I remember living through the 80s and 90s surviving on what now appears to have been a truly reckless and unregulated approach to hydration. Water came from two places: a school water fountain that shot out a weak, suspicious arc, or a hose in somebody’s backyard that had been lying in the sun like a snake all afternoon. That was it. That was the system. And somehow, against all odds, we endured.
No one carried water around. No one had a vessel. No one had a hydration strategy. There were no electrolyte packets, no giant insulated tanks with inspirational slogans on the side, no emotional support tumblers being hauled into Target for a nine-minute errand. If you got thirsty, you dealt with it like a 90s child: badly, briefly, and without discussion.
Looking back, I had no idea how close to death I apparently was at all times.
Because somewhere along the way, water stopped being water and became identity. It became fashion. It became wellness. It became one more quiet little status symbol, a way to let everyone know you were doing life correctly. Suddenly, adults were accessorizing with water bottles the way people once accessorized with watches or handbags. Not just any bottle either. It had to be the right one. The metal one. The healthy plastic one. The filtered one. The giant one with stickers. The minimalist one. The bottle that says, without saying it, “I take care of myself and probably stretch.”
You can’t just be thirsty anymore. You have to be hydrated as a lifestyle.
Yoga class? Bottle. Walk in the park? Bottle. Short drive across town in an air-conditioned car with multiple cup holders? Bottle. A quick trip into the store where you will be indoors for twelve minutes and pass seventeen beverages? Better bring the bottle. It has become unthinkable to simply exist in public without a personalized canteen strapped to your person like you’re crossing the Mojave instead of going into HomeGoods.
And of course, if you are not visibly drinking water at all times, someone will eventually look at you with concern usually reserved for Victorian illnesses.
“You’re not drinking enough water.”
How do you know? Are my organs sending up flares? Did my skin whisper to you? Have you mistaken ordinary middle age for acute dehydration?
The modern world has become incredibly comfortable with acting like all human suffering boils down to one thing: not enough water. Tired? Drink water. Headache? Drink water. Anxious? Water. Sad? Water. Spiritually adrift? Water. Marriage under strain? Have you tried a different bottle with a straw lid? It is the cleanest, most socially acceptable form of moral superiority we currently have. You may be a mess in every other area of your life, but if you’re carrying around a $48 insulated flask the size of a toddler, you can still feel a little better than the rest of us.
What makes this even funnier is that the obsession already seems to be fading, because water has committed the unforgivable sin of not containing protein.
Now the culture is shifting. Hydration had a good run, but apparently plain water isn’t enough anymore. Now every drink needs to function like a multivitamin, a meal replacement, and a spiritual achievement. Water had its era, but protein has arrived with the energy of a hostile takeover. Suddenly everyone is trying to consume 140 grams a day while discussing powder, macros, and whether a clear beverage can somehow contain the nutritional profile of six eggs.
So the water people may finally be losing ground to the protein people, which is honestly beautiful to watch. One obsession quietly stepping aside for the next. Yesterday it was hydration. Today it’s protein. Tomorrow, who knows. Fiber in a tactical flask. Collagen mist. Sardine foam. Whatever it is, I’m sure we’ll all be informed that we are dangerously behind.
I still can’t get over how quickly we accepted the idea that every minor outing requires supplies. I saw a person recently carrying a water bottle on a short neighborhood walk and had the immediate, uncharitable thought that Lewis and Clark would be embarrassed for us. We are not crossing a frontier. We are circling the block in breathable fabrics.
And yet here we are, a society of grown adults trudging from parking lot to storefront with enough hydration technology to survive a medium-sized emergency.
Meanwhile, my body was built in the era of rusted monkey bars, secondhand smoke, hose water, and whatever was happening inside those school cafeteria pizzas. If I made it through that, I think I can survive fifteen minutes without sipping from an engraved titanium cylinder.
I’m not anti-water. Let me be clear. That would be a strange stance to take this late in evolution. I’m just old enough to remember when drinking it wasn’t a hobby, a personality trait, or a consumer category. It was just the thing you did sometimes, usually after being outside too long, and never once as a public performance.
So no, I do not have a hydration system. I do not track my ounces. I do not need my bottle to reflect my values. I am simply out here free-pouring survival the way nature intended.
And if that worries you, please know I made it through an entire childhood on one dented fountain, two backyard hoses, and vibes.