A warning: crystal talk is incoming, which is always a sign you have stayed at the party too long and things are about to all get a bit patchouli. I’m testing a high-end drinking bottle pre-installed with semi-precious gemstones, which supposedly energise water with positive properties.
Bewater sell a range of these bottles, each stacked with an internal column of different gems, targeted at delivering love and peace, or wonder and balance. Why are the powers of crystals always so noble? Are there gems that make you restless, or hungry for lasagne, or stop you needing the toilet? If so, they have not been curated here.
The thinking behind energised water is a hodgepodge of discredited notions. First, that gemstones release special energies, quartz watches being cited as proof of this general effect. (In fact, it is the piezoelectric ability specific to quartz that makes the watches work.) Second, and more terrifying, the theory that promoted by Bewater that “water has memory and picks up information from its surroundings”.
Ideas like this, derived from thinkers such as Masaru Emoto and Jacques Benveniste, hold that water is susceptible to the directed energies of positive thinking and crystals, retaining those energies by changing its molecular structure, and perhaps even possessing consciousness. The scientific community does not think this. While I hope there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy, I draw the line at imagining a glass of Perrier can bear a grudge.
The company’s disclaimer explains that the theory of gem water is not theirs, and that their products are for “inspiration, hydration and joy”. Wishy-washy-water. Still, trying to stay open-minded, I road test their “home and office” bottle, which, unlike others in the product range, is glass-walled, dishwasher safe and, most importantly, features interchangeable chambers. If you have had enough vitality, for example, you can simply unscrew and replace it with courage or vision. It really is no effort, and makes absolutely zero difference.
My “clarity” bottle with very purple amethyst and rock crystal is certainly fetching; a lecturer’s pointer from the University of Prince. I drink from it daily for several weeks. Do I experience more clarity over this period? U got 2B kidding, as Prince might have said. Not unless we count the clarity of regret.
For those who would say: “This is a good water bottle, Rhik, what’s your problem?”, I’m not blind to its virtues. The silicone washer is thick and pleasing, the mouth is wide and open and pours abundantly. It is a heavy bottle – lifting it can feel like hoisting a nuclear rod – but I appreciate the solid build and refined features. The cap features a compass star in flocked steel, encircled with the words “Magic Joy Love Power”, as if a Red Hot Chili Peppers CD had mated with an Elizabeth Gilbert book.
Confirmation bias plays a huge part, of course; my own included. Bewater’s audience will find its bottles, and love them. It also sells a junior range, featuring coloured flip-top lids, which are perhaps redundant as the product already strikes me as Pokémon for grownups.
There is a kind of magic here. Nonetheless, that magic is flavoured “not real”. These may be gorgeous drinking bottles, but they require you to swallow too much. Bewater, beware. I remain un-bewitched.
The writer is an actor and Guardian columnist