Gen Z Is Still Drinking, Just Not Like the Rest of Us

Gen Z isn’t drinking. Gen Z is lonely. Gen Z prefers their online personas to their flesh-and-blood ones. Or so the non-Gen Z-ers say. But when I look at my own life as a 23-year-old, and the lives of my friends and even of strangers, there’s overwhelming evidence to the contrary. On those June and July days when the temperature reached into the 90s, young people were spilling into the street, blocking traffic with picnic tables and glasses of sparkling wine. They were also hitting up phone-free parties, playing chess at the bar, and splitting up their PTO to go on mini-trips throughout the year.   

Which is to say: Gen Z is outside, but they’re discerning about where they go. While five-star hotels and Michelin-starred restaurants have always been seen as status symbols, Highsnobiety’s new whitepaper — which polled 260 Gen Zers on their habits around hospitality — reveals the extent to which this generation has started seeking out high-end spaces and experiences. Young people, the report states, are “embracing hospitality as perhaps the most valuable way to prove their taste, earn social status, and demonstrate their knowledge in broader culture.” 

In practice, this looks like Gen Z over-indexing on travel and hospitality spending compared to the general population, flocking to small-plate Chinatown wine bars and the Amalfi Coast for two weeks of annual leave. “In a world that feels like it’s constantly speeding up, having the option to slow down is the ultimate signal of luxury,” says Charlotte Coons, a 23-year-old who works in advertising. “And choosing to spend money on experiences feels more tasteful than [spending on] a random designer good.” 

Now that our feeds flood us with videos of restaurants, bars, and travel destinations, curating your options wisely signals that you have good taste. For Gen Z, every choice about how and where to spend your free time telegraphs something about you. We’ve all heard the rumors that young people these days aren’t drinking, for instance. But in fact, they’re just drinking more selectively — projecting something different than the generations before them. For 88% of survey respondents, alcohol is still part of their going-out experience. It just might take the form of a glass of natural wine or a cocktail, rather than picklebacks and a pitcher. “Eight beers are far more expensive than one cute martini you can post about on Instagram,” explains writer Rohan Mehta, 23. 

Restaurants, too, have become important cultural touchstones — places to see, be seen, and post about. The average Gen Zer may not have a high-paying job, or a second home in Southampton, but the game of Resy notifications is everyone’s to play. The 10oz wagyu burger at 4 Charles may be $52 (with the addition of bacon and a farm egg), but the thrills of lounging in the plush leather seats, sneaking glances at the regular monied guests, and slicing through the neon yolk are included in that price. Nick Walters, the Guest Relations Manager (and former sommelier) at fine-dining restaurant Eleven Madison Park, noticed that when the menu turned vegan in 2021, the demographic shifted. “Our dining room feels younger than it ever has, which makes the atmosphere more fun and less stuffy,” he says. 

“Right now, it’s unlikely to meet someone in their 20s in New York who doesn’t know the big names of the hot new restaurants,” adds Olivia Weiss, who writes the food and hospitality Substack right on Franklin. “It’s a common language.” That language is spread through social media, which Weiss thinks has “caused an insane permeation of the feeling of missing out.” When every meal is an opportunity to show off your knowledge, access, or sophistication, there’s pressure to make each one count, Mehta says. “Why would you go to the spot on the corner if you can visit a place you heard about online that is serving the best crisp zucchini flowers stuffed with delicate ricotta? With social media, the stakes of dining feel higher.” 

I recently had this kind of “status dinner” experience at Cove, a buzzy Scandinavian spot nestled in the spiritless glass buildings of Hudson Square. Its 26-year-old chef, Flynn McGarry, first entered the downtown restaurant scene eight years ago with the fine-dining hotspot Gem. I had heard about his newest project somewhere online, where Cove has become associated with a specific type of cool, young downtown cachet. By the time my party of four sat at a long wooden table more appropriate for a group double our size, I already knew I wanted to order the mushroom schnitzel. 

For three hours, my friends and I sipped wine from an obscure island and savored organic food. But part of me felt late to the party. The influencers had already discovered, tasted, and reviewed Cove. I was having the experience they’d promised, but the consequence of knowing exactly where to go and what to order was a sense that I was already, ironically, lagging behind. Status signalling is a form of competition, after all. “Having a standing Friday and Saturday 7:30 p.m. table at all these crazy places only gets you so far,” Weiss says. “It doesn’t make you part of the world.” 

In an effort to decouple my leisure time from the relentless chase, I took Weiss’ advice to explore. I ate Vietnamese-Korean summer rolls stuffed with shrimp and pear and bell peppers in Midtown. In Park Slope, I devoured pillowy beignets at a Korean restaurant. It was freeing to opt out of the dictates of the feed — to be handed a menu I hadn’t previewed in PDF form. I felt grateful to live in a world with such an abundance of choice. Charting my own course delivered its own kind of smug pleasure.

Coons has spent the summer floating down the Reuss River in Lucerne and staying at a wellness retreat in Austria called Stanglwirt, “two things I’ve rarely seen on my feed” — perhaps the ultimate flex.