So 2022 bowed out with one last surprise. Who can honestly say they had ‘crowds queueing outside Aldi at 5 a.m. for a viral energy drink’ on their bingo card? The must-have product in question is Prime, a caffeine-free energy drink created by YouTube influencers Logan Paul and KSI. Since going on sale in the UK recently, it has quickly generated the sort of frenzied hype once reserved for cryptocurrencies or pictures of cartoon monkeys, with stock running out, brawls breaking out and one shop reportedly cashing in by charging £10 a bottle.
On the face of it, the Prime story is baffling. But tempting as it might be to scoff at the sight of the wide-eyed obsessives rushing for their fix, I am also painfully aware that I cannot really judge them. For I myself am an energy drink addict.
Admittedly, my personal poison isn’t Prime – or at least not yet. Instead I’ve spent much of the past three years dependent on Monster, the American energy drink usually consumed by late-night video gamers and shaven-headed Polish labourers. These days, it’s rare for me to start the working day without one. My brain just refuses to rev into action without a sip of that fizzy tang.
Is it a problem? Not necessarily. Yes, Monster is packed with caffeine, but not as much as the garish branding might lead you to believe. In fact, the average can doesn’t contain much more caffeine than a Starbucks latte. And given I don’t drink coffee, it’s not like I’m doubling up on my daily allowance.
Prime has generated the sort of frenzied hype once reserved for cryptocurrencies or pictures of cartoon monkeys, with stock running out and brawls breaking out
Monster isn’t cheap, at around £1.65 for a 500ml can. But even at Tesco Express prices, a can a day is hardly going to break the bank. And as the vast majority of flavours are available in a sugar-free ‘Ultra’ variety, I don’t have to worry about excess calories either. (Nor will those who’ve managed to get their hands on Prime – which has zero added sugar.)
Yet at the same time, I’m grimly aware of a genuine dependence. Just last month, I was working at the crack of dawn on a last-minute deadline when I clumsily knocked over my last can of Monster. After swearing loudly, I caught myself trying to usher the spilt liquid from my desk and into a glass.
It wasn’t the first time that energy drinks have caused a twinge of shame. Call it vanity, but I’ve always been embarrassed by the rather low-status image of Monster. To the uninitiated, the supersize cans look just like a supermarket lager – making for self-conscious sipping on my morning walk.
To minimise the shame, I used to buy my Monster from the self-service check-out, so as not to be seen. But now the big supermarkets insist on doing an in-person age check due to the high caffeine content. To the hardened addict, it’s yet another indignity: an unwelcome close-up at your moment of weakness.
Sometimes the best thing to do is just embrace it. Last year, I was meeting a friend for lunch when I noticed an unopened can of Monster in my bag. We decided to ask the lovely folks at Hawksmoor steakhouse whether they could turn it into one of their trademark custom cocktails. To my delight, they did just that – and even spared me the corkage charge.
Another guilty pleasure is sampling the various Monster knock-offs you can find in newsagents and discount retailers (thanks largely to an influx of cheap energy drinks from eastern Europe). My personal favourite is the utterly ludicrous Moose Juice, which you can often pick up in Poundland.
And at least I can always remind myself that I’m not alone. Energy drinks have been seriously big business for years now. In the past decade, Monster’s stock price has doubled six times (full disclosure: I own a small holding), making it one of the best performers on the New York Stock Exchange.
And long before Logan Paul got involved, energy drinks have had their superfans. Just look at the Monster connoisseurs who parade their collections of rare and vintage cans on social media. Apparently some varieties of empty can fetch more than $100 online.
Until last month, this subculture was largely underground. But the chaotic headline-grabbing scenes at Aldi have put a stop to that. Amid a cost-of-living crisis, a £2 energy drink has become the ultimate consumer craze, triggering Black Friday-like chaos across Britain.
As a secret enthusiast, I can only smile at all. Am I relieved to know I’m not the only one going loco for a glorified can of fizzy pop? Perhaps. Or then again, like all true addicts, maybe I’m just glad to finally have someone that even I can look down on.
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