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Tag: bottled water

  • No One Has to Pretend Water Is Exciting

    No One Has to Pretend Water Is Exciting

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    Over the past few decades, what Americans want out of their beverages has swung wildly between two extremes. In the 1990s, sweet drinks were all the rage. Soda sales were on what seemed like a limitless upward trajectory. Quaker bought the then-ascendant Snapple brand for $1.7 billion in cash, a sum that made me actually snort when I read it in the harsh light of 2023. Gimmicky drinks such as Surge, Orbitz, and SoBe “elixirs” crowded grocery-store shelves. As a middle schooler in the late ’90s, my consumption patterns were practically a case study in the era’s marketing magic. I’m not sure a single drop of plain water ever touched my lips outside of soccer practice.

    Toward the end of that decade, the first evidence of the coming reversal was already visible. Skepticism (most of it warranted, though some of it not) toward sugar and artificial sweeteners steadily grew. The soda giants, reading the room, began marketing their own bottled-water brands to compete with the more fashionable likes of Evian and Perrier. Dasani and Aquafina came right on time: As soda sales faltered, bottled-water sales took off. In 2016, the Beverage Marketing Corporation estimated that, for the first time, Americans consumed more bottled water—almost 40 gallons per capita on average—than carbonated beverages. Tap water, too, has found a new home in an ever-increasing number of reusable water bottles. New Stanley cup, anyone?

    Americans, in short, got sold on hydration. As my colleague Katherine J. Wu recently wrote, how much water any particular person needs to drink to maintain a healthy baseline is still the subject of significant disagreement among experts. But in the absence of clear guidance—and with plenty of encouragement from the health-and-wellness industry—many people seem to have simply decided that more is more, and they shoot for as much as a gallon a day.

    That isn’t to say that everyone likes drinking all this water. As the nation has disciplined itself to refill its glasses, Americans have been forced to confront the inconvenient reality that drinking plain water day in and day out can be kind of a chore. To choke it all down, they’ve returned to powders and concentrated syrups designed to make water more palatable, more healthful, or both. Sweet drinks are back again, albeit in a different form. Enter the water enhancer.

    Today, products meant to gussy up your water are everywhere at grocery and convenience stores. They come in little brightly colored squeeze bottles or single-serving packets. The sales pitch is pretty simple: Throw one in your purse or laptop bag, and instead of buying a packaged beverage, you squirt a couple of drops of syrup or mix a tablespoon or two of powder into regular water. Voilà. Now water is better. This is not exactly a new type of product: Powdered mixes from Crystal Light and Gatorade were around in the 1980s. But unlike the water enhancers of yore, today’s mixes are mostly portioned for single servings instead of big batches.

    According to Phil Lempert, a grocery-industry expert and the founder of the website Supermarket Guru, water enhancers split into roughly two categories: low-calorie flavorings, such as Kraft Heinz’s highly concentrated MiO drops, and hydrating sports (or hangover) drinks, such as powdered electrolyte packets from Liquid I.V. Both MiO and Liquid I.V. debuted in the early 2010s. Within a few years, competitors including LMNT, Cure, and Buoy entered the market, along with the new entrants from old brands, Crystal Light and Gatorade among them. Most of these brands boast about their products’ low sugar content; even some of the enhancers flavored to taste like Skittles, Starburst, or other candy rely on artificial or alternative sweeteners and have few calories. Other ingredients have been incorporated into new products: Companies such as Cure now make caffeinated concentrates. Liquid I.V. has a powder that includes melatonin for sleep. Lots of other products now contain additional vitamins, minerals, or electrolytes. Many water enhancers have become, in essence, drinkable supplements.

    Water enhancers’ rise can easily be charted in sales numbers. Darren Seifer, the food-and-beverage-industry analyst at the consumer-data firm Circana, told me that although the products are still a small part of the overall beverage market, they’ve seen consistent growth. In 2022, sales volume of sports-drinks mixes—the category in which the firm places most water enhancers—was up 15 percent over the previous year. According to Seifer, the growth has been much larger for some brands. A spokesperson for Liquid I.V., which was bought by Unilever in 2020, told me that the brand’s sales have nearly doubled in each of the past four years.

    Like so many cultural phenomena, water enhancers also have become the subject of a viral trend. WaterTok, a subset of TikTok where users mix and match different powders and syrups into recipes inside giant insulated water bottles, flooded the internet earlier this year with tips on how to make tap water taste like, among other things, birthday cake. (Like most TikTok trends, it’s a little extreme, and it doesn’t seem to be especially indicative of how regular people end up using the products. TikTok Franken-water sounds sort of terrifying, and some health experts have expressed concern over its potential misuse as a weight-loss aid.)

