“Is there such a thing as London sober?”
I ask a group of my friends at 1am, during a private party in the basement of a member’s club, whilst most of them hold a cocktail in one hand and a cigarette in the other. “Yes” someone replies. “I think it’s like California sober, you don’t drink except instead of smoking weed you take magic mushrooms, or possibly ketamine.” Then my friend who hosts queer party nights Benny Cooper, proposes: “Maybe it’s drinking alcohol, but only on weekends; or just drinking beer or wine and no spirits.” My friend Reuben Larkin, a model/influencer, then suggests, “it’s probably not drinking but smoking cigarettes.” Personally, that sounds the most convincing argument. Surely everyone needs one vice.
But then, when I pestered a teetotal person with the same question, his immediate response “running clubs” made me realise whilst sobriety is a distant concept for a frequent drinker (and social smoker) like myself, it’s not for an ever-growing number of my peers. Currently in the UK, one in four people aged 18 to 24 are sober, many of whom have never had a problem with alcohol. This includes my friend, model and aspiring actor, Charlotte Smurfit, who explains that “it’s simply a matter of not enjoying alcohol or recognising that it negatively impacts both mental and physical health.” She feels “more positive and present without it.”
So, to test how easy it is to maintain a social lifestyle whilst not engaging in any mind-altering substances, I practiced sobriety for a few days during this busy Christmas party season. Motivated by many in my generation’s movement towards a sober lifestyle, I wanted to see how compatible a teetotal routine is with Britain's famous drinking culture. Is it easy to uphold?
The first thing I noticed was how incorporated drinking is in my (almost) everyday life. Even during an evening screening of Wicked, I had to deliberately replace my typical glass of cheap red wine with a bottle of water and chocolate buttons. I wonder if the almost three-hour film would have been more enjoyable with a drink. Would I have been less bothered by the group behind me quietly singing Defying Gravity?
The following day, when I attended a festive lunch party with my sober friend, filmmaker Tara Duross, followed around by waiters with trays of champagne, I noticed how even at 2pm, it was frustrating not to be able to reach for a flute! Both clutching our non-alcoholic cocktails, we spent much of the lunch politely declining drinks from a school of persistent waiters; Tara with unbothered ease, and I with forced restraint, as well as the unfortunate knowledge that I’d be a better conversationalist if I had a glass – just to take the edge off. I was surprised how difficult it is to strike up a conversation with people I don’t know in a social setting without a drink.
When I explained to Tara, who has been sober for over two and a half years, my journalistic experiment, she told me that when she first stopped drinking she was worried that people would find her boring. She quickly realised it was the other way around: “It’s a great way to have quality control for who you spend time with,” she says. This made me wonder if I should spend the next few days interacting with as many of my fair-weather friends as possible, as to properly gage their intoxicated personalities and question whether I only get on with them after a few drinks. Or should I actively pay them less attention and remain in blissful ignorance, allowing myself to believe that the people I spend time with at parties are as charming and funny as they are when I’m on my third vodka soda. Perhaps the latter. In all honesty I wouldn’t want them to judge me like this either.
Attending a party later that night, complete with an open bar and a hundred people indulging in the plethora of free cocktails, I was greeted with an overwhelming sensation of awkwardness. Almost disconnected with my temporary sobriety I felt like there was this a big inside joke I just didn’t get. Surrounded by wasted friends, although I felt a level of smugness, I was also aware that everyone around me was having more fun. At least the next morning I woke tired but not hungover, with little regret or anxiety – a novelty for the morning after a night out – and easily had enough energy to attend a Charli XCX concert that night.
I reasonably assumed that going to a concert, especially one for the Brat tour, would be the most difficult part of this whole experiment. I mean, how was I going to be a 365-party girl on a teetotal night out? But it was surprisingly easy. Although on arrival at the venue my friends typically ran straight to the bar, once the concert started, I completely forgot about abstaining from booze. If anything, I felt as if I appreciated the music more, and was just as embarrassingly enthusiastic when Charli brought out Robyn to perform Dancing on my Own as the man next to me with blood shot eyes.
Going out after the concert wasn’t as entertaining. On a (natural) high from the performance, my friends and I went to a Marylebone bar, famous for its celebrity clientele and laissez-faire attitude towards bohemian behaviour. I normally have fun there, but that night I found myself incredibly bored. Surrounded by people relishing the spoils of the Christmas party season, I questioned why I was staying out on a Thursday night with just the energy of a diet coke to sustain me. The only exciting moment happened when a friend of mine got so drunk I rushed to get her water, a relatively frequent occurrence for some people I know on a Thursday night. Still, although I attempted to stay out for as long as my friends, I eventually called it a night much earlier than I would have, if I were drinking. The old cliché that nothing good happens after 2am, echoed in my mind.
When I woke up the next day, I wondered if this was a lifestyle I’d be able to maintain. Although I sincerely have a new-found respect for my sober friends, in a way it was easier than I expected. I feel as if the divide between the sober and non-sober is becoming ever-more bridged. I was never overly tempted, nor pressured to drink, just rather bored. But while I do believe it’s manageable to balance a social lifestyle with a sober one, I think it requires a change in mindset. A positive one? Probably. But one I’m not yet ready to embrace. And while this whole test has made me rethink my more casual drinking habits – perhaps my 2025 new year’s resolution will be to drink only three times a week – I think I still have a few years left of reckless drinking and hangxiety before I surrender to becoming ‘London sober.’
