Am’
‘That is Just the Way I Am’: Why an Entire Culture Loves the MBTI, Even Though Science Rejects It
‘That is Just the Way I Am’: Why an Entire Culture Loves the MBTI, Even Though Science Rejects It
DESCRIPTION: The Myers-Briggs Type Indicator is considered unreliable by researchers, and yet millions of people categorise themselves using four letters—a psychoanalytical interpretation of the typology boom as a symptom of a cultural hunger for identity.
‘That is just how I am’: Why an entire culture loves the MBTI, even though science rejects it
The Myers-Briggs Type Indicator classifies people into sixteen types, each consisting of four letters, and millions regard these four letters as the essence of their being. Academic psychology has regarded the test as unreliable for decades. Both statements are true at the same time, and it is precisely this contradiction that is the real issue. This article asks what the success of a shaky typology reveals about an entire culture’s hunger for identity.
What exactly is the MBTI, and why is it so widely known?
The Myers-Briggs Type Indicator categorises a person along four pairs of opposites: Extraversion or Introversion, Sensing or Intuition, Thinking or Feeling, Judging or Perceiving. Each choice yields a letter; four letters form an abbreviation such as INFP or ESTJ. This results in sixteen types, each with its own profile, an animal name in some variants, a colour, and a community.
The test is everywhere. HR departments use it in workshops, dating profiles list the abbreviation alongside star signs and height, and on TikTok, there are entire channels dedicated to which type is the hardest to love. According to estimates, millions of people complete a version of the questionnaire every year. Hardly any other psychological concept has become so deeply embedded in everyday life.
This reach stands in striking contrast to its scientific standing. Anyone looking for the MBTI in textbooks on personality psychology will usually find it in the chapter on common misconceptions. Nevertheless, its popularity continues to grow. This gap between expert opinion and mass success is the starting point.
Where does the typology come from? C. G. Jung as its scholarly foundation
Its intellectual origins lie with C. G. Jung and his work *Psychological Types*, published in 1921. In it, Jung described two basic orientations of psychic energy, or libido: the extraverted orientation, which is directed outwards towards the objective world, and the introverted orientation, which draws energy away from the object and directs it towards the subject. Added to these were four basic functions: Thinking and Feeling as judging functions, and Sensing and Intuition as perceiving functions.
Jung did not mean this to be a system of pigeonholing. For him, typology was an attempt to organise the clinical experience of people engaging with the world in different ways. The orientations and functions formed a fluid structure in which one function predominates, whilst the others operate unconsciously and exert pressure. For Jung, the type was a snapshot of a dynamic system.
Jung expressly warned against the rigid application of his own concepts. The type, he argued, was nothing more than an aid to orientation, not a label to be affixed to a person. Anyone who turns this warning into a sorting machine is turning Jung’s intention on its head. This is precisely what has happened throughout its reception history.
How did Jung’s theory become a test? Katharine Briggs and Isabel Myers
The transformation of the theory into a questionnaire was the work of two women with no formal training in psychology. Katharine Cook Briggs had been exploring questions of human nature since the 1920s and came across Jung’s book. Her daughter, Isabel Briggs Myers, continued the work and, spurred on by the Second World War, developed a questionnaire in the 1940s designed to match people to suitable wartime occupations.
Briggs and Myers were self-taught, motivated by a practical concern. They wanted a tool to help everyone find their place in the world and the right career. From Jung’s branched model, they selected certain elements, added their own dimension in the form of the Judging–Perceiving axis, and shaped the whole into a questionnaire with clear yes–no thresholds.
These origins explain a great deal. The MBTI emerged on the fringes of academic psychology, driven by the conviction that every person has a recognisable, definable type. The optimism of this founding idea – that self-knowledge can be attained through a questionnaire – continues to resonate today and is part of its appeal.
Why do so many people get a different type on their second test?
The most serious objection concerns reliability over time, known as retest reliability. A useful measurement tool should yield the same result twice for the same person if nothing fundamental has changed. With the MBTI, this is often not the case. Studies report that, depending on the research, between 39 and over 50 per cent of participants receive a different four-letter type after just five weeks.
The reason lies in the test’s structure. The test forces continuous traits into an either/or framework. Anyone close to the middle between Thinking and Feeling will swing to the other side at the slightest shift in mood, thereby changing an entire letter. A difference of just one millimetre in response behaviour results in a different type name and profile.