    The whole concept of water enhancement can be pretty easy to mock: Why, exactly, can some people not find it within themselves to drink regular water? Why do they need it to taste like Skittles? Why do some people think a random wellness company might actually be able to improve on water, of all things? Once you’ve got the water in your glass, just stop there! Drink that! And yes, drinking Jolly Rancher aspartame water does strike me as more ludicrous than just having a Diet Coke. But if you let go of your immediate revulsion at the occasional licensed candy branding and consider water enhancers as a concept on its merits, you’ll find that even the worst of the bunch isn’t functionally much different than a sugar-free sports drink or low-calorie lemonade. In most cases, they’re arguably better if your goal is to stay hydrated, have a little treat, and have some say in how much sugar or sweetener you consume in the process.

    There’s little reason to believe that the people who use water enhancers are doing so at the expense of the plain water that they’d be drinking otherwise. Americans’ consumption of plain water remains, by all indications, robust. It’s mostly sales of soda and juice that are generally sluggish, which at least hints that, for a lot of the people who like those types of drinks, the trade-off that’s actually being made is between water enhancers and some kind of heavily sweetened beverage. In a lot of cases, that trade-off seems positive, on balance, especially because the enhancers allow people to control how much sweetness actually goes into a drink. This does not guarantee that people consume lower concentrations of flavorings, but it at least allows them to do so if they want.

    To fully understand why people are suddenly so enthusiastic about water enhancers, you also have to look outside of the beverage market and to the kinds of vessels that are so often used to consume them: reusable water bottles and high-capacity insulated cups. According to Circana’s data, the Hydro Flasks and Yetis and Stanleys of the world are still selling like hotcakes, and they present a significant shift in the physical reality of how a lot of Americans get their daily fluids—and, potentially, how much of those fluids they intend to be drinking. If you’ve already got 30 or 40 ounces of water on your desk at work, buying a Gatorade or coconut water or other premixed beverage to lug around with it makes less sense than it otherwise would, and having a couple of packets of sweetened electrolyte powder in your laptop bag is comparatively easy.

    At the core of all of this is a fundamental anxiety. Americans want to do what they can for their health, but for so many people, the most meaningful changes—easier, more affordable access to nutritious foods; taking time for exercise; less stress—are difficult to achieve or outside of their control. Swapping out sugary drinks for plausibly healthier options might not be life-altering, but at least it feels like something. “It’s a low-hanging fruit, in terms of healthy behaviors,” Caleb Bryant, a food-and-beverage analyst at the consumer-data firm Mintel, told me. The same anxiety exists for people who buy bottled water regularly, which Circana’s Seifer points out is still a huge group whose numbers have not yet shown any decline. If you’re selling water enhancers, you don’t need to convert bottled-water drinkers away from a product they already like, as you would with a bottled drink—you just have to convince them that they might occasionally like adding something to it.

    The enhancers have their limits. The freedom they confer can easily mislead consumers about how much better self-mixed drinks actually are: The experts I spoke with all agreed that at least some people seem to assume that no matter how much or what kind of water enhancer they use, their beverage will end up inherently healthier than something prepackaged, just because they get to see the water first before they add anything to it. In that way, the brands behind water enhancers are still very much profiting off of the confusing hydration hype that’s been separating people from their money in dubiously healthful ways for years.

    On balance, though, water enhancers do seem to offer something desirable to people who want their water to be a little bit more palatable and the companies who want to sell to them. They are, on some level, a rare win-win: Water enhancers’ smaller, lighter proportions have significant upsides for the companies marketing them, according to Supermarket Guru’s Lempert. The beverage business as a whole is already a more profitable, less cost-intensive category in which to operate than many other sectors of the grocery industry, he told me, which likely helps account for all the upstarts flocking to the water-enhancer category—they’re inexpensive to produce and don’t spoil quickly. When you take away the necessity of buying plastic bottles and packing, shipping, and stocking heavy liquids, the beverage math gets even better. Consumers find some advantages in those differences too: They create less plastic waste (as long as you’re not always buying bottled water to use with them), take up less room in the pantry, and are sometimes less expensive per serving than a bottled alternative.

    Ultimately, the biggest driver behind water enhancers’ popularity is probably just the nature of water itself. It’s great, but drinking a ton of it every day can become drudgery. These additive products play to a tendency to tinker with water in pursuit of health, stimulation, or pleasure that humans have had for thousands of years. Teas, coffee, beer, wine, and sweetened, fruity drinks such as aguas frescas were all developed because, on some level, water—humble and utilitarian as it is—just wasn’t satisfying all of the needs and desires that our forebears had. Now that lots of people believe they need to be downing liters of water every day for their health, they’ve rediscovered an age-old problem. Yes, water is great. But maybe it could be better, or at least more fun?

