My longest stretch of intentional sobriety lasted exactly nine days. I didn’t stop drinking because I’d overdone it or needed a gut check (sorry-not-sorry for the pun). It was the result of sheer laziness, plus a dash of vanity: I wanted an easy way to shed some weight before getting married without actually having to do anything.
Turns out, I’d rather be chubby than sober. Plus, dealing with the stress of planning a wedding across the country—even for a relatively low-key bride like me—pushed me back into the arms of a loving pint sooner than I’d anticipated. But despite the fact that my own temporary tiptoe into teetotaling lapsed in under two weeks, the experience allowed me to appreciate the significance, and sometimes necessity, of recalibrating one’s relationship with alcohol.
Enter Dry January.
Every year, the same seasonal arguments crop up on social media: shock at the “Christmas creep” before Thanksgiving, irritation at the sudden influx of gym goers after the New Year, and presumptuous eye-rolling at those who announce their participation in Dry January.
But at the start of 2021, still in the thick of what’s closing in on a year of non-stop struggle for the hospitality industry, Dry January has evolved into a newly polarizing argument. People who voluntarily opt out of consumption now run the risk of committing the cardinal sin du jour: being personally and financially responsible for the destruction of breweries and other hospitality ventures.
As always on Beer Twitter, debate about balancing self-care and self-promotion, supporting businesses and supporting one’s own health, has been characteristically ... yucky? Where does our responsibility as consumers end and our own self-interest begin, the internet wants to know? Should we ever be made to feel responsible for the survival of a business, or is that just a sinister narrative capitalism has pushed onto us as Americans since birth? Is it in bad taste to publicly promote one’s month-long commitment to sobriety, or does the communal validation social media provides offer real value?
The financial implications of widespread sobriety for beer businesses hit harder this year, no doubt. But the personal implications of lockdowns and other pandemic disruptions have hit people harder this year as well. Suicide and self-harm rates are up, and as the New York Times details, Americans (and especially women) increased their alcohol intake by double digits in 2020. (The caveat here is that, while that might reflect a broad-strokes point of view, Sightlines editor Bryan Roth has another read: “People are drinking about the same, just drinking bigger,” he says, pointing to a rise in servings versus total gallon consumption.)
However our drinking habits have (or haven’t) changed in the last year, Dry January can still be a helpful, structured pause. While it might seem performative or pointless to non-participants, it’s one way to reset and reflect on what we’re consuming, how we’re consuming it, and how much we’re consuming—and that’s particularly true in a time of widespread instability, trauma, and disruption. (And frankly, even if it’s a way to just get more eyes on your Instagram page, as detractors might wager—who actually cares?)
Businesses often want people to make exceptions for their benefit, not necessarily because it benefits the individual. But Dry January isn’t new. It’s not a surprise. Instead of demanding consumers adjust their goals and behavior to benefit a company, why not adjust your goals and behavior as a company in order to benefit consumers? Drop new merch, incentivize Valentine’s Day purchases by putting together packages, offer gift cards—shit, make a low-ABV or non-alcoholic beer. I’m just spitballing here.
None of these critiques of sobriety are new either, although it’s clear the pandemic has driven people to the point of hyper-judgment (which I’ll chalk up to boredom and a year of mindless scrolling). Those who don’t drink at all are intimately familiar with the scrutiny they face from those who do. Drinking is so deeply entrenched in American culture that people who don’t find themselves relegated to the lonely, desolate category of aberration against the status quo. Those who dabble in sobriety for a period of time often face mockery for their choice, even when it has literally no impact on anyone else’s consumption.
Bottom line: You don’t have to “get” Dry January. It might not be for you. And it doesn’t have to be. Plus, you can always keep scrolling. We forget that, despite the algorithm’s seemingly omnipotent dictatorship over our content, we actually do exert a modicum of control over what we see. And for the Twitter warriors out there: Just because the motivation behind a decision might be driven by vanity—like my brief foray into sobriety—doesn’t mean it’s without useful side effects. Validation from social media might seem shallow, sure. But if it means the difference between someone achieving their goals or succumbing to the myriad pressures the pandemic has inflicted on us all, then perhaps it’s time to just let it go. You could always start your own month-long challenge: Might I suggest Fuck-Off February or Mind-Your-Own-Business March?
Better yet—repurpose that rage as the month winds down. If you’re genuinely worried about the fates of breweries, turn your focus away from individual consumers and towards the structural entities that can—and should—offer hospitality businesses the financial support they need to stay afloat. Contact local and state government entities to lobby on behalf of small businesses. Pay attention to what elected officials say and do. Continue to hold them accountable, and continue to hold yourself accountable to whatever goals you set for yourself.
If you’re struggling with addiction to alcohol, or simply want to know more about intentional sobriety, I strongly recommend checking out The Temper, a sobriety culture website with plenty of tangible tips on changing your approach to defining addiction. If an entire month seems like an insurmountable obstacle, take Scotty Hunter from Urban Artifact’s advice and try a dry day every week. If you want to pretend like you’re still drinking, pick up Julia Bainbridge’s book Good Drinks: Alcohol-Free Recipes for When You're Not Drinking for Whatever Reason at your local bookstore. Check out NPR’s recommendations for resetting your relationship with booze. Whatever your reason for breaking from alcohol, either temporarily or permanently, know that it’s good enough.
