What A Girl’s Favorite Seltzer Says About Her

Bud Light Seltzer: You’re a real drinker. When you’re at a bachelor or bachelorette party, you’re cracking your first BL seltzer before someone even gets a chance to say there’s no way I’m going out tonight. You know that half the flavors taste like medicine, but you’ve seen pain in your life, and you don’t care. Your friends burden you a lot with their problems, yet they never really ask you how you’re doing. You’re probably the funny friend.

High Noon: You’re better than me in every facet of life. You have more cities listed in your Instagram highlight bubbles than the average person could fill in on a state capitals quiz. You follow the six-six-six rule religiously, and there’s enough inheritance money between your Hinge matches to offset this recession. You’ve been to Club Space, half the bars in Montauk, and every establishment in New York with a Ketel one and a view, but your favorite place to drink is with your family. 

White Claw: You are average, and that’s perfectly more than okay. After the photo dump your ex’s new girlfriend posted and all the shit you had to take in team’s meetings this week, you deserve a nice day drinking seven of these on a boat. After you found out you had a UTI, you sent a message to the group saying it hurts so bad when I pee but fuck it we ballin’. Your life is somewhat together, not as together as your one friend with the kid that just bought a house, but you’re trudging along. You had five of these and did a little retail therapy last week as New Girl played in the background, and you’re not 100% confident that you’re going to make rent, but you also have to go out this weekend, and you deserve to. 

Bon Viv: You’re an alien. Nobody drinks these. If you were to go to a party and wait until somebody “brought the Bon Vivs,” you would look like Linus from The Great Pumpkin’ Charlie Brown because it’s not fucking happening. Pre-crime.

Truly: You’re from a family that went to Disney World once. Not rich enough to never go and not middle-class enough to make it out there twice. One time. Truly people share what little they have and have kind souls. White trash kindness. The type of person who has multiple tattoos that they regret and isn’t afraid to consume the sand around the rim of the beverage. You’re either underage or you grew up around above-ground pools. God bless you. 

Vizzy: You’re a millennial or a wannabee millennial that runs a small business with customers that are exclusively white women despite the number of flags outside of it, or you work an email job making 80k a year. You read a Margaret Atwood book in college; it blew your fucking mind. You love Zelensky despite the fact you wouldn’t have been able to place Ukraine on a map six months ago. Your opinions on both wearing a mask and Andrew Cuomo have radically changed. You’re an ally but only when a member of an oppressed group agrees with your opinions. Taylor Swift’s private jet emissions have your mind in a pretzel.

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