    You do need to drink water; any downsides of erring on the side of overhydration don’t really kick in until the volume gets extreme. But forgoing a little fun or flavor in pursuit of perfect physical health is something that humans have never been particularly good at doing. One medieval religious text even cited drinking nothing but plain water as a just punishment for swearing against God. With that in mind, it might have been foolish to expect that in the 21st century, with so many alternatives available, copious amounts of plain water would be the widespread drink of choice for long.

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    Amanda Mull

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  • You’re Probably Drinking Enough Water

    You’re Probably Drinking Enough Water

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    As recently as the 1990s, Jodi Stookey, a nutrition consultant based in California, remembers hydration research being a very lonely field. The health chatter was all about fat and carbs; children routinely subsisted on a single pouch of Capri Sun a day. Even athletes were discouraged from sipping on fields and race tracks, lest the excess liquid slow them down. “I can’t tell you how many people told me I was stupid,” Stookey told me, for being one of water’s few advocates.

    But around the turn of the millennium, hydration became an American fixation. Celebrities touted water’s benefits in magazines; branded bottles overran supermarket shelves. Academic research on hydration underwent a mini-boom. After ages of being persistently parched, we were suddenly all drinking, drinking, drinking, because we felt like we should. It was an aquatic about-face—and it didn’t make total scientific sense.

    The importance of hydration, in the abstract, is indisputable. Water keeps our organs chugging and our muscles agile; it helps distribute nutrients through the body and maintains our inner thermostat. Take it away, and cells inevitably die. But the concrete specifics of adequate water intake are still, in large part, a mess. For hydration, “there are no clear numbers, or a threshold you have to maintain,” says Yasuki Sekiguchi, a sports-performance scientist at Texas Tech University. Experts don’t agree on how much water people need, or the best ways to tell when someone should drink; they differ on how to measure hydration, which beverages are adequately hydrating, and how much importance to attribute to thirst. They have yet to reach quorum on what hydration—a process that’s sustained life since its primordial inception—fundamentally is. The murkiness has left the field of hydration research, still relatively young and relatively small, rife with “vicious camps against each other,” says Tamara Hew-Butler, an exercise physiologist at Wayne State University.

    Forget, for instance, one of water’s most persistent myths: the oft-repeated advice to down eight 8-ounce glasses of water each day. No one can say for certain, but one theory is that the idea  sprouted from a misinterpretation of a nutrition document from the 1940s, which stated that 2.5 liters of water a day (that is, approximately 10 8-ounce glasses) was “a suitable allowance for adults” in “most instances.” The guidance also noted, in the very same paragraph, “Most of this quantity is contained in prepared foods.” But the bigger issue is this: Probably no single number for water intake will ever suffice—not for a population of people with varying weights, genetics, diets, and activity levels, living in varying climates. Even within an individual, what’s best will change through a lifetime. The answer to How much water should I be drinking? is invariably Uh, it really depends.


    Today’s hydration zeitgeist seems to hold that no amount of water is too much. The market teems with intake-tracking smartphone apps and time-stamped bottles that cheer drinkers toward hydration goals as high as a gallon a day—a quota astronomical enough to be stressful, even dangerous, should people flood their bodies all at once. But America’s hydration hype machine “has established a narrative that we are all walking around dehydrated, and need to drink more,” Hew-Butler told me. It’s no wonder that some people have reported legitimate anxiety over falling short on water intake.

    No single source sold America on water. But a 2021 episode of the podcast Decoder Ring points to Gatorade as one of the first companies to pitch dehydration as a health problem—while simultaneously offering a cure. The company’s sports drinks were originally billed as thirst-quenchers, designed to stave off performance dips. But by the 1980s, Decoder Ring reported, the Gatorade Sports Science Institute was churning out data that supported the benefits of drinking before the mouth got parched. A decade later, the American College of Sports Medicine was recommending that athletes consume “the maximal amount” of water they could stand to keep down.

    Around the same time, during the fitness craze of the ’70s and ’80s, water was acquiring another identity: the enlightened socialite’s clean drink of choice. When European companies such as Perrier and Evian brought their bottled water to North America, they found a market among those wanting a high-end, calorie- and sweetener-free alternative to sodas, alcohol, and juice. Water “had this healthy, good-for-you halo,” says Michael Bellas, the chair and CEO of the Beverage Marketing Corporation. “There were no negatives.” In 2016, water became the U.S.’s leading bottled beverage, a title it has maintained since.

