The cult of the water bottle

The water bottle is no longer just a water bottle. It is a status symbol. It is an extension of oneself. It is the source of good skin. It can hold 2.2 litres of water and keep it cool for 11 hours. It can be personalised, stylised and bastardised. It is Gen Z’s version of a purse dog, only heavier and less likely to destroy your handbag.

Everyone has a reusable water bottle: 79 per cent of Gen Z carry one. Jordan Pickford used one as a cheat sheet in England’s game against Switzerland on Saturday, which is the most functional use of a water bottle I’ve seen in recent years. Only anti-environmentalists and people whose urine is the colour of a sailor’s tooth are yet to buy one – at least that’s what TikTok keeps telling me.

I don’t actually have a problem with water bottles. How can I? They’re vessels that hold water and keep us hydrated. Taking issue with a water bottle is like taking issue with a plate. What I do struggle with is the fetishism surrounding them. Countless brands sell water bottles for toe-curling prices: Stanley, Yeti, Owala FreeSip, S’well, Chilly’s and Hydro Flask. The market for water bottles is a damning indictment of what Gen Z deems desirable.

‘I like talking about water bottles. I can talk about them all day long. I like drinking a lot of water and I like talking about the vessels that actually hold the water in it.’ No, these aren’t the last words you hear before being murdered in the Asda car-park by a Patrick Bateman-esque serial killer; these are the opening lines of a YouTube review called ‘My Favourite Water Bottle’.