For a tool that claims to identify a fixed personality signature, this is a serious problem. If the core of one’s nature shifts from INFP to INFJ within a few weeks, then the test is measuring something other than a stable trait. Rather, it measures a ‘day-to-day state of mind’ that is presented as a personality trait.
What is the Barnum effect, and why does everyone feel it applies to them?
After taking the test, many people experience a moment of recognition: ‘That is exactly me.’ This feeling has a name. In 1948, the psychologist Bertram Forer presented students with what was purported to be a personalised personality profile and asked them to assess how well it described them. The level of agreement was high. They had all been given the same text, compiled from sentences taken from astrology websites.
This ‘Barnum effect’ describes the tendency to perceive vague and generalised statements as an accurate self-description. Phrases such as ‘You appear composed on the outside, but harbour doubts on the inside’ apply to almost everyone, because they cover both sides of the human experience. The MBTI personality types rely predominantly on such broad, flattering descriptions.
This sense of recognition is therefore a result of skilful phrasing and does not prove the test’s accuracy. The reader fills in the vague sentences with their own memories and experiences, and this personal contribution serves as external validation. The sense of accuracy arises in the reader’s mind, not in the questionnaire.
Is the scientific alternative really any better? The case of the Big Five
Academic personality research has used a different model for decades: the Big Five, or OCEAN – Openness, Conscientiousness, Extraversion, Agreeableness, and Neuroticism. It was developed through the statistical analysis of the adjectives people use to describe one another. In one respect, it has a slight edge over the MBTI: it treats each trait as a dimension on which a person lies somewhere between two poles, usually in the broad middle range. The MBTI, by contrast, draws fixed boundaries and divides people into two camps, even though human traits follow a bell-shaped distribution and the two peaks required for a genuine typological distinction are absent. Within Western samples, the Big Five model also achieves high retest reliability and predicts outcomes such as academic and professional success with a certain degree of accuracy.
Nevertheless, it is not suitable as a measure of all people. The claim that the five factors appear across all cultures is based almost exclusively on respondents from Western, educated, industrialised societies. Where researchers tested the model outside this context, the structure collapsed. In 2013, Michael Gurven and his colleagues found only two factors among the Tsimane, an indigenous people in the Bolivian Amazon, which they termed ‘prosocial leadership’ and ‘diligence’; the expected five could not be confirmed. A major 2019 study by Rachid Laajaj and colleagues examined the Big Five across 23 low-income countries and found that the questionnaires did not measure the intended traits there at all.
The model’s purported cross-cultural validity thus carries a colonial bias. A model built on lists of English and German words sets itself up as a framework for all of humanity and treats any deviation as a fault on others' part. Added to this is a theoretical weakness: the Big Five neither describe nor explain anything. They are statistical results from lists of adjectives, without a model explaining where the traits originate. On its own terms, the model is a more useful tool for measurement than the MBTI. It is therefore not suitable as the neutral gold standard against which all other perspectives are judged. Replacing a shaky typology with a second questionable framework merely shifts the problem.
Why does a shaky typology survive despite all the criticism?
If the objections are so clear, why doesn’t the MBTI disappear? It gives people something that statistics do not provide. A personality type fulfils needs that a correlation coefficient does not address. It names, it categorises, it creates a sense of belonging. The weak data does not affect these functions.
The phrase ‘That is just the way I am’ has a liberating power. It transforms a vague sense of self into a firm statement. Anyone who identifies as an INFP has a language for their own sensitivity, an explanation for friction with others, and the prospect of a group that regards these traits as strengths. The test provides a brief narrative about oneself, and narratives carry more weight than percentages.
Added to this is a commercial interest. Certifications, seminars, books and corporate workshops form a market that thrives on popularity. A tool that sells well and leaves customers satisfied has little reason to emphasise its weaknesses. Its success is self-sustaining.
What does this appetite for typology reveal about the identity of our times?
From a psychoanalytical perspective, demand speaks louder than supply. The rush for typologies is growing at a time when the old frameworks that assigned individuals a place have lost their binding power. Background, a lifelong profession, religious affiliation and established social circles used to provide an answer to the question of who one is. Where these answers become fragile, a void emerges, crying out to be filled.
