Who here has not enjoyed a cold, refreshing drink from a red plastic cup? Alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages alike find themselves comfortably enclosed within the confines of the bright red vessel that has become a ubiquitous American staple at barbecues, picnics, parties, in dugouts and at minor league games, in food cars and at lunch trucks, and even as a last resort at dive bars—and, of course, college students’ dorms and apartments, where it also functions as a key component in Flip Cup and Beer Pong.
Your drinking vessel may indeed impact your imbibing experience, but the red plastic cup serves as the great equalizer in drinking activities—from the top shelf to the supermarket shelf, the red plastic cup captures and contributes to the spirit of the occasion. It helps make bitter alcohol a more pleasant experience. After all, how can it be distasteful if it’s delivered from the study depths of the cheerily colored vessel? Packaging matters! Drinking practices carry their own distinct rules and expectations relating to the age, gender, and status. The red plastic cup crosses many of these boundaries to figure prominently in American drinking customs.
The most famous of all the red plastic cups is produced by Solo, the long time producer of single use products that are sold almost everywhere. Founded in 1936, the “paper container” manufacturer produced a paper cone cup that typically went with water coolers. A wax-lined cup used in the 1950s for fountain sodas and takeaway drinks might be viewed as precursor to the signature red cup in terms of sturdiness and widespread adoption.
The red plastic cup first appeared in the 1970s and worked its way into popular culture seamlessly—even spawning a silly, but fun ode by country singer Toby Keith (which we will get to soon enough). Solo’s simple design for the red cup has been easy for competitors to copy, but in recent years the company has implemented small but noticeable changes—such as a square bottom, indented grips, and Solo embossed on the side—to add further distinction for customers looking for the brand. Consumers can rest assured that the design changes have not impacted the functionality of the red cup—so flip away, or ahem, drink out of it without fear it will slip out of your hands.
Social drinking is a ritualized act. There are certain social codes of consumption that help define the experience by setting expectations and establishing appropriate or acceptable behaviors. Anthropologist William Donner documented social rules surrounding toddy drinking in Sikaiana, a small Polynesian atoll in the Solomon Islands. (Toddy seems a generic name for drinks made from fermented palm. In this case, toddy is made by fermenting the sap of coconut shoots.) Donner found that drinking reorganized the community, allowing boundaries to be renegotiated. Part of this stems from the ways in which drink is shared. In Sikaiana, toddy distribution follows a rather specific format which helps establish the community as a place of equality:
“Participants form a circle. They distributor pours a portion and passes it to one person in the group. This person drinks the cup until its is empty, usually in one drink. Then he returns the cup to the distributor and another serving of the exact same size is poured for the next person. This continues until everyone in the group has had a turn and then the distributor starts another round. If a person arrives late, the distributor may offer him a larger portion so that the latecomer can catch up with the people who are already drinking. In larger groups, several cups are passed out simultaneously, but always in a circular fashion so that everyone is given an equal amount to drink” (1994: 250).
Among the Xhosa, beer is also consumed in accordance with a social code. At a beer-drink (a public drinking event), the beer is kept in either cast-iron pots or plastic or wooden containers, and served in tin beakers (billy cans) of various sizes:
“When beer is allocated, the host section’s mast of ceremonies points out the size of the beaker because the receivers have certain expectations in this regard based on the current state of their beer-exchange relationship with the givers. So a can of beer given to a neighboring group may be announced with carefully chosen words, such as ‘This is your beaker, it is a full iqhwina [seven liters], as it should be when there is a full cask for men’ ” (McAllister 2003: 197).
The drinking vessel is central to this experience. It’s an equalizing factor and a measure of consistency for attendees. It also serves as the entry-point for the temporary social community that has gathered. Drinking from the cup confirms attendance at the event and authorizes participation in subsequent event activities—conversation, singing, dancing, joking and laughing, even confrontations are mediated by drink and cup possession.
Our red plastic cups work similarly. Cup in hand, we mingle. Liberated by the social permission granted by the red plastic cup, we catch up with old friends and make new ones. It becomes a factor that connects attendees at the event—we all have a red plastic cup, so we all belong. And we assert that these cups are ours by writing our name on them, which further making them a handy tool for socialization.
This sort of possession also minimizes the burden on our hosts to have a bounty of cups available for guests. (In college and in grad school, we wrote our names on cups because we paid for them at parties and it was in our interest to keep track of our cups.) The practice also functions to manage our alcohol consumption. We get a cup at an event and we’re free to fill it with any of the available options. It holds roughly the same amount for everyone—or least it gives the illusion of equality with regard to the ratios in mixed drinks. Among the Sikaiana, the distributor/host determines how much is poured into the cup for each round and how long to wait between rounds:
“Serving large portions and not waiting between rounds will cause the participants to become drunk rapidly. On the other hand, after such a happy state of inebriation has been reached, the distributor may decide to slow the pace of drinking in order to control the level of intoxication and preserve the supply of toddy (Donner 1994: 250).
While we may not necessarily be served in the same way with our red plastic cups (that might be a downer of a party to attend), our named cups provide a way to monitor access to drinks. If you lose your cup, you might be out of luck. It can also be a signal that the cup-less should perhaps be cut-off, especially when it’s clear that the de-cupped has passed beyond happy, joyful drinking to disruptive behavior.
The red plastic cup may have a bit of a party-animal reputation. It’s hardly likely you’ll be drinking fine wine or quality spirits from a red plastic cup. Or that you’ll find a red plastic cup at a banquet or gala. The red plastic cup is a champion of the everyday and and the unpretentious. It suggests a relaxed, convival atmosphere and invites everyone to join the party. It won’t reveal the contents contained so whether it’s alcohol, tea, fruit juice, or water, everyone belongs and everyone can participate.
So whatever your preference, raise your red plastic cup.
via: Scientific American