Is “Dry January” The New Lent?

From 75 Day Hard to 18-step skincare routines, self-help challenges were a pillar of the 2023 Internet zeitgeist. Championed by the population of “rise and grinders” as well as the algorithmically-beloved clean girl aesthetics, self-help challenges have been promoted as a lifestyle for the serious and committed. A devotion to one’s self if you will.

As I sat staring at a scantily clad man filming an ice bath for the 16th day in a row, I did start to feel that some of the “self-help” associated with these challenges could be considered delusional. But who am I to judge? There is something reassuring about a morning ritual. It’s an opportunity to ground yourself for the day and set an intention — whether it’s to drink two Stanley cups of water or prepare for a day’s worth of Donna from accounting.

Still, a lot of trending challenges for self-improvement are boot-camp level intense. One of the most intimidating bars for entry into the self-help sphere is the ambitious expiration date of Never. Even with the 75 Day Hard challenge, failure is expected and the requirement is that you start over. If you commit to the grind, you’re expected to stay married to it until you become a billionaire or something…looksmaxing to the point of your own fame and fortune. These challenges cultivate a lifestyle. There is a lot of pressure to be all in. This year, though, I noticed a self-help challenge with a different tone captivate a dozen of my friends, relatives, and Zach Bryan.

Following the indulgence of an American holiday season, Dry January is like a reset. It’s a month dedicated to, well, just not drinking alcohol. But a lot of people are in on the game. The benefits are evident, the rules are simple, and the one-month time limit makes participation in the fast all the more approachable. This is not to say that Dry January isn’t a challenge. My sister started counting down the days after about two weeks of her sober month, but she committed to the bit and cheersed her accomplishment with a glass of wine on February 1. It’s nice to start the year off with a win.

While I abstained from Dry January this year (I have too much love for my local bars and music venues), I still appreciate it for the ritual that it offered to those observing. The New Year always brings in a cold front of eager air for self-improvement and resolution. It can, for many people, be an overwhelming month amongst the pressures of new routines and a “new me.” But with the amount of people participating in Dry January, it looked to be a hugely supportive event. Less rugged individualism in the name of self-improvement, and more “we’re all in this together (til February 1).” Dry January seemed to breathe a life into its participants, many of whom have been excited to share their involvement with the challenge when asked what they’ve been up to so far in the new year.

We’re two weeks into February now, and with the bars and venues back to their normal attendance I’ve wondered what, if anything, Dry January meant to people. I suppose I’m asking myself the question because Valentine’s Day this year overlaps with the start of Lent — a religious observance for Christians to temporarily sacrifice a vice of their choosing, so we can prepare for and commemorate the “return” of Jesus Christ on Easter. When He has risen, I will be allowed to eat sweet treats at will again. Of course I can technically eat them whenever I want, but it’s a challenge for myself to say no. I think Lent is supposed to make me conscious of a certain loss, so that I can be notably grateful for its return to my life at the end of March. I was curious whether anyone had internalized Dry January as a similar practice meant to make them feel something about themselves or bring them closer to anything in particular. Is Dry January the new Lent?

There’s been a growing amount of discourse about younger generations toying with facets of religion, which has otherwise been in decline for the past few decades. It is true that in the post-COVID, post-metaverse world that many of us are looking for real communities to make us whole again. The trending aesthetics of mob wives, trads, and old money looks reference a certain romanticism with the traditions of the past.

I started going to a church nearby me a few months ago. Being so future-focused, I wanted to dedicate more time to thinking about what I’ve been lucky to experience. Looking out the stained glass windows, Sundays have come to represent a time for self-reflection, assessment, and hope. I like going to church and giving thanks to whoever is bringing me my fortune, and I sure do pray for the best. Encouraging myself to attend a Sunday service every week is a self-help challenge. It’s a ritual that is similarly beneficial, easy to understand, and forgives me if I miss a week.

Dry January evokes a similar tradition as the Lent season. Those who accept the challenge agree to give up something that usually brings them joy, albeit a potential headache later on. Whether it is for religious or ritualistic purposes, it’s fulfilling to participate in something that ends in a big cheers.

I haven’t given up something for Lent in a long time, which is partly why I‘m embracing it as the self-help challenge I missed in January. I wonder how it will make me feel. I’m looking forward to the start of spring.