The "Stay Hydrated" Industry is Getting Out of Control

Don’t let Big Water see this.

*in Marilyn Monroe’s voice* “Is that what a Stanley Cup is? I thought it was some kind of sports award.”

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I would love to say that I never expected myself, in my early 30s, to compare the size of my water bottle to the ludicrously capacious hydration vessels that many of my co-workers and fellow yogis lug around. But if I’m being honest, every aspect of this niche form of people-watching is not only how I’d hope things would turn out for me, but also something like a goal. It is a testament to how absurd things currently are and have been that this idiot-engineered thirst-quenching death spiral can intrude on workplace productivity, the pace of workouts, and time spent waiting to use a common room faucet. This certainly doesn’t reflect on anything about me, or what I am personally like to be around.

Seriously, though, when the water bottle becomes a shakeweight, we need to cap it. One of the more poignant and ridiculous and enduringly popular contemporary American insanities is the belief that water bottles need to be at least 40 fluid ounces to be practical. The most crystalline expression of this comes from the hydro flask—quite possibly the loudest container in existence. If one of these is ever dropped on a tile floor, it sounds like the Handle’s Messiah is being played by a liturgical handbell choir. In all kinds of ways, from broader social cohesion to individual mental health, the many obvious ways in which this trend of giant bottles is worrying is how many people are too incompetent or lazy to remember to drink a few different glasses of water throughout the day.

There is a faint stirring of recognition latent and inherent in owning one of these—my friends are simultaneously ashamed and proud of their ridiculous Yeti collection. Mostly, though, there is just a small, sad, thwarted wish to own a giant plastic bottle that’s sort of mean to you, with messages like: You’re halfway there, you sippy slut! The rationale behind owning something like this is both grim and inchoate, but some people need their emotional support water bottle or they turn to dust in 4.3 minutes.

Then there are the Stanley Cups. These kinds of monstrosities, more than any other legible kind of H2O artillery shell, are somehow both chic and absolutely hideous. This is the only device that could be used by either someone who drives an 18-wheeler or a wedding planner.

If it is foolish to expect the free market to make things better, it feels more fanciful by the day to imagine people learning how to separate nice-to-haves from need-to-haves, and eventually realizing that an obnoxiously sized water bottle falls under neither. It is easier to imagine an endless procession of increasingly expensive and grandiose Fast and Furious sequels than it is to imagine the end of these metal jugs. I miss the simpler days when Nalgene was the only game in town. I guess this beats drinking out of single-use water bottles and chucking them straight into the nearest river.

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