Dry January

At the beginning of each year, the collective abstinence parade known as Dry January begins anew. A whole month without alcohol, marketed as an act of self-control, as a contribution to physical regeneration, as a signal of a “sensible lifestyle”. Those who opt out of this ritual quickly find themselves under pressure to justify their decision. What appears to be a voluntary health initiative, however, on closer inspection turns out to be a media-driven standardisation project that suppresses enjoyment, culture and differentiation in favour of simple messages. A comment by Werner Elflein.

January becomes a projection screen for society's fantasies of purity. After weeks of culinary abundance and social intensification, people are supposed to “reset” themselves. Not out of inner insight, but along the lines of a calendar symbol. Health becomes a performance, renunciation a public stance. The question of how meaningful or sustainable such an approach actually is, is rarely asked.

Wine is not merely a vehicle for alcohol. It is a cultural asset that has evolved over time, the result of craftsmanship, knowledge, experience and patience. Each bottle is an expression of its origin, a vintage and a chain of decisions from the vineyard to the cellar. Wine combines climate, soil, grape variety and human creativity. Reducing it to its psychoactive component means completely ignoring this connection.

Wine is not drunk to numb the senses, but to accompany food, conversation and rituals. It demands attention, not escalation. Enjoyment is not a loss of control, but a form of conscious perception. Those who view wine exclusively from the perspective of alcohol overlook the fact that context, quantity and reflection are crucial.

The rhetoric of Dry January does not recognise this distinction. It operates with simplified opposites. Here renunciation, there responsibility. Here health, there risk. The fact that moderate wine consumption, especially with meals, has been part of a functioning food culture for centuries is ignored. Likewise, the fact that ingredients such as polyphenols and resveratrol have long been the subject of nutritional research.

The moral connotations of abstinence and asceticism are not a new phenomenon. Earlier abstinence movements also linked self-control with social recognition. Puritanical movements of the 19^th and early 20^th centuries propagated abstinence as a moral duty, associated with shame and guilt. The only thing new about Dry January is the media packaging. Hashtags, challenges, success stories. The individual becomes part of a collective narrative in which renunciation is more visible than moderation.

It is striking who this narrative addresses. Not primarily people with serious alcohol problems, but those who consume alcohol in a controlled manner anyway. Those who have actually developed destructive patterns over many years and drink themselves to the brink of cirrhosis of the liver for eleven months of the year will neither be cured nor stabilised by four weeks of abstinence. The causes of problematic drinking lie deeper, in psychological, social and biographical factors, not in the lack of a calendar project.

Instead, a subtle pressure to conform arises. Those who continue to enjoy a glass of wine are quickly considered unreasonable or backward. Moderation is no longer seen as a virtue, but as a deviation from the collective ritual. Enjoyment becomes something that requires explanation. An absurd paradox. It is precisely those who enjoy in moderation who are suddenly morally questioned.

No one can seriously dispute the risks of excessive alcohol consumption. Liver disease, certain types of cancer, cardiovascular and neurological damage are well documented medically. However, differentiation is crucial. Risk does not arise from a substance alone, but from dosage, frequency and context.

This distinction applies to all areas of life. Water is essential for life, yet it can be deadly if consumed in extreme quantities in a short period of time. Sunlight promotes vitamin D synthesis, but at the same time increases the risk of skin cancer if consumed in excess. Sugar, salt, fat – all essential or at least everyday components of the human diet with potentially harmful effects if used incorrectly.

Only in the case of alcohol this logic is often suspended. An alarmist narrative replaces complexity and medical facts with moral clarity. Instead of an enlightened health debate, a climate of simplification emerges.

Wine is part of social life. It structures meals and encourages conversation. Those who consciously enjoy it develop sensory skills. Tasting, comparing, classifying. This approach promotes mindfulness, not loss of control.

Dry January takes a different approach. It replaces reflection with renunciation, differentiation with generalisation. Instead of asking questions – When do I drink? Why? How much? – a month is symbolically emptied. The effect is visible in the short term, but limited in the long term. In addition, the staging creates a binary world view. Participation is considered responsible, rejection problematic. Yet reflective, moderate consumption can express the same responsibility without public self-assurance.

Wine is a cultural link between generations, regions and social milieus. This dimension disappears when it is evaluated solely in terms of calories, alcohol content or duration of abstinence. Culture cannot be captured by zero-sum games.

Of course, a conscious alcohol-free month can be a personal impulse. It becomes problematic when an individual decision becomes a social expectation. Then the individual loses the freedom to make their own judgement, and enjoyment becomes morally coded.

The real irony lies in the fact that those who enjoy alcohol responsibly are lectured, while structural questions about problematic consumption remain unanswered. The morally imposed ritual replaces debate.