c/o Freepik

I was in class playing Tetris and tuning out a nearby sophomore’s bad opinions on the Global South when my eyes strayed to the monstrosity atop his desk. More than the generalizations this man was making, I was offended by the colossal size of his water bottle. I actually don’t know if I can even call it a water bottle, as the size and shape of this receptacle were more akin to something Donkey Kong might hurl at an unsuspecting Mario than any kind of known hydration technology I have ever seen before.

In the beginning, there was the 32 oz. water bottle. Despite the capacity and potential for hydration that this device held, the world’s water junkies decided it was not enough. Then came the 64 oz. bottle. Bigger. Better. Gone were the days of a standardized test being interrupted by the clang of a Hydro Flask on a linoleum floor. With the advent of the 64 oz. water bottle, any student unlucky enough to swipe this tankard off of their desk mistakenly would never see it again, as its extreme density would immediately plummet it through the floor of the classroom. But alas, just as Icarus saw the beauty of the sun and decided to stray closer, the world’s water consumers put their heads together and devised the invention of a water bottle larger than the average American child. The 128 oz. Now, instead of opting for a chic, slender, metallic cylinder, the more hydration obsessed individuals of our college community are opting for a water bottle so ludicrously capacious it might be more aptly put to use aboard the planes conducting water drops in Los Angeles.

How have we strayed so far as a society that this volume of water is seen as necessary? As far as I understood, the entire point of purchasing a reusable water bottle is that you intend to reuse it, not to carry all of the water that you will need for the rest of your time on earth on your back. Is it now too much of an inconvenience to even fathom the concept of refilling?

I exited my class, pondering this great sociological malaise, and walked towards the water fountain to fill my normal-sized 20 oz. bottle. To my great chagrin, however, I found myself standing behind the man whose opinions I had been tuning out moments before. As I waited for him to refill his barrel, the sun rose and set. Babies were born. People died. By the time he was done, I didn’t recognize my own face in the mirror anymore. I was older. Changed.

The question I pose to the carriers of this monstrous cauldron—why even carry a water bottle at all? I’m genuinely curious. What kind of jungle voyage are you preparing for? Are you afraid some apocalyptic scenario is going to befall our University and you will have to rely on the water supply you have on your person alone to bathe in for the next couple of months? Why even carry a water bottle in the first place? Why not steal away in the dead of night, remove your city’s water tower, and affix it to your back? Regardless of the answer, this has to end. For your convenience, I have devised for you a nifty quiz to determine whether the size of your water bottle is appropriate:

A) Would you have to check your water bottle as luggage if you intended to take it on a standard commercial flight?

B) Would the act of hitting someone on the head with your water bottle be enough to immediately render them two-dimensional, if not send them plummeting downward through the earth’s crust?

C) Do you regularly have to affix your water bottle to the roof of your car when traveling long distances?

If you answered yes to any of the above, you have to stop. It’s gone too far.

The time is now. The place is Wesleyan. Ladies and gentlemen, we have to be the change. I beg of you. Carry a normal-sized water bottle.

Eliza Bryson is in the class of 2026 and can be reached at ebryson@wesleyan.edu