24-05-2025
Why this 26-year-old will never give us booze like her boring fellow Gen Zers
I recently invited an old school friend round for alfresco Aperol spritzes. Even if we don't see each other for the rest of the year, reuniting for outdoor cocktails as soon as the warm weather comes is an annual tradition. I went all out with the preparations: enough chips and dips to sustain an entire family for a week and bottles upon bottles of the Italian apéritif that is summer's go-to tipple.
My friend arrived and we exchanged the cursory questions: I asked her, 'How's your boyfriend?', she asked me, 'How's your cat?' That indignity alone was enough to have me reaching for the bottle. But as I went to pour, out came the sentence no 20something wants to hear: 'None for me, thanks. I've stopped drinking.'
As she explained how her newfangled soberdom had led to such improvements in her half-marathon training plan, my flatmate Pia and I exchanged a secret look of sympathy, as if she'd just told us she had kidney failure or hadn't got tickets for Sabrina Carpenter's tour.
But my sober friend is not alone. A recent poll found 39 per cent of 18- to 24-year-olds never drink, compared to just eight per cent of over 55s. Then there are the 60 per cent of Gen Zers who are 'sober curious' or interested in reducing their alcohol intake and 'mindfully' drinking. I would also describe myself as 'sober curious', in that I'm curious why anyone with a functioning liver would choose to ditch booze. Between everything this generation has to worry about – catastrophic climate change, AI taking our jobs, never being able to afford a house – the torture of going teetotal is surely a battle we needn't fight.
Excessive alcohol consumption has been linked to plenty of nasties, from cancer to heart disease and mental health issues. But that's years of excessive drinking, not a cheeky couple after a hellish workday when you're not even 30.
My main gripe is how smug the non-drinker is. If you've ever met a partner you felt attracted to while sober, good for you. (Apparently, 65 per cent of Gen Zers prefer a 'dry' first date. Reader, 65 per cent of Gen Z are delusional.) Because there is nothing more uncomfortable than sitting stone-cold sober with a stranger, while asking each other questions that sound like the patchy French from your GCSE oral exam ('Yes, I have two siblings, and at the weekend we go to the cinema together').
My friend Pia once went on a Hinge date with a sober guy who a) refused to pay for a round because her alcoholic beverages were more expensive, b) kept pointing at her gin and lemonade and whispering, 'That stuff's lethal', and c) spoke for 90 minutes about his play, which involved talking animals trying to convert the audience to veganism.
Another time she told a 'mindful' drinker she was dating that she'd finished work at lunchtime and gone for a G&T in the sunshine. When she later made up some rubbishy excuse to never see him again, he sympathetically asked: 'Is it because you're going to rehab?' We now pay money for an upgraded dating app to filter out non-drinkers from our feeds, a move we've christened pro-boozer prejudice.
I'm not gagging for a drink the second I clock off on a Monday. My drinking practices are much more sophisticated. When Pia and I were 18, we'd take water bottles full of straight vodka in the taxi on the way into town and swig from them in the queue for the club. Now, we stick to two-for-one cocktails or the handy supply of aeroplane minis (perfect for sneaking into a bar for G&Ts) we stock up on every holiday.
I'm also relatively healthy, given my love of alcohol is matched by my love of spin classes, which acts as a counterbalance. But however sad it sounds, there is no better feeling than being tipsy. Take Glastonbury, one of the funnest places on earth. Imagine wading through mud and navigating loos covered in strangers' wee sober. It stops being cool in a Kate Moss way and starts being about survival, like some Bear Grylls documentary.
In my opinion Gen Zers have given up on booze because they are fixated on being in control, whether it's their protein intake, carbon footprint or extensive array of named houseplants. I, meanwhile, am desperate to relinquish control for a while, which sometimes ends with chatting to strangers in a kebab shop.
My old school friend might now have a renewed liver, the radiant skin of a newborn and a half-marathon time to impress Paula Radcliffe. But what I have is better: the ability to endure a first date without clawing my own eyes out, the skill to survive a festival without thinking too hard about embracing a Portaloo, and the joy of the first Aperol spritz of summer. Besides, I'm going to see Oasis in July – and there is no way the band that sings 'Cigarettes & Alcohol' is going to be playing Wembley to a crowd of kombucha drinkers.
