The Big Thirst

I recently opened an email from a publicist touting an “ultra-hydrating, revolutionary, fast-acting wellness drink” that promised not just to replenish one’s electrolytes after a night of heavy drinking, but to actually lower one’s blood alcohol content, in as little as 30 minutes. The claim struck me as outlandish, maybe a little reckless, and beautifully redemptive. Buying an elixir that reverses time to cleanse you of your past mistakes? It’s a perfect encapsulation of how we have chosen to fetishize hydration on a steadily warming planet.

This pitch was only the latest I’ve seen in a sea of hyperbolic marketing being used to sell electrolyte beverages — a category of the market that’s projected to grow to $56 billion by 2030. Liquid I.V. touts itself as a “hydration multiplier” and is adored by celebrities (Demi Lovato, Kevin Hart, and Justin Bieber are all investors) as a remedy for workout and hangover recovery. There’s LMNT, a powdered electrolyte mix that markets its lack of sugar and intense salt content (some might call it “overwhelmingly salty”). Of course, there’s Prime, Logan Paul’s controversial, aggressively caffeinated, coconut water-tinged sports drink.

Most recently, Call Her Daddy host Alex Cooper has announced that her Unwell Hydration beverages will be available exclusively at Target on January 1. “Women are often expected to juggle multiple roles and be everything to everyone, which is why I wanted to create a hydration drink that helps replenish what we give out,” she said in the press release, making the case that we can hydrate our way out of mental exhaustion, too. (The drink is being produced in partnership with Nestlé — a famously uncontroversial player in the hydration field.)

I think our throats are getting dry from collective anxiety about our planet’s impending water scarcity.

So why, at this moment in the 21st century, are we suddenly collectively thirsty enough to buy flavored water at Dunkin’ (formerly known as Dunkin’ Donuts), fuel an entire cottage industry of accessories for Stanley water tumblers, and spend billions on electrolytes? Although most trend stories I’ve read attribute it to a sort of blanket shift toward “wellness,” I have another suspicion. I think our throats are getting dry from collective anxiety about our planet’s impending water scarcity. We’re packing sippy cups full of optimized water to prepare ourselves for a much bigger thirst than the thirst at hand.

According to the United Nations, most of the effects of climate change are water-related. The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change estimates that about half of the world’s population experiences “severe water scarcity for at least one month per year.” Last year, a startling analysis by the New York Times showed that across the United States we are using up groundwater sources (mostly on industrial farming) much faster than they could ever be replenished. During a historic drought in New York this fall, the Ashokan reservoir in the Catskills fell to about 60% capacity at a time in the year when it’s usually 79% full. After Hurricane Helene, also this fall, the city of Asheville was without drinking water for 53 days.

Even though our drinking water is disappearing now, in the present, in tangible, measurable ways, it’s an existentially terrifying problem to wrap one’s head around. We’re processing these feelings in the most American way possible — by engaging in a sort of consumeristic water hedonism. We may not be able to count on safe drinking water for much longer, but we can comfort ourselves right now by buying a slew of products that promise to make our bodies invincible to sweat, fatigue, or intoxication. It hardly matters that consumerism and capitalism are what got us here in the first place.

who up hydrating they manatee calf pic.twitter.com/MHigZgXRED

— renni (@toxoplasmosii) October 26, 2024

In a Time story from earlier this year about the history of water bottles, Emily J.H. Contois pointed out that buying an array of water bottles offers consumers a semblance of personal control and autonomy in an ever-changing world. When the popular conventional wisdom that we need 64 ounces of water a day was debunked more than two decades ago, we only got thirstier. “In fact, consumer interest in hydration and water bottles intensified once dominant dietary messages endorsed not a particular number of ounces, but simply drinking whenever you’re thirsty,” wrote Contois. “Such an open-ended directive created new opportunities for brands and influencers to tap into consumer anxieties.” 

It’s impossible to predict when your next flash of thirst might arise. And even if electrolytes are only really recommended for people experiencing “prolonged sweating, vomiting, or diarrhea,” who can resist the promise of a more efficient form of hydration?

A few months ago while reporting a story about Italian soda for TASTE, I spent a fascinating 30-minute Zoom call with Andrea Ramirez, who works in market insights for the flavored syrup brand Torani. Amidst talk about the origins of Italian soda and the unpredictable rise of TikTok “water recipes,” Ramirez told me with a laugh about one of the weirder ideas she had for a Torani flavor of the year. “We were in the midst of terrible drought times,” she said. So she suggested in a meeting, “What if we look at something like petrichor — that smell right when it starts to rain? Because it would give us a chance to talk about the drought conditions, things that are happening within the environment.”

The idea was clever, but it was killed pretty quickly in favor of more appetizing options, as Ramirez recalls. Ultimately, we don’t want to think about how long it’s been since the last rain when we’re brewing our coffee in the morning or pouring an icy refreshment after a workout. We want to drink in a world of dewy, lush, limitless growth and optimization.