The ‘type’ steps into this void. It promises what the ego sorely lacks: a clear-cut identity, a name, and external validation. The label functions like a modern coat of arms, a symbol one carries before oneself and by which one identifies oneself amongst one’s peers. In the language of psychoanalysis, this is a process of working on the ego ideal – the image one wishes to project of oneself and in which one wishes to be loved.
The fact that the four letters have little empirical basis hardly detracts from this function. An offer of comfort need not be true to be effective. It must be embedded in a community that shares it. This is precisely what the cult of personality types achieves: it transforms inner insecurity into a shared symbol and lonely self-doubt into a sense of belonging.
How is the MBTI linked to the culture of self-diagnosis?
The ‘type cult’ does not stand alone. It is part of a movement that ranges from personality tests, through the reinvention of terms such as ‘otroverted’, to self-diagnoses on TikTok. Everywhere, it is about the same gesture: labelling one’s own experience, making it nameable and shareable. The abbreviations may change, but the need behind them remains the same.
These labels have a dual effect. They provide relief by giving shape to a tangled inner life and conveying the feeling that one is not alone in one’s own experience. A name for one’s own shyness or sensitivity can be the first step towards treating oneself more kindly. This aspect should be taken seriously and is not merely a marketing ploy.
At the same time, these labels can be restrictive. Anyone who firmly identifies as ‘the introvert’ or ‘the highly sensitive person’ turns a tendency into a fixed boundary and shuts out experiences that do not fit the picture. A description becomes a rule governing one’s own behaviour. The name, which was meant to provide support, becomes a cage if it prevents personal growth.
What would be a healthy way of dealing with one’s self-image?
Here we can draw on Jung, who saw the archetype as a guide rather than a judgment. A self-image is at its healthiest when it is embraced without clinging to it. A person is richer than any label they give themselves, and the task is to make this richness tangible, rather than locking it away in four letters.
The most important points in brief
• The MBTI classifies people into sixteen types using four letters and is ubiquitous in everyday life, whilst academic psychology considers it unreliable.
• Its scholarly roots lie with C. G. Jung (*Psychological Types*, 1921), who described extraversion and introversion as well as four basic functions, and expressly warned against rigid categorisation.
• Katharine Briggs and Isabel Myers, neither of whom had any formal training in psychology, developed a questionnaire for career guidance based on Jung’s theory in the 1940s.
• Key criticisms include: poor retest reliability (many people are assigned a different type after just a few weeks), the Barnum effect (vague statements that apply to almost anyone), a lack of predictive power, and the division of fluid traits into fixed dichotomies.
• The Big Five, often touted as a ‘scientific’ alternative, are dimensional and have greater psychometric strength within Western samples. Their cross-cultural validity has been refuted: among the Tsimane (Gurven, 2013) and in 23 low-income countries (Laajaj, 2019), the five-factor structure breaks down. Replacing one framework with another does not solve the problem.
• The success of the MBTI can be explained psychologically: the type labels categorise and foster a sense of belonging. “That is just the way I am” offers comfort, sells itself and creates a sense of community.
• This hunger for typology is a symptom of a need for identity in an age of fragile frameworks; the acronym serves as a modern coat of arms, helping shape the ideal self.
• Labels both relieve pressure and constrain at the same time. A healthy self-image has clear contours without becoming a straitjacket.
Sources
• Myers-Briggs Type Indicator – Wikipedia: https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Myers-Briggs-Typenindikator
• Psychological Types (C. G. Jung), summary on getAbstract: https://www.getabstract.com/de/zusammenfassung/psychologische-typen/7141
• Validity of the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator, Truity: https://www.truity.com/blog/myers-briggs/mbti-validity-challenges
• Comparing the Big Five and MBTI, psychProfile: https://psychprofile.io/blog/comparing_the_big_five_and_mbti_a_2024_analysis_of_personali.php
• Is the MBTI Actually Scientific? Reliability and Validity, PsyZenLab: https://www.psyzenlab.com/blog/mbti-scientific-reliability
• An overview of personality tests, Marcus K. Reif: https://www.reif.org/blog/persoenlichkeitstests-im-ueberblick-was-steckt-wirklich-dahinter/
• Gurven et al. (2013). How universal is the Big Five? Testing the five-factor model amongst forager-farmers in the Bolivian Amazon (Tsimane), PubMed: https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/23245291/
• Laajaj et al. (2019). Challenges to capturing the Big Five of personality in low-income countries, Science Advances: https://www.science.org/doi/10.1126/sciadv.aaw5226
Related
DESCRIPTION: The Myers-Briggs Type Indicator is considered unreliable by researchers, and yet millions of people categorise themselves using four letters—a psychoanalytical interpretation of the typology boom as a symptom of a cultural hunger for identity.
