I drank Kombucha for one month, and it changed my life.

I was initially hesitant about trying Kombucha, mostly because I couldn’t pronounce it. But also because I didn’t want to be that big of a douche.

One day, though, as I was walking through Target, the fancy name and shiny bottle caught my eye. But which flavor to choose? There were so many exotic flavors such as kumquat, lychee, jicama, persimmon, and other names that I had never heard of before. After paying the ungodly price and promising the cashier my first-born child as collateral, I took my very first heavenly sip.

As the carbonated and tangy nectar of the gods made its way down my throat, I felt a noticeable change. All of a sudden, I knew that generic Kraft mayo would no longer do. No. Only the exotic Sriracha aioli would suffice. Quinoa, Oatly plant-based milk, La Croix, and cauliflower rice suddenly appeared in my cart as if by a Kombucha-inspired dream. I was reaching for the edamame in the freezer when I realized with horror that I was still at Target, the mecca of mainstream American moms and housewives.

I hopped in my car and drove to Patagonia. Immediately inside I breathed a sigh of relief. The puffy vests and fleeces in a variety of monochromatic colors and the pictures of people happily hiking in the mountains without a speck of mud on their clothes made me feel at ease. After purchasing an overpriced downvest, a Patagonia trucker hat, a buffalo check button down shirt, Sorel boots, and a Yeti travel mug, I was ready to take on the urban jungle.

I began to revel in the euphoric joy of planning my tattoo sleeve and the ability to change the ombre of my hair color every month. Once I ditched my skinny jeans and SUV for distressed jeans and a blue retro bike, I instantly felt happier and more like my own person. Today, there is nothing I enjoy more than leisurely walking down every aisle at Whole Foods, shopping for organic, vegan, and gluten-free products with a fair trade coffee in my hand while criticizing other shoppers for their pedestrian and mainstream choices.

It did take my husband a little bit longer to acclimate to our new lifestyle…and that long for him to grow out his man bun and beard. Originally he was unsure about the messenger bag, but once he realized how well it complimented his thick-rimmed glasses and skinny striped scarf, he was on board.

Today, my husband and I enjoy making our own craft beer with names like “Hopsy Doosy” and “Malt of the Earth” and drinking them out of mason jars. We love to watch silent black and white movies while munching on avocado toast and kale chips with a dash of Himalayan sea salt. We also love to take Polaroid photos of urban art in our spare time and admire them while listening to Bon Iver albums on our record player, because music sounds so much better on vinyl.

Without Kombucha, our lives would have been like all other boring millennials, focused on rising the corporate ladder, saving for retirement, and paying off the mortgage. We are now woke to our previous mainstream blasé existence. We are excited to move back into my parents’ basement and live on our delusions that purchasing overpriced and trendy things somehow makes us unique. Thank you, Kombucha!

About the Author

Kathleen H. is a teacher, editor, and freelance writer. She has three boys: one who is five, one who is six, and a husband. In her spare time she likes to write, read, and travel.