    As water’s market share grew, so did its mythos. Companies hocked the illusion that their products could make people not just healthier but “sexier and more popular,” Peter Gleick, the author of The Three Ages of Water, told me. Hydration was so clearly vital to life that truth-adjacent ideas about its benefits, many of them pushed by prominent people, were easy to buy. Even concerns over single-use plastic bottles could not slow water’s roll: In response, the world cooked up eco-friendly Yetis, HydroFlasks, and Nalgenes, and made those trendy, too.


    It’s not that water isn’t healthy. There’s just no evidence to show that guzzling tons of water can fix all our ailments. For people prone to kidney stones and UTIs, drinking more has been shown to cut down on risks; as a swap for sugary beverages, it can also help with weight loss. But for a variety of other issues—such as heart disease, metabolic issues, and cancer—the data is often “really mixed,” Hew-Butler told me. Although researchers have sometimes found evidence that dehydration may raise certain conditions’ risks, that doesn’t automatically imply the inverse—that extra water intake then lowers risk from a typical baseline. At very rare extremes, overdoing it on water can kill us, too.

    The connections between hydration and health are shaky enough that health authorities have been reluctant to push a strict recommended daily allowance, like the ones that exist for various vitamins. Instead, the National Academy of Medicine proposes a tentative “adequate intake”: 3.7 liters of total water intake for men, and 2.7 for women (both including hydration from food). Recently, Abigail Colburn, a physiology researcher at Yale, and her colleagues ran an analysis that concluded those figures were sound. Still, the numbers came from population surveys, published in the early aughts, of the amounts that Americans were already drinking—a reflection of how things were, but not necessarily how they should be. And they represent medians within a huge range. Over the years, multiple studies have documented people living, by all appearances healthfully, on daily water budgets that span less than a liter to four, five, or six—sometimes more.

    If researchers don’t agree on how much water is good, they also differ on how little water is bad: the point at which dehydration starts to become a problem—or how long people can linger at that threshold without raising long-term health risks.

    A bit of water loss should be completely fine. Fluid status is, by design, “a constantly changing state,” Colburn told me. When the body doesn’t take in enough water to recoup the liquid it’s lost—as it naturally does throughout the day, via sweat, urine, and breath—the brain releases a hormone called vasopressin that prompts the kidneys to hold onto fluid. The urine gets darker and less voluminous; eventually, blood-salt levels rise, and the mouth and throat ache with thirst. The goal is to get the body to excrete less water out and take more in so we don’t wring our vital tissues dry. Life forms have evolved to tread carefully down this cascade of steps, and the flexibility is built in—much like a rubber band that snaps back after being stretched and released.

    But some researchers have started to worry about repeatedly asking the body to compensate for less than optimal hydration—stretching the band over and over again. The issue isn’t chronic dehydration, Colburn told me, but a subtler precursor state called underhydration, which occurs after a lack of water intake has prompted the body to conserve but before the appearance of signals such as thirst. It’s not clear how worrying teetering on that precipice is. In the same way a rubber band is “designed to stretch,” our fluid balance is built to bounce back, says Evan Johnson, a hydration expert at the University of Wyoming. Over time, though, wear and tear could add up, and resilience could drop.

    Tracking those outcomes gets even more complicated when researchers try to quantify how dehydrated individual people are—another thing that experts can’t agree on. “We really don’t have a gold standard for measuring the all-encompassing term of hydration,” Johnson told me, especially one that’s both simple and cheap, and can account for body water’s constant flux. Which leaves scientists with imperfect proxies. Broadly speaking, there’s a urine camp and a blood camp, Stookey told me. Those in the pee camp tend to be hydration conservatives. A change in urine color or volume, they argue, is an early sign—well in advance of thirst—of impending dehydration. The blood-camp crew is more laissez-faire. Diet, medications, and supplements can all alter the shade of urine, making it a fickle clue; Hew-Butler for instance, defines true dehydration as what happens when the plasma’s gotten saltier than usual, to the point where cells have started to shrink—a sign that retaining water is no longer sufficient, and that the body needs to drink.


    Which camp researchers fall into influences how bad they think America’s hydration problem is. “When you draw blood, most people are within a normal range if they’re not thirsty,” Hew-Butler told me. But Stookey, who’s firmly in the pee camp, contends that a majority of Americans are “walking around dehydrated” and should be drinking far more. Colburn, too, would rather err on the side of heeding urine’s warning signs. By the time thirst kicks in, “you’re already in a dangerous zone,” she told me.