‘That is just how I am’: Why an entire culture loves the MBTI, even though science rejects it
The Myers-Briggs Type Indicator classifies people into sixteen types, each consisting of four letters, and millions regard these four letters as the essence of their being. Academic psychology has regarded the test as unreliable for decades. Both statements are true at the same time, and it is precisely this contradiction that is the real issue. This article asks what the success of a shaky typology reveals about an entire culture’s hunger for identity.
What exactly is the MBTI, and why is it so widely known?
The Myers-Briggs Type Indicator categorises a person along four pairs of opposites: Extraversion or Introversion, Sensing or Intuition, Thinking or Feeling, Judging or Perceiving. Each choice yields a letter; four letters form an abbreviation such as INFP or ESTJ. This results in sixteen types, each with its own profile, an animal name in some variants, a colour, and a community.
The test is everywhere. HR departments use it in workshops, dating profiles list the abbreviation alongside star signs and height, and on TikTok, there are entire channels dedicated to which type is the hardest to love. According to estimates, millions of people complete a version of the questionnaire every year. Hardly any other psychological concept has become so deeply embedded in everyday life.
This reach stands in striking contrast to its scientific standing. Anyone looking for the MBTI in textbooks on personality psychology will usually find it in the chapter on common misconceptions. Nevertheless, its popularity continues to grow. This gap between expert opinion and mass success is the starting point.
Where does the typology come from? C. G. Jung as its scholarly foundation
Its intellectual origins lie with C. G. Jung and his work *Psychological Types*, published in 1921. In it, Jung described two basic orientations of psychic energy, or libido: the extraverted orientation, which is directed outwards towards the objective world, and the introverted orientation, which draws energy away from the object and directs it towards the subject. Added to these were four basic functions: Thinking and Feeling as judging functions, and Sensing and Intuition as perceiving functions.
Jung did not mean this to be a system of pigeonholing. For him, typology was an attempt to organise the clinical experience of people engaging with the world in different ways. The orientations and functions formed a fluid structure in which one function predominates, whilst the others operate unconsciously and exert pressure. For Jung, the type was a snapshot of a dynamic system.
Jung expressly warned against the rigid application of his own concepts. The type, he argued, was nothing more than an aid to orientation, not a label to be affixed to a person. Anyone who turns this warning into a sorting machine is turning Jung’s intention on its head. This is precisely what has happened throughout its reception history.
How did Jung’s theory become a test? Katharine Briggs and Isabel Myers
The transformation of the theory into a questionnaire was the work of two women with no formal training in psychology. Katharine Cook Briggs had been exploring questions of human nature since the 1920s and came across Jung’s book. Her daughter, Isabel Briggs Myers, continued the work and, spurred on by the Second World War, developed a questionnaire in the 1940s designed to match people to suitable wartime occupations.
Briggs and Myers were self-taught, motivated by a practical concern. They wanted a tool to help everyone find their place in the world and the right career. From Jung’s branched model, they selected certain elements, added their own dimension in the form of the Judging–Perceiving axis, and shaped the whole into a questionnaire with clear yes–no thresholds.
These origins explain a great deal. The MBTI emerged on the fringes of academic psychology, driven by the conviction that every person has a recognisable, definable type. The optimism of this founding idea – that self-knowledge can be attained through a questionnaire – continues to resonate today and is part of its appeal.
Why do so many people get a different type on their second test?
The most serious objection concerns reliability over time, known as retest reliability. A useful measurement tool should yield the same result twice for the same person if nothing fundamental has changed. With the MBTI, this is often not the case. Studies report that, depending on the research, between 39 and over 50 per cent of participants receive a different four-letter type after just five weeks.
The reason lies in the test’s structure. The test forces continuous traits into an either/or framework. Anyone close to the middle between Thinking and Feeling will swing to the other side at the slightest shift in mood, thereby changing an entire letter. A difference of just one millimetre in response behaviour results in a different type name and profile.
