Are Learning Styles Really ‘Debunked’? The Surprising Truth Behind How We Learn

It was one of those crisp winter afternoons in a suburban primary school, the kind where sunlight slants through the windows at just the right angle. It's Mrs. O'Mahony's fifth-class classroom, and talk had turned to learning styles. A student—bright-eyed, always curious—raised her hand. “Is it true,” she asked, “that some of us are ‘visual learners’ and some of us are ‘auditory learners’?” Mrs. O'Mahony paused. She wanted to encourage curiosity, but she also knew this was a tricky topic, riddled with complexities. “I’ve heard that people learn best in different ways,” said the student. “So maybe we should do all our lessons that way.”

That conversation, as simple as it seems, echoes a topic that’s generated much debate in educational psychology circles for decades: learning styles. Over the years, many schools and corporate training programs have eagerly embraced the concept. Teachers and trainers group their learners by type—visual, auditory, or kinesthetic. Special colour-coded materials are created for the “visuals.” Extra emphasis on read-aloud exercises is tailored for the “auditories.” And energetic role-play or real-life movement-based activities are doled out for the “kinesthetics.” Parents and administrators often nod along, hoping they’ve finally found the holy grail of education—an approach that ensures each student receives content in a way that resonates most profoundly with them.

And yet, if you wander into a research conference on education or ask many cognitive psychologists about learning styles, you’ll likely be told a different story: “They’ve been debunked. There’s no strong evidence to suggest that matching instruction to a presumed learning style actually improves outcomes.” This tension—between a widely adopted concept in popular education culture and a seemingly contradictory stance from rigorous research—creates confusion in the minds of parents, educators, and students alike.

So how did we even get here? Our brains love categories; it’s a function of human cognition. The more we can neatly place ourselves and others into boxes, the more predictable the world seems. That’s part of the appeal. Learning styles, at first glance, appear to offer a reassuring explanation for why certain students struggle in one class but thrive in another. If only it were as simple as flipping a switch—identifying whether you’re visual, auditory, or kinesthetic, and adapting all content accordingly.

But as appealing as it sounds, it’s not that straightforward. Part of the confusion stems from the complexity of “learning.” It’s not just about seeing, hearing, or doing; it’s also about how long you spend wrestling with concepts, whether you engage in self-testing, how much you care about the topic, your prior knowledge, your motivation level, or whether you’re simply hungry or tired that day. All these variables make “learning” a complex phenomenon that can’t be pinned down by a single “style.”

This doesn’t mean preference is meaningless. We’ve all had experiences where we say, “I need to see that visually to grasp it,” or “I do better hearing it explained out loud.” There’s something intuitive in that statement. But whether that preference translates into a universal, fixed “learning style” is the crux of the controversy.

In the world of education, millions of dollars and thousands of hours have been poured into designing materials categorised by learning style. Proponents argue that this approach customises experiences in a more engaging way. Critics contend that learning style theories oversimplify human cognition and lead to the misallocation of resources. When you scratch the surface, what you find is a swirl of conflicting testimonies, well-meaning educators, and partially understood research findings.

In the next parts of this article, I'd like to dive deeper, stepping through the major studies that have apparently “debunked” learning styles—and also exploring why those studies might leave some questions still unanswered. We’ll look at the difference between “cognitive style” and “learning preference,” at the real significance of presenting information in multiple formats, and at the psychological appeal that keeps these theories alive despite research pushback. The story, as we’ll see, is more nuanced than a simple yes-or-no, black-or-white pronouncement. So whether you think you learn best by reading words on the page, hearing them spoken, or jumping up and acting them out, buckle up: the debate is not quite as cut-and-dried as it might seem at first glance.

By the end, you might even discover that what we call “learning styles” is only a fraction of a bigger conversation about how humans acquire knowledge, how we process stimuli, and how to design educational experiences that resonate with people on multiple levels. Sometimes, the essence of a concept can live on even if a simplistic version of it is dismantled by data. As with most things in science, the deeper you dig, the more fascinating—and complex—it all becomes.

The Case for Debunking—What the Research Actually Says

If there’s one name that often surfaces in discussions about the “debunking” of learning styles, it is that of cognitive psychologist Daniel Willingham. In a series of papers and in his popular book Why Don’t Students Like School?, Willingham argues that, despite the intuitive appeal of the learning styles model, rigorous research has failed to confirm its central premise: that students learn more effectively when instruction is tailored to match their identified style. This is not about some minor shortcoming or a single inconclusive study; it’s about a repeated failure to find evidence that matching a “visual learner” to visual methods or an “auditory learner” to auditory methods leads to systematically improved outcomes.

