Tech Conferences and Alcohol

Third day of a major tech conference. Fourteen-hour workdays. Extreme stress, little sleep, questionable nutrition, and exposure to hundreds of people carrying every possible strain of germs. Your body is already in survival mode. And then, on top of all that, you make it metabolize alcohol.

There’s no reason for FOMO. These events are built around meetings, networking, and extending socializing into the early hours. But pushing your body even further after a long day doesn’t make you better at your job. You won’t lose a deal because you skipped a drink at the hotel bar.

Tech events drown in alcohol. Every booth reception comes with an overwhelming amount of it—either consumed or dumped down the drain. The waste is incredible. And the effects are instant. By late afternoon, you see people dragging, exhausted. Then the evening receptions start, the first glass of wine or beer goes down, and suddenly, they’re on. Voices rise, cheeks flush, finger food disappears like a swarm of termites attacking a snack bowl. But tomorrow always comes. The red eyes, the inflamed skin, the sour breath, the false bravado in the meeting rooms where they march in, convinced that alcohol-fueled camaraderie is the secret to closing deals.

And the cycle repeats. No one questions its relevance. No one questions the absurdity.

Women at these events face a different exhaustion. The pressure to stay polished, to mask dark circles and redness, to keep up with late-night business dinners and still appear effortlessly composed the next morning. The venue air is dry, the lighting artificial, the energy off-kilter. Meanwhile, money is being thrown around at such a scale that two dollars and twenty million feel like the same meaningless number.

Yet, I’m still here. Because deep down, I know I’m still contributing. I care about people. I challenge the status quo. And I remind them:

It’s okay to say, I can’t anymore.

It’s okay to skip the party and drink tea in your hotel room.

The company won’t collapse if you leave four hours earlier.

It’s okay to say, I don’t know. I’m sorry. I can’t. I don’t want to.

And it’s okay—more than okay—to say, I don’t drink.

If someone cares too much about what’s in your glass and tries to push you, call them what they are: corporate bullies.

Know your limits. Enjoy saying no.

Stay sober and cool,

High Sobriety Club