Rose Bialk/The Mossy Log
You probably should drink more. No, really, you should. Some weeks back, a student writing in this very same opinion section wrote that students need to rethink their relationship with alcohol. Their article suggested that campus drinking culture often reflects deeper social pressures, and that healthier habits begin with reflection and moderation.
As well intentioned as this sentiment might be, it is unequivocally eroding our campus culture.
Appearing on the talk show “Real Time with Bill Maher,” NYU marketing professor Scott Galloway articulated this concern bluntly.
“In my view the worst that’s happened to young people is the anti-alcohol movement,” he remarked. “The risks to your 25-year-old liver are dwarfed by the risk of social isolation.”
That argument, though somewhat controversial, is becoming harder to ignore. A Forbes report from earlier this year indicated that over four years, $830 million has been wiped out of the alcohol market. This financial decline reflects a broader generational shift: young people are drinking less than their parents did. Public health advocates might celebrate this as progress. Yet, the change raises an uncomfortable question. What if the disappearance of alcohol from our society is not purely a victory?
For centuries, drinking has served as a social technology — a lubricant, if you will. Taverns, bars and pubs were never merely places to consume ethanol. They were institutions, informal meeting halls where friendships formed, arguments erupted and communities came together. The drink mattered less than the ritual. A pint gave awkward strangers something to do with their hands while they talked. It provided an excuse to linger. Which, if we all listened to The Cranberries more, we might do a little more of.
Generation Z, meanwhile, is sinking into an abyss of loneliness. Rates of depression and anxiety among young adults have climbed sharply over the past decade. People are dating less. Close friendships are fewer. Even the simple act of leaving one’s dorm to socialize has become rarer; my freshman year roommates are all the proof you need of that. In place of crowded living rooms and sticky bar floors, there is the constant glow of smart phones and the endless scroll of other peoples lives.
This social retreat has consequences, particularly for young men. I just heard the groan you let out, but seriously, listen.
A growing cohort of young men report having few friends, limited romantic relationships and minimal social interactions. Chuds, if you like. Some drift into online subcultures built around resentment and grievance, like the so-called manosphere. The internet has a name for those in such communities: “incels.” What begins as loneliness often mutates into a dirtier and meaner bitterness. From there, it is only a short algorithmic walk to dark corners of the internet where resentment can be harnessed by political extremists who are eager for new recruits.
The downfall of alcohol consumption among Gen Z contributes to this cycle. Historically, the pub or the house party were some of the few places where young people learned the mundane skills of adulthood: how to chat with strangers, how to flirt badly, how to be embarrassed and recover from it. Replace that environment with Discord servers and anonymous forums, and the results are not pretty. A society that replaces parties with group chats risks raising a generation of socially anxious shut-ins.
Of course, none of this is an argument for binge drinking per se, but the current mood risks swinging too far in the other direction. A society of abstainers might sound virtuous in theory, but in practice it can produce something far less inspiring.
Drinking, for all its faults, performs a useful service. It lowers inhibitions, greases conversation and provides an acceptable excuse to gather in a social environment at the same time. Most importantly, it creates the possibility of the sort of ill-advised moments that make life memorable. Saying something you regret immediately, attempting an ill-fated karaoke performance, or deciding — against your better, more sober judgement — to strike up a conversation with a pretty girl (or pretty guy if that is your thing) are not moral failures. They are the material of youth.
Even the unpleasant moments have their uses. Projectile vomiting on the way out of your Uber is, admittedly, not an experience to savor. But it does tend to produce a rather good story some years down the line when someone asks you about your worst party experience. A generation that avoids even the mildly uncomfortable experience of socialization may also be avoiding the anecdotes that often strengthen our personal relationships and overall resilience.
In short, young people need not become drunks. However, nor should they aspire to become total rule followers — let alone the sort of person who treats drunk young people as a moral crisis. A healthy society requires more than good livers.
So by all means, drink responsibly. Pace yourself. Hydrate. Order Taco Bell afterwards. But also, consider getting a fake ID, ordering a cheeky pint on a weeknight, drunk texting your ex, or talking to someone new and seeing where the night takes you. After all, the point of youth is not merely to protect yourself at every turn — it is, occasionally, to live a little.
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