Health fads are a dime-a-dozen. I, personally, couldn’t tell you the difference between an Atkins diet and being paleo. I’d venture to guess that most millennials consider “dieting” to be mixing in a salad, which in return, probably has more calories than a sandwich because it’s drenched in dressing and filled with buttery croutons. But that’s neither here nor there because me calling the kettle black isn’t going to get us anywhere.
Today, The Guardian published a story on Juice Crawls, a new take on the traditional bar crawl. Mid-twenties New Yorkers are trading shots of Jack for shots of juice, trading dorky custom shirts for “mindfulness, spandex, and green juice.” You could make a case that these events are unbearable, but the same can be said about every bar crawl, TBOX, and SantaCon that you see in every major city across the US.
As someone who remedies his hangovers with $8 store-bought smoothies, I fall directly in the middle of juice crawlers and bar crawlers. Juice crawls, for me at least, are just going to end the same as a bar crawl. I’m going to feel entirely too full from everything I’ve ingested, I’m probably going to throw up at some point from injecting my body with a bunch of foreign liquids that it’s not used to, and I’ll just spend the next morning sitting on the toilet flushing my system while texting my friends, “Why did we do that?” These events are cut from the same cloth, but instead of hanging out with a bunch of borderline alcoholics, you’re hanging out with a bunch of pretentious health freaks who practice reiki and use patchouli-scented deodorant. In the same way that people turn into drunk assholes on the anchor leg of a bar crawl, juice crawls flip the script and begin with everyone acting like one.
After all, someone interviewed regarding the Juice Crawl groups describes the audience as “mindful tastemakers” and “spiritually curious” people — not recovering alcoholics or sober people (which I’m sure are still sprinkled in there, but that’s neither here nor there). But the insufferableness didn’t just end at the event coordinator, it trickled down to the people that are actually going.
When The Guardian asked its attendees their reasons for going on Juice Crawls, their answers read like a caricature of the exact people you’d expect to see on a fucking juice crawl. They “love real, authentic relationships,” one said. Another went on to clarify that she, “feels like you have deeper conversations with people when you’re not distracted by drunkenness,” which on the surface seems laughable but probably makes sense when you’re sitting there listening to some asshole spout off about why “Donald Trump would actually make a killer president” while he orders his fifteenth $1 Keystone.
While another claimed he wanted to “open up to others on the same journey” and be “centered and calm to appreciate the day,” any reader with a right mind would absolutely lose it when the column pivoted to Ryan Fischer, who is a self-described 35-year-old “dog-walker.” He told The Guardian, “I want to wake up each morning with a fresh mind to write. At night, my dad has a couple whiskeys and my mom has a Pinot Grigio and they lull into the night. I just don’t want to do that.” For someone with such a fresh mind, he definitely seems like kind of an asshole for bringing his parents into this and criticizing their habits, but who am I to judge? .
[via The Guardian]
Image via YouTube
Updated April 23 to reflect that the founder of Juice Crawl did not make statements regarding its audience.