No Thanks, I Choose to Raw-Dog My Suffering.

On Being Sober in 2026.

Four years ago I accidentally chose sobriety after 20 years of, well, not being sober. I was a functional drunk and dabbled in some devils lettuce here and there. And it was all fun and games until I turned 40. That’s when capitalism and health issues started rearing their ugly heads. First came the GERD, then the brain fog and irritability, with a healthy dose of demotivation from sleeplessness and finally, the weight gain. Once perimenopause knocked on my door, the pounds showed up uninvited, moved into the guest room, and started leaving dishes in the sink.

My last drink was at an airport. I really wanted my bank account to feel the pain, I guess. $27 for an old fashioned! Now, $27, after tariff’s, gets me at least 12 rolls of toilet paper. That trade off alone was worth it!

This seems to be the new Millennial way though. More and more people in my age range are putting the bottle down and I couldn’t be more proud of us. Not all heroes wear capes y’all. No, no, no… Millennials wear elastic waistbands, and sling style purses across our chests, perfecting the Adam Sandler look, because that’s the new rebellion.

Gen Z isn’t even touching the stuff. The alcohol industry has lost $830 billion dollars (Billion, with a B) because Gen Z, as one deeply traumatized unit, looked at our generation, studied the evidence, and filed a restraining order against happy hour. Smart kids if you ask me.

Now Millennial happy hour is gardening, baking sourdough bread and canning the food we grow. Gone are the days of sticking it to the man with a beer bong. Now we’re sticking it to the man with adaptogenic mushroom lattes and serious conversations about our nervous systems.

These brave, brave souls are out here declining open bars at weddings, clutching their mocktails like a shield against peer pressure and saying things like, “I just feel so much more present now.” The audacity, amirite? No more blacking out before the toast to the bride and groom!

But why, you ask. Is it because we’re the gaggle of badass cycle breakers in a progressive humanity nobody asked for? Probably. Or, it could be that we’ve all collectively realized hangovers are just unpaid internships for death and we’re tired of feeling like shit.

Maybe we’re finally too broke, too tired, or too self-aware to keep pretending that “bottomless mimosas” is a personality trait and not a cry for help. Or maybe, and hear me out, we just got tired of buying liquid depression for $14 a glass. For context, that’s $14 to feel confident for two hours and then wake up at 3am convinced you ruined a friendship in 2011 and also might be dying. There’s no thirst like a hangover thirst.

And then you look around at who’s still out here living that lifestyle and it really puts things in perspective. Jeff Bezos, for example, 62 years old, the net worth of a small solar system, was spotted in a nightclub in Ibiza with his shirt open, surrounded by people who are legally young enough to be his grandchildren, doing whatever it is that men do when they’ve run out of rockets to launch and feelings to feel.

Sixty. Two. Years. Old.

This man could buy every country in Europe, cure several diseases, single handedly raise minimum wage across the globe and personally apologize to every Amazon warehouse worker who was forced to pee in a bottle. But, instead, he’s out here getting a table at 1am (after he’s “allegedly” taken his low T shot) like he’s trying to make his ex jealous. Sir, your yacht has a yacht. Go home. Am I jealous of your money. Yes. Do I think you’re hoarding all the globes wealth because you’re running from your childhood problems. Also yes.

But Jeff “Captain Midlife Crisis” Bezos isn’t alone. Leonardo “Get ‘em While They’re Young” DiCaprio has been rotating through girlfriends who weren’t alive yet for 9/11 like he’s trying to complete a very specific beanie baby collection.

Elon “Space Karen” Musk has fathered what appears to be an entire school district across multiple women while posting memes at 2am and running companies into the ground like it’s a hobby. Is it all the booger sugar or just too much ketamine? These are the people, who some think, have “made it”, while every other person on the globe sips their homemade teas and are patiently waiting for the implosion, because the ultra rich are just a bunch of ticking time-bomb substance abusers who made their wealth off the backs of working class people and child sex trafficking rings.

But keep simping for billionaires, I guess…

So, are we really lying to ourselves holding on to the vague hope that inner peace is hiding somewhere in the candle aisle at Target between the “Calm & Cozy” wax melts and a $7 journal that says “You Got This” on the cover.

I think not.

We’ve gladly traded liquid depression for magnesium supplements, therapy waitlists, and going to bed at 9:30pm like the feral little goblins of wellness we’ve become.

Cheers to us! The sober, anxious warriors of late-stage capitalism. We may not be thriving exactly, but at least we’re not 62 years old in a nightclub, snorting coke off of dirty handrails, or trying to make the DJ play something we recognize.

That’s not nothing. It’s actually everything.

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