Do You Really Need Another Reusable Water Bottle?

The average human is advised to drink eight glasses of water a day. We know this. It’s pretty straightforward stuff, prescribed by physicians and parents since we’ve developed our sucking reflex. It always went without saying that we didn’t necessarily have to drink from eight different kinds of glasses – it didn’t matter what they were made of or what color they came in, either.

But this is starting to change, as aesthetically driven consumers fall prey to the Stanley cup, Owala bottle, and Sunnies flask. Some of these variants claim to be double-walled or cup holder-friendly but objectively, their differences are insignificant. And yet, it’s become commonplace to collect every possible colorway for thousands of pesos a pop. It’s not the first time these items have piqued the interest of the general public (anyone still has Hydroflasks from their short-lived VSCO girl era?) but this recent wave of consumerism seems to be pointing to something more sinister.

The root of the problem, however, does not rest in the product itself. Reusable goods like tote bags and thermoses were created with pure intentions in mind, having entered the mainstream during the second wave of the green marketing movement. In the late 1980s, brands became increasingly aware of their responsibility to not only consume less resources but also “capture existing environmental problems” through innovations in packaging or distribution. Early adopters who reduced, reused, and recycled were able to distinguish themselves as forward-thinking, eco-conscious citizens.

But in a culture that conflates self-optimization with a sense of morality, having a branded water bottle has taken on another meaning. Today, this signifies a longstanding commitment to our total wellness: that we care for our bodies enough to strive towards or surpass our daily hydration requirement. Athleisure wear and workout studios serve a similar function: if we buy these new leggings or hop on this electric bike enough times, we achieve our ideal form and assimilate into a group of people who are wired the same way.

While one is definitely enough – maybe two in case of emergencies – the fact that these containers come in thousands of permutations breeds a culture of collection. How else are we expected to showcase every single facet of our personality, right? Consumers switch out their usage according to their outfit for the day or ascribe a specific purpose for each one. Sometimes, they decorate them with stickers or purchase third-party accessories to complete the aesthetic. This defeats the primary purpose behind their creation. 

“It’s not just a matter of the waste these tumblers will generate once they’re no longer of use; creating these products takes resources from the earth as well,” said Mitzi Jonelle Tan, a climate justice activist and the convenor and international spokesperson of Youth Advocates for Climate Action Philippines. “These water bottles are usually made of metal, which means their creation involves mining, labor from working-class people, and since they’re not produced here, it also uses up carbon emissions due to shipping.” 

While it’s hard to calculate exactly how many times a reusable water bottle needs to be used to break even, this MIT article estimates 10-20 uses depending on the material. But as trend cycles oscillate at unpredictable speeds, very few of us will actually get to cross this threshold before the latest release catches our eye.

Despite the very real consequences of overconsumption, many Filipinos seem unfazed – including members of Gen Z, who claim to be more progressive than their predecessors. An exploratory study published by Professor Chito Gregorio of the Ateneo Graduate School of Business reveals the misalignment in the green consumer’s beliefs and actions: “The concerns [Filipinos] express about the environment actually reflect a selfish perspective, as these concerns were not really for the environment but for themselves.” 

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For instance, his interviewees preferred organic food not because of their ethical production but because of its perceived health benefits to humans; similarly, they condemned illegal logging not because they cared for the state of our forests but because they knew trees were meant to shield humans from flash floods and air pollution.

As disappointing as it is to admit, sustainability as an advocacy has turned into a trend. “It’s like it’s become something you have to do to be on the right side of history or to be accepted within the community, which points to our generation’s longing to feel a connection to something or someone. Our attachment to superficial things – like buying these disposable bottles in bulk – probably points to this separation or disconnect we feel from nature or our community. We’re so lonely we turn to material things instead,” said Tan.

Brands are equally responsible for exacerbating the emptiness we feel and enabling purchases to fill the void. Their influence only strengthens in the TikTok age, where ordinary people take ordinary products and make them appear extraordinary at the expense of impressionable viewers. Scrolling past the first few product reviews may seem easy, but once we’ve trained our eyes on one video about a hot new purchase, our algorithm will continue to feed it to us until we have no choice but to cave in.

Gregorio told Esquire Philippines via Zoom that there’s an inherent conflict between business and environmental friendliness. Stanley cups, for instance, were first marketed as “built-for-life” beverage containers for blue-collar workers around 100 years ago. Today, the brand peddles an assortment of seasonal designs and limited-edition colors, banking on scarcity to generate demand. “These companies track social trends aligned with the changing needs of their target market: they are literally engineered to keep you buying more,” Gregorio added. “Some products are also meant to not last more than a few years: if they were truly meant to last and you only ever had to buy them once in your life, brands will go bankrupt.”

Although it seems we’re singlehandedly flushing our future down the toilet in the name of metal flasks, Gregorio insisted that hope is still on the horizon. “If companies find a way to align their business objectives with the benefits of going green, there is a possibility for them to lessen their carbon footprint, even if the positive effects on Mother Earth might be an afterthought for them,” he said. Yet another example: In recent years, hotels have encouraged their customers to reuse their towels for the sake of sustainability, when in reality it’s only an offshoot of cutting down their operating costs.

Consumers can continue to hold them accountable and make sure they fulfill their end of the bargain. Several studies have pointed out Gen Z’s preference for brands that reflect their values and beliefs – or at least, those they want to showcase to the world. Most importantly, they’re not afraid to use their platforms to call out, cancel, and boycott until the brand makes some serious reparations. “We should own our agency and our power as people and collectively come together to ensure that these companies do better rather than perform lip service,” Tan encouraged. “The fact that some of them greenwash can also mean progress since they notice our demands enough to start lying about their impact on the ecosystem.”

Of course, this also compels us to look inward so our hypervigilance is not mistaken for hypocrisy. If we’ve made the choice to care for our only planet, the goal should be to decenter corporate tactics and develop holistic lifestyle changes. Sometimes, this is as simple as stopping to think before impulsively adding to cart: if our current water bottle – or any other object, for that matter – is devoid of wear and tear, what will we get out of buying a new one? Do we really need this little treat for a dopamine boost, or is this a sign that we need to go outside and touch grass? Most importantly, how much longer will our solidarity with the environment be determined by what we buy, rather than what we genuinely believe in?

Angel Martinez is a culture writer, consumer researcher, and content strategist based in Manila, Philippines. Her work on the internet, identity, and their intersections has been published in VICE, i-D, Teen Vogue, and Vox, and commissioned by behavioral insights agencies like Canvas8 and Crowd DNA. Outside of work, she tries to read a book a week and taste every iced matcha latte with oat milk in the city.