I remember when designer water first entered into my consciousness. It must have been sometime in the 80s when Evian appeared on the scene, and it quickly became a status symbol to be seen toting a bottle of it with you wherever you went. There was a perceived panache to buying your water as opposed to drinking regular old tap water like a pleb.
At some point, we were even encouraged to start spraying Evian water on our faces. Let's just go ahead and blame the yuppies for that particular phenomenon.
Evian, at least according to my memory, gave birth to the idea that we, as a civilized society, should get our drinking water from anywhere but the local reservoir. We apparently decided that it was preferable to get our hydration from Alaskan glaciers, fresh water springs in the Swiss Alps, or the condensation from Icelandic volcanoes.
And the more of it, the better. At least 64 ounces a day, we were told, if not your bodyweight in ounces every single day. The toilet paper industry rejoiced.
Of course, all those disposable plastic bottles meant you were risking running afoul of the self-appointed climate scolds who were more than happy to let you know your designer water habit meant the elderly in Germany couldn't afford winter fuel. Or something like that.
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So, then was born the era of the designer reusable water bottle. Gone were the dinky reusable plastic bottles that brands loved to give away and in walked those stainless steel behemoths – in an array of fashion colors – that could hydrate a small municipality for at least a week. Local water was cool again, as long as you had a filter and the right kind of refillable cup.
I noticed this trend a few years back at my local gym. Stanley tumblers, 30 ounces for the newbies or 40 ounces for the truly hydrated, were the must-have accessory. Once teen girls took over that market, however, the LuluLemon-clad moms quickly pivoted to the Owala brand, which come in a variety of fetching color combos.
Once the moms latched onto the designer water bottles, their kids had to have them, too. And don't get me started on the water habits of student athletes – the new status symbol on that front is apparently never being seen without a gallon-sized water jug, which presumably gets refilled throughout the day.
Which leads us to this tweet that recently got me thinking about the hydration habits of modern America:
My parenting hot take is your kid doesn’t need an emotional support water bottle orbiting within 10 ft of them at all times.
— Laura (@sloeginpsyop) November 15, 2025
Preschools and schools are absolutely rabidly obsessed with making sure your kid is never more than 5 seconds away from a sip of drink.
Sorry, your kid…
My parenting hot take is your kid doesn’t need an emotional support water bottle orbiting within 10 ft of them at all times.
Preschools and schools are absolutely rabidly obsessed with making sure your kid is never more than 5 seconds away from a sip of drink.
Sorry, your kid can be a little bit thirsty until a water fountain is found or drink procured.
I readily admit that I, a Gen-Xer, bought into the idea that I needed a reusable water bottle in arms reach at all times (my filled-to-the-brim Owala bottle is sat right next to my computer – the shame of it). But I could never get any of my kids, all four of them are Gen-Zers, to follow suit. They just weren't that thirsty.
And that got me remembering that, pre-Evian, I wasn't that thirsty, either. I mean, we never, ever drank water as kids. Sure, I had milk with my meals and sometimes some Kool-Aid at snacktime, but water? Bleh. Only in the most dire circumstances did we drink it in the 70s and 80s, and, if we did, it usually came out of the garden hose.
I went to a Catholic grammar school, and I distinctly remember that Sister Renee, my sixth-grade teacher, refused to let us use the water fountain on hot days because she believed that would train us to survive if we were ever in a concentration camp-like scenario. (And that was fine by me because if that kid who ate glue and used his finger and some spit as an eraser was using that water fountain, I wasn't going to touch it.)
Somehow, we all survived.
So, as I sit here taking swigs from Owala bottle, I can't help but question which approach to hydration is the right one – trace amounts or Lake Tahoe-sized portions? I do think it's okay to let kids get a little thirsty and to free them from having to tote around bottles bigger and heavier than they are. And if they get truly desperate, there’s always the garden hose.
I'll leave you with George Carlin's take on Americans and their water bottles ... as suggested by our own Ward Clark.
