How Gen Z relates to alcohol now
I went on the last day of Philippine Cocktail Week earlier this year—a Sunday that still felt like a Friday night. Naturally, I went with my people—Gen Xers and older millennials—moving from one bar to another. This was the San Juan and Quezon City leg, so we hit Three Dots, Raion, AKA, After Hours, and Skybar at Solaire North, if memory serves me right.
Each room was full, the energy high, the familiar rhythm of the industry on display. In F&B, as they like to say, it’s a small world. Bartenders, restaurateurs, and regulars showing up for each other in a kind of practiced “coopetition”—equal parts supporting, equal parts scoping.
Foreign bartenders were in town, pouring drinks that stretched my palate. Tea-based mixes, kombucha-style brews, savory notes. We stayed just long enough at each stop, 30 to 45 minutes, downing two or three drinks, sometimes with an unsolicited shot of very strong Chinese wine or tequila from the owners, then moving on.
But somewhere between bars, we noticed something else.
At nearby tables were younger drinkers, just as present, just as social, but their tables told a different story. No clutter of empty glasses. No urgency for another round. A single drink, cradled and sipped slowly, often with bar chow as conversations stretched. No rush to get anywhere else.
We, on the other hand, were already a few drinks in, easing into that familiar buzz—not quite collapse, just enough blur to call it a good night out.
And it raised a question: Are younger drinkers still going out to get drunk, or has alcohol moved out of the center of the night?
The liquor ban generation
Globally, this shift has been linked to the rise of the sober curious movement. In urban Philippines, it shows up more subtly: skipped rounds, mocktails, or nights where alcohol is not the point.
Here’s a working theory: Many Gen Zs came of age during the COVID-19 lockdowns, when the country had liquor bans, strict curfews, and prolonged restrictions. While the rest of the world reopened, the Philippines lagged behind. The usual rites of passage, like after-work drinks and corporate trauma bonding, spontaneous bar nights, and commiserating over shared stress, were paused.
Without that exposure, drinking culture was not passed down as seamlessly.
There were no late nights decompressing with officemates, no inherited scripts of “tara, inom” after a bad day, and no emotional blackmail of “wala ka namang pakisama” if you chose to pass.
Drinking is not always the default
For many in Gen Z, drinking is not always the default.
“I still do,” says Summer Serrano, 25, a Restaurant Management graduate of Le Cordon Bleu Ateneo de Manila. “But it’s not the reason I go out.”
If anything, alcohol has become conditional—tied to curiosity, to a well-crafted cocktail, or to the mood of the group.
“I’m more likely to drink if everyone is drinking,” she says. “But a fun night is really just good company, good food, maybe an activity.” More often, she adds, nights out are about culinary exploration or simply unwinding.
Asked if skipping alcohol changes how she connects, Serrano reflects, “I guess I’m less impulsive. I have more of a filter.”
That may be part of it, too. Older millennials and Gen Xers had the freedom to be outrageous without everything being documented. Today, every misstep risks becoming content. In a highly visible world, where becoming the next cringe is always a possibility, restraint is not just personal; it is practical.
Connection without the crutch
Among younger students, the shift is more pronounced.
“Drinking out isn’t really the point,” says Jana Clarisse Rivera, 19, a Human Services freshman at De La Salle University. “We joke about it, ‘tara, inom tayo,’ but we end up just hanging out.”
Her idea of a fun night out is simple. “Honestly, just enjoying each other’s company. The last time, we just ate instant ramen at a mall nearby, and it was already a fun night.”
There is no pressure, she adds. “If I say no, they respect it and leave me be.”
That ease points to something I admire about this generation: a clear sense of boundaries. If previous generations leaned on alcohol to open up, Gen Z seems more comfortable deciding whether opening up is even necessary, and on what terms.
“Skipping alcohol doesn’t really affect how I socialize,” Rivera says. “We already act drunk around each other even without it,” she laughs.
It is a funny line, but also a telling one. The looseness, the humor, and the connection usually credited to alcohol are already there without it.
Why the picture is more complicated
And yet, the data tells a more complicated story. While global reports often frame Gen Z as drinking less, local figures suggest otherwise. Data from the National Institutes of Health–Health Promotion Program shows that alcohol consumption among young Filipinos has risen in the years following the pandemic, particularly among those aged 10 to 19.
That data reflects a different context—one shaped by access, environment, and behavior patterns that do not necessarily map onto the urban, bar-hopping, dining-driven social scene.
Which raises the question: is this a shift in how they drink, rather than how much?
Why this shift feels different
This is not the first time drinking culture has evolved, but this moment feels distinct.
Part of it is wellness. Gen Z is more aware of how alcohol affects anxiety, sleep, and mood. There is also a stronger emphasis on boundaries—social, emotional, even financial.
Then there are economic realities. Nights out are expensive, and alcohol is often the easiest thing to cut. If there is a budget to protect, many would rather spend it on food or experiences.
Then there is the pandemic imprint. A generation that learned to socialize online, build niche communities, and name their stressors directly does not necessarily need to process everything through a shared buzz.
The industry responds
The hospitality industry, as always, is adapting.
Bars and restaurants are expanding non-alcoholic offerings. Mocktails, low-ABV drinks, sparkling teas, and fermented beverages that offer complexity without intoxication.
Manila-based food and beverage expert and journalist Cyrene de la Rosa notes that while many bars still do not highlight mocktails, restaurants have been quicker to evolve.
Offhand, she points to a few that are doing it well: Gallery by Chele, where a bottled sampaguita pét-nat serves as a welcome drink; People’s Palace, long ahead of the curve, with a strong non-alcoholic menu; Flow, with combinations like a galangal-habanero-sachaculantro mocktail; Got Soul in BGC, which has a dedicated 0 percent ABV menu; and Asador Alfonso in Cavite.
Still, not everyone is convinced this is a permanent shift. Some industry players are choosing to stay the course, focusing on making wine and traditional drinking culture more accessible rather than reinventing and overcomplicating it. Alessandro Mazzocco, managing director of WineHub Inc., says he is optimistic about reintroducing wine to the next generation when they are ready.
After all, culture does not only evolve; it is also cyclical.
So what now?
Things are different now. The industry will respond. Traditions will shift. Some rituals will fade, others will adapt, and new ones will take their place. In a more connected, more self-aware world, how we gather and why is changing in real time.
While Gen Z may be drinking differently, the need for release, for chaos, for a bit of unfiltered humanity remains.
So, really, where does Gen Z go now, what does it look like, and what are they drinking?
