The Four Loko Principle: Why We Love Hangovers, Indian Food, and Glee
By M.A. Schultz
Another thing I do all day at work is read “Texts from Last Night.” When you read 700 of them all at once, they become a surreal collage. They evoke a romanticized vision of high school and college life, the thrills of drunken revelry, the intensity of youth. It’s the same feeling I get when watching Levi’s “Go Fourth” campaign commercials. But what are these texts from last night really celebrating? What do we consider fun?
Here are some “Texts from Last Night” recently posted:
I wish that one Sunday morning I could wake up feeling like I have my life together.
Just got carried INTO the bar by 4 people. it’s like watching my weekend in reverse.
May have caused an international incident. More details after we taxi in.
Also consider slogans like, “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.” “An awkward morning beats a boring night.” Think of movies like Dude, Where’s My Car? or The Hangover.
Are you seeing it? The more embarrassing stories we wake up with, or wake up having to be told.. the worse the hangover… the less we remember… the BETTER the night. The black out, the hangover, the puking, the humiliation… these aren’t side effects. This is why we drink. This is how we measure the fun of drinking.
Most people would never touch a drug like weed, or LSD, or mushrooms or Molly if told that they might end up vomiting all night long, feeling wretched for the entire next day, and forgetting everything that happened. After all, is there much worth to an experience if we can’t remember it? And aren’t drugs all about having a fun, memorable experience?
I know scores of people who won’t touch a joint because weed SOMETIMES makes them feel paranoid. That’s valid, for sure. But I know very few (if any) people who don’t drink because of all the horrifying effects so far discussed. This makes sense when you consider the above hypothesis. We drink IN ORDER TO feel like hell. It makes sense not to smoke if it makes you paranoid. After all, the point of smoking is to enjoy oneself. Not to feel like shit and laugh about it later.
I wish I could say that after this weekend, after “enjoying” a night out which I not only have no recollection of, but one which cost me my phone, my water bottle, my metro card, and nearly $60 dollars on drinks and a cab, that I will never drink Four Loko again. But I will. Probably soon. The morning after, sitting with my roommate, listening to the stories of the humiliating things I had done (going on and on about my blog to the bouncer, Pam, for one thing), was just too much fun. If I had let my friends go out without me, if I had stayed in and watched Glee, I would have been better off. But going out, getting trashed, bringing myself to ruin… that’s what feels right.
I guess life can be a little boring sometimes, especially for humans who are smart enough to analyze and analyze. I guess it’s not so bad that we eat chilies from time to time because we love the way they hurt. I guess it’s ok that we get trashed and make ourselves sick. After all, if I didn’t do that, maybe I just wouldn’t be able to make it through another week at work, sitting at my desk, reading article after article off a screen.