KSI and Logan Paul’s Prime drink the latest in a succession of fads
However, due to two TikTokker/influencers (whatever that means) Logan Paul and Watford’s own ASI, not only has that happened, but cravings for said coconut water have reached levels unprecedented since the last fad.
At Aldi, it should come as no surprise that quarrels ensued, and the normally mild-mannered middle-class citizens then became obsessed with their children. There have been stories of a Grand Plus being spent on a 24 case case of this concoction. And with demand already outstripping supply, the fervor grew as the story nurtured itself, forcing reasonably level-headed individuals like a family member who is to remain nameless, to set their alarms for 4 a.m., three days in a row, at ten to travel miles to the nearest supermarket, only to find that the already long queues had prompted an early-morning alarm call with no reward.
Bottles of the stuff then sold for hundreds on eBay and a secondary market began where empty bottles sold for a tenner or £20 and well, the fervor shows little sign of abating anytime soon.
Outraged at the stupidity of such an approach and with complete incomprehension, yours really did some self-reflection and found that this is not a new phenomenon. This has always been and always will be due to FOMO (fear of missing out). Don’t you need it? don’t you want it But… they all get it, so why shouldn’t I? Maybe the Prime drink will give me the Elixir of Infinite Youth or, failing that, cool my kid’s chi on Monday morning at the playground.
But was it different when we were younger? I remember collecting Panini football stickers around 1981 when it was literally all the rage, as the Got-Got-Need mantra played hourly until you hit the ultimate ‘need’: the Liverpool’s shamrock crest FC, which was rumored to be true (which they weren’t), only 12 existed. A frenzy would ensue if you offered your 224 swapsies…and a fiver…and the promise to do the seller’s homework for the next two Years to do to become the proud new owner. And then you would get it, become the new playground Don, until you took the evening package from the local corner shop and pulled two of the shamrocks out of the package and found the next day that the passion for your purchase had peaked and now only Glenn Hoddle and a pack of chipstix is worth it.
And so it went on year after year: Hacky Sacks soon came and went (and no, soaking them in water did little to improve soccer skills), Garbage Pail Kids, Rubik’s Cube, Furbys, Pogs, Fanny Packs and dungarees (which make me cringe at the thought of my pepe) all got atmospheric before a sudden and catastrophic demise, and then, fast forward a few years, and the new wave included fidget spinners, Pokémon, and squishies, leading us to today’s Official.
It’s a sad indictment of society, I thought as I drove through St Albans last weekend, running my middle-aged errands, before unplanned stopping at Spar for a baguette and a can of tuna. The couple at the front of the line started hugging at the checkout as he held up a bottle of Prime that had been handed to him by security behind the counter when I was suddenly afraid I’d miss something. “Do you have a Prime Mate?” I asked unexpectedly, to which he said yes, pulling two fresh bottles from under the counter like he was a middle-class crack dealer, and I walked out with a product I don’t need, don’t want , but damn it, I deserve it just like any other man, don’t I?