Rethinking Alcohol in Business School

By: Cathy Campo, Co-Editor-in-Chief

Most people at Kellogg assume I drink, and honestly, I get why. I show up to everything. I’m loud, I’m laughing. I stay out late enough to be part of the lore. It wasn’t until someone asked me recently, “Wait, are you not drinking?” that I realized how invisible my sober-curious lifestyle actually is.

Sober at St. Patty's Day. Author in pink

Sober curiosity, a term popularized by writer Ruby Warrington, refers to a cultural movement centered around choosing to question or moderate alcohol consumption. Unlike full sobriety, which often comes in response to addiction, being sober curious is about mindful drinking, examining how, why, and when you drink.

Sober curiosity is becoming more common than many people realize. Nearly 4 in 10 U.S. consumers say they follow a sober-curious lifestyle, whether closely or occasionally. The movement is only growing, especially among younger people who are drinking far less on average than their elders (Time Magazine).

To be clear, I wasn’t always like this. Growing up in a suburb outside New York City, I drank my fair share in high school. It was normal—a rite of passage. And in college, at Brown University, drinking was built into the rhythms of life: dorm parties, Friday nights, campus traditions. I wasn’t thinking about alcohol critically; it was just part of the culture.

It wasn’t until I moved to Los Angeles after graduation that something shifted. LA can be many things; one of them is undeniably health-obsessed. And for me, in a good way. I became more conscious about how I felt, what I consumed, and what I wanted my life to look like long-term.

In the entertainment industry where I worked, work drinks are practically a sport. In my early twenties, I found myself out four or five nights a week with Hollywood folk, all clinking glasses over “quick catch-ups.” And while everyone else ordered cocktails without blinking, I just… couldn’t. Physically or financially. I’d show up, smile, and immediately order an appetizer instead of a drink. I didn’t want to try to keep up, and honestly, I couldn’t afford to. I was working in Hollywood, scraping by on an entry-level salary, and while work drinks were expensed (thank you, Netflix), weekend drinks with my girlfriends definitely were not.

That was the first time I really slowed down and thought: Do I actually want alcohol to be a baseline part of my life? Or am I just doing this because everyone else is?

I don’t want this to sound preachy. I truly do not judge anyone at Kellogg for drinking. Really, I admire you because I have no idea how people here manage consulting recruiting, classes, travel, and all the socializing with alcohol in the mix.

Sober on yacht week. Author in black, middle

For me personally, the health facts I learned in LA continued to linger in my mind: alcohol plays a causal role in more than 200 diseases according to the World Health Organization. That’s it. That’s the stat that made me pause. No moralizing—just information that made me rethink my relationship with something I consumed without much thought for years.

My relationship with alcohol changed again during the pandemic. After a breakup, and with workout studios closed, I started running—initially out of desperation. But then something clicked. Running became the anchor in my day, the thing that made me feel strong, grounded, and in control.

Completing the Chicago Spring Half Marathon '25 (PR'd!)

In 2025 alone, I logged nearly 850 miles (for the love of God, add me on Strava so I can rack up more “kudos”). And I just can’t run the way I want to if I wake up at noon feeling foggy and dehydrated. Alcohol and early morning miles do not mix, and I love the miles more.

But the twist that surprises people: even though I rarely drink, my social life hasn’t changed at all. I still go to everything—Lottie Days, Trolley Night, the Around the World Townhouse Crawl, the BMA Halloween party. My closest friends know my routine: I show up, grab a water, laugh with everyone until 11pm or midnight, then slip out so I can get a full 8-9 hours before my morning run.

Even on trips—KWEST or Yacht Week—I might have a couple drinks, but otherwise I’ve opted out completely this year. And no one noticed. That’s the beauty of sober curiosity: it doesn’t require an announcement (sorry though, I guess I made one). You just quietly choose what makes you feel good.

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