For a tool that claims to identify a fixed personality signature, this is a serious problem. If the core of one’s nature shifts from INFP to INFJ within a few weeks, then the test is measuring something other than a stable trait. Rather, it measures a ‘day-to-day state of mind’ that is presented as a personality trait.
What is the Barnum effect, and why does everyone feel it applies to them?
After taking the test, many people experience a moment of recognition: ‘That is exactly me.’ This feeling has a name. In 1948, the psychologist Bertram Forer presented students with what was purported to be a personalised personality profile and asked them to assess how well it described them. The level of agreement was high. They had all been given the same text, compiled from sentences taken from astrology websites.
This ‘Barnum effect’ describes the tendency to perceive vague and generalised statements as an accurate self-description. Phrases such as ‘You appear composed on the outside, but harbour doubts on the inside’ apply to almost everyone, because they cover both sides of the human experience. The MBTI personality types rely predominantly on such broad, flattering descriptions.
This sense of recognition is therefore a result of skilful phrasing and does not prove the test’s accuracy. The reader fills in the vague sentences with their own memories and experiences, and this personal contribution serves as external validation. The sense of accuracy arises in the reader’s mind, not in the questionnaire.
Is the scientific alternative really any better? The case of the Big Five
Academic personality research has used a different model for decades: the Big Five, or OCEAN – Openness, Conscientiousness, Extraversion, Agreeableness, and Neuroticism. It was developed through the statistical analysis of the adjectives people use to describe one another. In one respect, it has a slight edge over the MBTI: it treats each trait as a dimension on which a person lies somewhere between two poles, usually in the broad middle range. The MBTI, by contrast, draws fixed boundaries and divides people into two camps, even though human traits follow a bell-shaped distribution and the two peaks required for a genuine typological distinction are absent. Within Western samples, the Big Five model also achieves high retest reliability and predicts outcomes such as academic and professional success with a certain degree of accuracy.
Nevertheless, it is not suitable as a measure of all people. The claim that the five factors appear across all cultures is based almost exclusively on respondents from Western, educated, industrialised societies. Where researchers tested the model outside this context, the structure collapsed. In 2013, Michael Gurven and his colleagues found only two factors among the Tsimane, an indigenous people in the Bolivian Amazon, which they termed ‘prosocial leadership’ and ‘diligence’; the expected five could not be confirmed. A major 2019 study by Rachid Laajaj and colleagues examined the Big Five across 23 low-income countries and found that the questionnaires did not measure the intended traits there at all.
The model’s purported cross-cultural validity thus carries a colonial bias. A model built on lists of English and German words sets itself up as a framework for all of humanity and treats any deviation as a fault on others' part. Added to this is a theoretical weakness: the Big Five neither describe nor explain anything. They are statistical results from lists of adjectives, without a model explaining where the traits originate. On its own terms, the model is a more useful tool for measurement than the MBTI. It is therefore not suitable as the neutral gold standard against which all other perspectives are judged. Replacing a shaky typology with a second questionable framework merely shifts the problem.
Why does a shaky typology survive despite all the criticism?
If the objections are so clear, why doesn’t the MBTI disappear? It gives people something that statistics do not provide. A personality type fulfils needs that a correlation coefficient does not address. It names, it categorises, it creates a sense of belonging. The weak data does not affect these functions.
The phrase ‘That is just the way I am’ has a liberating power. It transforms a vague sense of self into a firm statement. Anyone who identifies as an INFP has a language for their own sensitivity, an explanation for friction with others, and the prospect of a group that regards these traits as strengths. The test provides a brief narrative about oneself, and narratives carry more weight than percentages.
Added to this is a commercial interest. Certifications, seminars, books and corporate workshops form a market that thrives on popularity. A tool that sells well and leaves customers satisfied has little reason to emphasise its weaknesses. Its success is self-sustaining.
What does this appetite for typology reveal about the identity of our times?
From a psychoanalytical perspective, demand speaks louder than supply. The rush for typologies is growing at a time when the old frameworks that assigned individuals a place have lost their binding power. Background, a lifelong profession, religious affiliation and established social circles used to provide an answer to the question of who one is. Where these answers become fragile, a void emerges, crying out to be filled.
The ‘type’ steps into this void. It promises what the ego sorely lacks: a clear-cut identity, a name, and external validation. The label functions like a modern coat of arms, a symbol one carries before oneself and by which one identifies oneself amongst one’s peers. In the language of psychoanalysis, this is a process of working on the ego ideal – the image one wishes to project of oneself and in which one wishes to be loved.
