Guest AuthorAs an only child, I learned to entertain myself. I’d fashion clothes for our pet cats out of various materials, spend hours picking flowers – many of which were just weeds – around our back garden, and sit by the window, drawing and painting for hours on end.
I did have friends, one of whom was also an only child. She lived just around the corner, and we’d spend time together riding our bikes through the town, then down to the beach, where we’d sit for hours, mesmerised by the sea. We wrote plays, choreographed dance routines, and chained daisies together. Our lives were filled with constant creativity.
A study suggests that children without siblings tend to score higher on cognitive flexibility – a measure of creative thinking – than those with siblings. We were living proof of this, my friend and I. We found fascination in everything, from woodlice to people-watching, and growing up in a small, coastal town in Wales gave us the freedom to explore this wonder.
As I entered my mid-teens, I was drawn into a world of house parties and alcohol. While this may seem like a typical rite of passage for many at that age, being a teenager during the indie sleaze era of the late 2000s in Britain – and using Skins as my guide for navigating life – pulled me further from the person I once was.
Growing up in the UK at this time, getting so drunk you either puke or pass out was a weekend norm once you hit 16 (or sometimes even earlier), and buying your “first” pint at the local pub on your 18th birthday was a tradition you couldn’t escape.
British pubs are much more than just places to drink; they’re often the community’s beating heart, where the town’s characters gather to spin their wild tales – maybe even tempting you with a cheeky curry night on Thursday or a lively pub quiz on Monday. But as central as they are to British life, they do raise a few eyebrows when it comes to finding that sweet spot between responsible drinking and going overboard.
Throughout my university years and into my twenties, if I wasn’t working, I was likely at a bar or student club night chugging on a pint, pre-drinking boxed wine at someone’s house, or nursing a hangover in bed. My social life was vibrant, and I had plenty of memorable times, but my lack of energy to engage in hobbies meant my creative spark had nearly extinguished – except, perhaps, for throwing together an outfit for the night and painting my nails. With everyone around me doing the same thing, this behaviour felt completely normal, and the few people who weren’t drinking were regarded as dull, socially awkward, or even weird.
Bottoms Up: How Drinking Became A Staple of British Social Life
After graduating and moving to Paris, I realised just how much drinking was woven into the fabric of who I was. At social gatherings, while my new French friends casually sipped on a glass of wine, I found myself scrambling for more to give me that liquid courage and kick-start the party. The goal was to make questionable decisions and stay out until the early hours with strangers, right? At least, that was my idea of a good time.
Once the party was over and the dreaded hangxiety set in, the same question kept bouncing around in my head – why on earth was I so dependent on alcohol? And, worse still, was that the secret sauce to my personality?
The whole situation got me wondering why so many of my fellow Brits and I seem particularly prone to this behaviour. From pints for breakfast before boarding a flight to casually sipping G&T from a tin on the tube with friends, it’s no secret that we have a talent for celebrating our happiness, or washing away our worries, with a drink.
Could it stem from a cultural tendency to suppress emotion, or is it simply a coping mechanism for the dreary, ever-drizzly British weather? By the late 1990s and early 2000s, heavy drinking was deeply embedded in British culture. The old ritual of the after-work pint endured, even as industrial jobs gave way to office life. The idea of “earning a drink” remained, passed down from generations who had used alcohol as a pause button after long, punishing shifts.
With the likes of Oasis and Blur at the top of the charts, Britpop bravado and lad culture were in full swing, glorifying nights out and heroic hangovers. While pints were the staple for men, women were drawn in by sweet, affordable wines like Blossom Hill and Echo Falls. With fruity flavours and soft branding, they became the perfect escape from office politics and heartbreak, an easy go-to for both wild nights and quiet ones in.
Teenagers were also pulled into the scene by clever marketing. Alcopops, fizzy and colourful, barely tasted of alcohol and looked more like chemical waste than booze. With flavours like blueberry that turned your tongue bright blue, they felt more like mischief-making than drinking, leaving your tongue looking like a smurf’s by the end of the night.
By 2004, Britain hit “peak booze”. According to The Alcohol Change Report, the average adult was consuming 11.6 litres of pure alcohol a year – the equivalent of 406 pints – or nearly one a day, with enough left over to buy a round for your mates.
The Shift from Hangovers to Hobbies: Finding Joy in Life Beyond the Party
As my 30th birthday crept up, I couldn’t help but notice how much this behaviour had taken over my life and how I’d well and truly left my inner child behind, probably off somewhere with a carton of juice, plotting to remind me of all the fun I used to have.
I couldn’t help but feel underwhelmed by how I’d spent the last fifteen years – sure, I made some great friends and gathered a few memorable moments, but something was missing. That’s when I realised I needed to rediscover the childlike awe I once had for art and nature, and start spending my time on things that didn’t leave me mentally drained and physically wondering where my energy went.
As a millennial, it’s interesting to see sober curiosity making waves among Gen Z, and this year, it was revealed that they are the biggest consumers of low and no-alcohol alternatives. Almost half (46%) of the 25-34-year-olds surveyed (in the UK) considered themselves either an occasional or regular drinker, compared to 37% in 2023. Perhaps it is a cheeky rebellion against the wild, hedonistic days of the 2000s, or the fact that Gen Z grew up in the anxiety-filled chaos of Covid-19, making them more risk-aware and determined not to waste a single minute recovering from a hangover, but this refreshing shift is challenging the drink-’til-you-drop culture. From socialites to students, it’s now almost trendy to duck out of a party early, finish your skincare routine, and get a solid night’s sleep – these days, that’s what even I call a Friday night done right.
Whilst I do still enjoy a chilled glass of wine on a terrace, or a pint at a gig, I now focus my time at the weekends on a new set of wholesome interests: buying myself flowers (because who else will?), flâneuring around the secret pockets of Paris, exploring books and films outside my usual taste, crocheting, and cooking (or, trying to cook) dishes with names I can barely pronounce. I’ve also developed a love for crossword puzzles – who knew filling in boxes could bring such peace? When I’m not doing that, I’m cycling around Paris with a group of friends, on long, sun-drenched bike rides that make me feel like I’m thirteen again.
For many, these little ways of spending time might seem like nothing special, but for me, they’re small reawakenings. These tiny pockets of my week are where I rediscover the contentment that comes with creativity and calm, a feeling I lost somewhere in the chaos of parties, drinking and people.
I don’t regret how I lived my teens and twenties, but I do wish I’d distanced myself from that culture a bit earlier, as Gen Z seem to be doing so well these days. Maybe if I’d been born ten years earlier – or later – it would’ve been easier. But then again, it’s never too late to reconnect with that thirteen-year-old version of myself and rediscover her forgotten interests. Cheers to that!
Written by Eve Hebron.
Eve Hebron is a freelance writer currently working in education. Originally from North Wales, she studied in Manchester and London and is now based in Paris.
Illustrated by Safae Boudrar.
Safae Boudrar, an illustrator and cartoonist from Morocco, is currently in her fourth year of architecture school at UM6P. A proud alumna of the Women Cartooning Fellowship, she mostly tackles gender equality issues with her drawings, but it’s not all serious. She also loves to spread warm thoughts and emotions through her breezy illustrations