    There can be a middle ground. Sekiguchi, of Texas Tech, told me that for most young, healthy people who are spending plenty of time in the air-conditioned indoors—as so many Americans do—it’s probably fine to just drink when thirsty. (That advice works less well for older people, because the sensation of thirst tends to dull with age.) When specific circumstances shift—a stint of heavy exercise, a week of toasty days—people can take notice, and adjust accordingly.

    But guidelines for typical water intake, under typical conditions, are quickly going out the window as heat waves get more frequent and intense. When temperatures skyrocket and humidity makes otherwise-cooling sweat stick stubbornly on skin, our bodies need more water to keep cool and functional, beyond what thirst alone might dictate. Part of the problem is that thirst vanishes more quickly than the body rehydrates, Sekiguchi told me, which means that people who drink until they think they’re sated tend to replace only a fraction of the fluids that they’ve lost.

    “We’re never going to be able to tell people an exact number,” Colburn told me, for how much to drink. But in reality, many of the healthy people most worried about fine-tuning their hydration to a perfect level are probably among those that least need to fret. The dangers of water tend to happen not in those middle grounds, but at its extremes—especially when failing infrastructure hampers access to water, or contamination makes it undrinkable. Many of the populations that are most vulnerable to dehydration’s effects also happen to be the same groups that probably aren’t getting enough to drink, Johnson told me. While bottled-water markets boom, plenty of pockets of the U.S. still lack consistent access to safe, reliable water from the tap. And the situation is even worse in many places abroad. Perhaps nothing reminds us of water’s power like dramatic deficit: Water, simply, is what keeps us alive.


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    Katherine J. Wu

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  • Jayanti Chauhan: The Bisleri heiress who ‘is not interested in handling’ the business

    Jayanti Chauhan: The Bisleri heiress who ‘is not interested in handling’ the business

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    Veteran industrialist Ramesh Chauhan on Thursday got many tongues wagging when he said he is scouting for a buyer for his packaged water business Bisleri International and is in talks with several players, including Tata Consumer Products Ltd.

    In a regulatory filing, the Tata Group firm also said that it is in discussion with Bisleri International, for growth and expansion of the business of the company. However, the 82-year-old pioneer of the Indian packaged water business denied a report that a Rs 7,000 crore deal has been finalised with Tata Consumer Products Ltd (TCPL).

    When asked why he is selling the lucrative business, the octogenarian business leader told PTI he needed someone to handle and look into the business affairs and that his daughter Jayanti is not interested in handling the business.

    Jayanti Chauhan is the business leader’s only child. Upon completing high school, Chauhan joined the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising (FIDM), Los Angeles to study Product Development, post which, she went on to pursue Fashion Styling at the Istituto Marangoni Milano. She has also studied fashion styling and photography from London College of Fashion and she also has a degree in Arabic from the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS), University of London. She is currently the vice-chairperson at Bisleri. 

    JRC, as she is popularly known, joined the company at the age of 24. She also played a pivotal role in the company’s automation at the Delhi plant. She has also restructured departments such as HR, Sales and Marketing, so as to build stronger teams. She took charge of the Mumbai office in 2011.

    She is credited with streamlining the operations for Bisleri Mineral Water, Vedica Natural Mineral Water from the Himalayas (the luxury segment), Fizzy Fruit Drinks and Bisleri Hand Purifier.

    Ramesh Chauhan also added that the group is in discussions with several prospective buyers. When asked about the report that he has agreed to sell his business to the Tata Group firm, Chauhan, Chairman of Bisleri International said, “It’s not correct… We are still discussing.” Meanwhile, TCPL also said it will make appropriate announcements in compliance with the guidelines, as and when any such requirement arises. Later in a media statement, Bisleri International Spokesperson said: “We are currently in discussion and cannot disclose further.” 

    Three decades ago, Chauhan sold the soft drinks business to the US beverage major The Coca-Cola Company. He transferred brands such as Thums Up, Gold Spot, Citra, Maaza and Limca in 1993 to the Atlanta-headquartered firm. Of these brands, Thums Up has already become a billion-dollar brand and Coca-Cola expects fruit drinks brand Maaza also to be a billion-dollar brand by 2024

    If TCPL’s deal with Bisleri is finalised, then it is going to convert the Tata group firm into a leader in the fast-growing bottled water segment. TCPL is already present in the bottled water segment with its brand Himalayan, selling packaged mineral water. Besides, it is also present in the hydration segment with Tata Copper Plus Water and Tata Gluco.

    ALSO READ: Bought for Rs 4 lakh, sold for Rs 7,000 crore! Bisleri in 1969 and Bisleri in 2022

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