Willingham’s stance is grounded in a specific methodological standard: to truly test the learning styles hypothesis, you would need a robust experiment that identifies individuals by their style, then exposes them to instruction in both a matching and a non-matching style, controlling for a host of other variables. Researchers then need to measure whether there’s a statistically significant difference in learning outcomes. Numerous well-designed studies have attempted this, and the majority come up empty. While subjects might have personal preferences—some may indeed feel more comfortable reading a text than listening to it—these preferences do not typically manifest as improved test performance or deeper retention when the instruction aligns with that preference.

What’s worth emphasising is that this distinction between “learning preference” and “learning outcome” is absolutely crucial. A preference describes how someone likes to receive information, but it does not necessarily translate into objective evidence of better learning. For instance, you might prefer reading on a screen, while someone else might prefer a physical book. But when it comes to how much each person actually learns or retains, research suggests those differences in preference don’t reliably predict superior performance. Similarly, a student might declare, “I can’t learn if it’s not visual!” but in experiments, that same student’s mastery of the content may not differ whether they read text, watch a video, or hear an explanation—provided each format is clear and well-organised.

Moreover, a great deal of learning happens not through isolated reading or listening, but through active engagement: discussing ideas, testing them out, and receiving feedback. These strategies often transcend any simplistic label of “visual,” “auditory,” or “kinesthetic.” This is part of what fuels the debunking. The problem isn’t that people don’t vary—clearly, they do—but that the neat typologies proposed by learning styles theories do not cleanly capture that variation in ways that yield consistent improvements in learning.

Enter the “meshing hypothesis,” the idea that people with a certain learning style will learn better when matched with instructional mode. According to this hypothesis, if you identify as a “visual learner,” then, logically, your retention should be highest when materials are presented visually. Studies that meet the rigorous design required to test the meshing hypothesis typically fail to support it. The conclusion drawn by many cognitive psychologists is that it is the content—and the clarity of how that content is structured and explained—rather than the presumed “style” of the learner that most significantly affects learning outcomes.

That’s where the frequently cited statement “learning styles have been debunked” comes from. Across a raft of systematic reviews, the general consensus is that there’s no compelling evidence to support the style-matching approach. In certain corners of the academic world, this debunking has achieved the status of near-unquestionable dogma, to the point that you might hear an exasperated educator sigh, “No, I will not spend my budget producing separate materials for each style—this isn’t supported by research.”

But here’s the thing: just because the matching hypothesis may not hold up under scientific scrutiny doesn’t automatically mean that any notion of individual differences in learning is nonsense. If anything, the research highlights the complexity of learning itself. People differ in many ways that can be profoundly relevant to how they learn—such as how much prior knowledge they have, their level of motivation, their background, language skills, spatial reasoning, working memory capacity, and emotional state. But these differences don’t necessarily boil down to a simplistic division of the population into three or four “styles.”

In other words, the definitive scientific statement is: “We haven’t found reliable evidence that matching instruction to an identified style yields better learning.” That’s quite different from saying, “Every learner is exactly the same.” The pushback stems from researchers wanting to clarify that the second statement—“everyone is the same”—is an oversimplification and isn’t what science says at all. Instead, the focus is shifting: can we target instruction to relevant cognitive abilities and prior knowledge in ways that do improve learning? Possibly. But that’s more about diagnosing specific skill deficits or strengths—like reading comprehension levels, problem-solving strategies, or even social and emotional factors—than it is about labeling each person as a “visual,” “auditory,” or “kinesthetic” learner.

Another layer to consider is that many of us have encountered teachers who use a variety of modalities—showing videos, drawing diagrams, facilitating discussions, and encouraging hands-on projects. Often, students find these classes more engaging. But is that because each student is finally getting “their own style” matched, or is it because people benefit from the redundancy of receiving information in multiple forms, plus the excitement of varied formats? Most empirical research points to the latter explanation.

So, does all this research slam the door on learning styles once and for all? Many experts would say yes, at least in the sense of “styles” being a reliable basis for instructional planning. But that doesn’t entirely close the conversation. As we’ll see next, there remains a subjective, experiential dimension—people really do feel differences in how they prefer to engage with new information. And the lines between “preference” and “performance” can blur in real-world contexts. Perhaps that is part of why this debate refuses to simply go away.