The fact that the four letters have little empirical basis hardly detracts from this function. An offer of comfort need not be true to be effective. It must be embedded in a community that shares it. This is precisely what the cult of personality types achieves: it transforms inner insecurity into a shared symbol and lonely self-doubt into a sense of belonging.
How is the MBTI linked to the culture of self-diagnosis?
The ‘type cult’ does not stand alone. It is part of a movement that ranges from personality tests, through the reinvention of terms such as ‘otroverted’, to self-diagnoses on TikTok. Everywhere, it is about the same gesture: labelling one’s own experience, making it nameable and shareable. The abbreviations may change, but the need behind them remains the same.
These labels have a dual effect. They provide relief by giving shape to a tangled inner life and conveying the feeling that one is not alone in one’s own experience. A name for one’s own shyness or sensitivity can be the first step towards treating oneself more kindly. This aspect should be taken seriously and is not merely a marketing ploy.
At the same time, these labels can be restrictive. Anyone who firmly identifies as ‘the introvert’ or ‘the highly sensitive person’ turns a tendency into a fixed boundary and shuts out experiences that do not fit the picture. A description becomes a rule governing one’s own behaviour. The name, which was meant to provide support, becomes a cage if it prevents personal growth.
What would be a healthy way of dealing with one’s self-image?
Here we can draw on Jung, who saw the archetype as a guide rather than a judgment. A self-image is at its healthiest when it is embraced without clinging to it. A person is richer than any label they give themselves, and the task is to make this richness tangible, rather than locking it away in four letters.
The most important points in brief
• The MBTI classifies people into sixteen types using four letters and is ubiquitous in everyday life, whilst academic psychology considers it unreliable.
• Its scholarly roots lie with C. G. Jung (*Psychological Types*, 1921), who described extraversion and introversion as well as four basic functions, and expressly warned against rigid categorisation.
• Katharine Briggs and Isabel Myers, neither of whom had any formal training in psychology, developed a questionnaire for career guidance based on Jung’s theory in the 1940s.
• Key criticisms include: poor retest reliability (many people are assigned a different type after just a few weeks), the Barnum effect (vague statements that apply to almost anyone), a lack of predictive power, and the division of fluid traits into fixed dichotomies.
• The Big Five, often touted as a ‘scientific’ alternative, are dimensional and have greater psychometric strength within Western samples. Their cross-cultural validity has been refuted: among the Tsimane (Gurven, 2013) and in 23 low-income countries (Laajaj, 2019), the five-factor structure breaks down. Replacing one framework with another does not solve the problem.
• The success of the MBTI can be explained psychologically: the type labels categorise and foster a sense of belonging. “That is just the way I am” offers comfort, sells itself and creates a sense of community.
• This hunger for typology is a symptom of a need for identity in an age of fragile frameworks; the acronym serves as a modern coat of arms, helping shape the ideal self.
• Labels both relieve pressure and constrain at the same time. A healthy self-image has clear contours without becoming a straitjacket.
Sources
• Myers-Briggs Type Indicator – Wikipedia: https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Myers-Briggs-Typenindikator
• Psychological Types (C. G. Jung), summary on getAbstract: https://www.getabstract.com/de/zusammenfassung/psychologische-typen/7141
• Validity of the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator, Truity: https://www.truity.com/blog/myers-briggs/mbti-validity-challenges
• Comparing the Big Five and MBTI, psychProfile: https://psychprofile.io/blog/comparing_the_big_five_and_mbti_a_2024_analysis_of_personali.php
• Is the MBTI Actually Scientific? Reliability and Validity, PsyZenLab: https://www.psyzenlab.com/blog/mbti-scientific-reliability
• An overview of personality tests, Marcus K. Reif: https://www.reif.org/blog/persoenlichkeitstests-im-ueberblick-was-steckt-wirklich-dahinter/
• Gurven et al. (2013). How universal is the Big Five? Testing the five-factor model amongst forager-farmers in the Bolivian Amazon (Tsimane), PubMed: https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/23245291/
• Laajaj et al. (2019). Challenges to capturing the Big Five of personality in low-income countries, Science Advances: https://www.science.org/doi/10.1126/sciadv.aaw5226