Parsing Preferences—Why Something Still Feels Right About It

Spend some time speaking with teachers at the front lines of a classroom, and you’ll hear story after story of how certain students visibly “light up” when material is presented in a particular format. Consider Tom, the boy in the third row who rarely engages until you start drawing diagrams on the board. Or Sarah, the avid listener who thrives during class discussions but wilts at the sight of a textbook. Or maybe you notice that when you incorporate hands-on labs, a swath of seemingly disengaged pupils suddenly perk up and start asking questions.

For many educators, parents, and even students, these observations are real. They see them every day and argue that it would be foolish to pretend such differences don’t exist. The confusion lies in what to call these differences and how to interpret them in a way that remains scientifically valid. The classic “learning styles” approach categorises these observed preferences into broad types—visual, auditory, kinesthetic, perhaps reading/writing as well. Yet research warns us that while acknowledging differences is good, forcing them into style-based instruction might not be as beneficial as we think.

It’s not that preferences don’t matter. They do, especially in terms of motivation and engagement. If a person thinks they learn best visually, they may approach a visual task with more enthusiasm and confidence, which can facilitate better focus and recall—at least in the short term. If someone else believes that an auditory approach is “just not for them,” they might mentally check out when asked to listen to a lecture, creating a self-fulfilling prophecy of poor performance. In that sense, the power of expectations can’t be discounted. Perceptions can drive behaviour, which in turn impacts learning outcomes.

This is where the “placebo effect” comparison often surfaces. Just like a patient might experience relief from a sugar pill because they believe it’s medicine, a student might learn better with a certain approach simply because they believe that approach “aligns” with their style. But that’s not the same as a robust, objective, across-the-board effect. Rather, it’s an interplay of cognition and psychology—a reminder that the mindset with which you tackle a learning task is as crucial as the method you use to consume the material.

So perhaps this is why the idea of learning styles sticks around. When educators tailor lessons to what students think they need, students feel seen and heard. They may become more engaged and more confident, which is inherently valuable. Meanwhile, the teacher observes that students who claimed they were “visual learners” did a little better with the video or slide presentation—further confirming the belief that styles matter. In reality, the improvement might have emerged from the novelty of the new format, a bump in motivation, or simply an increased sense of comfort.

It’s also worth noting that for certain kinds of content, different modes of delivery are objectively more effective. For instance, learning about the structure of a cell is often more straightforward with a clear diagram or even a 3D model, which appeals to visual/kinesthetic approaches. Meanwhile, analyzing the nuance of a Shakespearean sonnet might be enhanced by reading it silently, reading it aloud, and hearing it performed. In each case, the content itself guides the ideal modality. This isn’t about matching style to student; it’s about matching content to context. Effective teaching often involves using multiple modalities not to align with a style profile, but to convey concepts in the way they’re most clearly understood.

So does that mean learning styles are totally irrelevant, or is there still a kernel of truth beneath the hype? The research suggests that what most people label “learning style” is really a blend of personal preference, motivational factors, and the nature of the content. It’s not a stable trait that flips your cognitive switch so that you only learn effectively in one or two modes. It’s more like a fluctuating set of inclinations that can change over time and context. Add in other factors—like cultural background, previous experiences, emotional state, and attention span—and you start to see how narrow the “style” lens really is.

Thus, the “debunking” does not necessarily mean the end of acknowledging variety in the classroom. Instead, it’s a nudge to see beyond rigid style categories. It’s a reminder that people do benefit from multiple representations, that engagement matters, and that each learner’s background and preferences can play a role in their success—just not in the simplistic, one-size-fits-all categorization scheme that the classic learning styles framework proposed.

Beyond Labels—Crafting a More Nuanced Approach

Imagine you are hosting a dinner party. Some guests love spicy food, others can’t handle heat at all. Some prefer rich, hearty fare, while others lean toward light and refreshing salads. You could, if you wanted, try to categorize your guests into neat “food style” labels and serve dishes accordingly. But let’s say you do that and end up with a purely “spicy” spread for one group, only to discover that half of them actually prefer a milder approach on most nights. Or perhaps you notice that your so-called “fresh and light” group actually enjoys a hearty stew when the temperature drops. Human preferences, like tastes, can be fluid, situational, and influenced by many factors. The same principle applies to learning styles.

The problem with the learning styles debate is that it often devolves into a false dichotomy: either you believe in them wholeheartedly, or you reject them entirely. The truth is more complex. Many specialists in education and psychology advocate for a broader, flexible approach—sometimes called “universal design for learning,” or simply robust, multimodal instruction. This approach acknowledges that good teaching naturally employs a range of strategies. You provide visual aids, speak clearly and cohesively, incorporate hands-on or interactive elements, and encourage reading and writing. By engaging multiple senses, you leverage the strengths and preferences of all learners, sometimes simultaneously. It’s less about labeling the individual and more about diversifying your methods.

Further, the body of research that “debunks” learning styles mostly challenges the claim that a student’s designated style alone determines how they learn best. Yet it doesn’t say that everyone learns identically. There remain real differences in how people process information, but these differences often relate to more specific cognitive abilities and experiences. For example, working memory capacity can differ among individuals, which could influence how much auditory or textual information they can hold in mind at one time. Spatial reasoning skills can differ too, making visual representations more or less intuitive for different students. And a student with a hearing impairment might, of course, rely more heavily on text and visual content—not because they have an “auditory style” that’s not being honored, but because their physiology literally shapes how they process auditory information.

So where does all this leave teachers, parents, and lifelong learners who just want to help people grasp new concepts effectively? A more nuanced approach might look like this:

1. Recognise Variation Without Simplistic Labels: Instead of placing students in categories, aim to observe individual needs, backgrounds, prior knowledge, and emotional engagement. These factors often matter more to learning than a rigid “style.”

2. Use Multiple Modalities for Everyone: Present information in varied ways—visual diagrams, hands-on demos, verbal explanations. Reinforce key ideas with opportunities for discussion, writing, or creative expression. This approach not only caters to diverse learner preferences but also helps knowledge stick by engaging multiple senses and neural pathways.

3. Optimise the Content for the Mode: Certain subjects lend themselves better to certain forms of presentation. Math, for instance, can benefit from clear symbolic representation and step-by-step visual demonstrations. Literature might come alive when read aloud with emphasis on tone and rhythm. Identify which methods work best for the topic at hand, rather than forcing a style-based alignment.

4. Support Metacognition and Study Strategies: Encourage students to experiment with different ways of studying—reading notes aloud, drawing concept maps, using flashcards, teaching a peer, or creating analogies. Emphasise reflection on what helps them learn, taking into account that it may shift with different content.

5. Foster Engagement and Intrinsic Motivation: The best learning often occurs when learners care about the material and take an active role in understanding it. Personal relevance, curiosity, and social engagement can be far more potent than any one format of presentation.

6. Address Real Constraints and Disabilities: If a learner has specific challenges—vision impairment, dyslexia, attention disorders—accommodations are crucial. This isn’t “learning style,” but rather universal design and accessibility.

While the “learning styles” debate might rage on, many researchers would argue that the question is not “Should I teach visually or verbally for this or that group?” but rather “How do I ensure clarity, engagement, and accessibility for all learners?” This does not dismiss the reality that personal preferences exist. It simply positions them as one minor factor in a much larger learning environment. The practical takeaway for educators, then, is not to create a separate “visual track” and an “auditory track” for each lesson, but to design lessons robustly, combining visual, auditory, and kinesthetic elements where they make sense.

By adopting this integrated perspective, you align with the best of both worlds: acknowledging that learners are diverse, and also recognising that research has yet to find a reliable, consistent “style matching” effect. You also free yourself from the pressure of labelling each student and confining them to a narrow box, which can limit rather than expand their potential. After all, there might be a budding artist in your class who does well with visual materials but also has the capacity to excel in auditory modes if challenged and inspired to develop that skill.

Final Thoughts

Learning styles, in the simplified popular form, have indeed been called into question by decades of studies. The central claim—that matching instructional mode to an individual’s style yields improved results—remains unsupported by robust, consistent evidence. Yet it’s not entirely shocking that people still sense “something” is going on. We are varied creatures, each with our own experiences, mindsets, and comfort zones. What we call “learning style” might be, in part, a mix of these broader factors, rather than a stable trait that dictates how you must always learn best.

Perhaps a more valuable question is how best to help each person discover multiple avenues to understanding. At times, a diagram might be the aha moment. In another context, a heartfelt conversation or lecture might spark the flame. In yet another scenario, tinkering and experimenting physically might drive home a concept. None of this requires us to label ourselves or others definitively as “visual” or “auditory” or “kinesthetic.” Instead, we can ask: Which mode is most effective for this topic? And how can we keep learners curious, motivated, and feeling capable?

If we keep those questions front and center, the debate over learning styles becomes less polarised. We can move toward a science-informed, flexible approach that honors individual differences and broad cognitive principles. In the end, debunking learning styles does not mean debunking the quest to tailor instruction—only that we need to be wary of simplistic models and remain open to the multifaceted ways in which human beings absorb knowledge. By doing so, perhaps we can finally step beyond the either-or mindset and embrace the true complexity, and joy, of learning.