I want to be a girls’ girl about this. I really do.
When Chrissy Teigen announced she’s 52 days sober again(Read about it here on Page Six), I wanted to be nothing but supportive. That’s the right thing to do, right? Here’s a woman in the public eye being vulnerable about relapse, about the seductive lie of “mindful drinking,” about starting over. That takes guts. And I know there are women out there who will see her story and feel less alone.
But I’m annoyed. And I’m being honest about that because honesty is kind of my whole thing as a woman in long-term recovery. (Also note, I don’t do it perfectly, so step back, haters.)
First, let me be very clear: every single one of those 52 days counts. Every day sober is a victory. But something about this headline cycle is getting under my skin, and I think it matters enough to say out loud. If I’m feeling this way, I can’t possibly be alone in my feels.
Teigen described her return to drinking as wanting “a glass of wine on a date night” and to “toast on birthdays.” She called it mindful. She framed alcohol as a reward, a “life prize.” And she described the predictable slide that followed—6 pm became 5, became 4, became “aw hell, it’s lunch.” Anyone who has struggled with this disease could have written that timeline for her before she lived it. Because moderation is a lie we tell ourselves when we’re bargaining with something that doesn’t bargain back.
The “mindful drinking” narrative is dangerous, full stop. It gives permission to negotiate. It wraps addiction in wellness language and makes relapse feel like a lifestyle experiment you can simply restart when it gets inconvenient. And when someone with Teigen’s platform models that publicly, it gives cover to every woman at home, thinking maybe I can do it differently this time too.
Here’s the part that really gets me: Teigen’s rock bottom was missing spontaneous grocery runs and “feeling like shit.” Her wake-up call was a Netflix opportunity. She got sober again because Star Search called and she didn’t want booze in her dressing room.
What does that story offer the woman whose rock bottom is a custody hearing? A totaled car? Waking up somewhere she doesn’t recognize? For a lot of women, there is no Netflix call. There is no dressing room. There is no private chef and nanny and famous husband creating a safety net so enormous that sobriety can be treated like a content cycle. Start, stop, start again, post about it, get praised for vulnerability. Rinse, repeat.
For me—and for so many people I know—this thing is life or death. It’s not a headline. It’s not a trend. It’s not 52 days and an Instagram caption. It’s the daily, unglamorous work of staying alive.
You know who I want to see make headlines? The women with 5, 10, 20 or more years who don’t post about it because they’re too busy living. The ones who did the work without a platform, without applause, without a podcast episode or a book deal to promote. The quiet long-haulers who didn’t relapse and restart and relapse again—or who did, and nobody was there to tell them it would make a great story.
I celebrated Chrissy when she hit a year. I genuinely hope she gets there again and stays there, because that’s where the magic is. Long-term sobriety isn’t sexy. It doesn’t trend. But it’s the difference between surviving and actually building a life you can be really proud of.
So yes, I’m annoyed. And I’ll keep being annoyed every time we treat recovery like a revolving door that anyone can walk back through whenever they’re ready.
Because some of us don’t get that many chances. And nobody’s making headlines about the ones who didn’t.
But here’s a headline I can get behind.
This week, Natasha Lyonne—the Poker Face and Orange Is the New Black star who has been sober for nearly two decades—revealed she relapsed. And the way she did it? This takes fucking guts. This is brave. This is what accountability actually looks like.
No wellness spin. No “mindful” anything. Just three words on X: “Took my relapse public more to come.” Hello, mic drop.
And then she followed up with this: “Recovery is a lifelong process. Anyone out there struggling, remember you’re not alone. Stay honest, folks. Sick as our secrets. If no one told ya today, I love you. No matter how far down the scales we have gone, we will see how our experience may help another. Keep going, kiddos. Don’t quit before the miracle.”
That’s the language of someone who’s actually been in the rooms. Someone who knows this disease will kill you if you let it. Someone who fell down after nearly 20 years and immediately turned around to lift others up instead of making it about herself.
When a fan praised her openness, Lyonne responded: “We need better systems and to end shame.”
That’s the headline. Not 52 days and an Instagram caption. Not a podcast promo. A woman with decades of sobriety who stumbled, got honest about it immediately, and pointed everyone watching toward hope instead of herself.
That’s the difference between using your platform and letting your platform use you.
So yes, I’m still annoyed at Chrissy. But I’m grateful for Natasha. And I hope everyone watching—especially the women doing this work in the dark, without applause—knows the difference.
Keep going, kiddos. Don’t quit before the miracle.
SOBER POP CULTURE + CELEBS at The Sober Curator is where mainstream trends meet the vibrant world of sobriety. We serve up a mix of movie, podcast, fashion, and book recommendations alongside alcohol-free cocktails, celebrity features, and pop culture buzz—all with a sober twist.
We’re here to shatter the “sobriety is boring” myth with a mash-up of 80s neon, 90s hip-hop edge, early 2000s bling, and today’s hottest trends. From celebrity shoutouts to red-carpet style inspo, this is where sober is as chic as it is fun. To the celebs using their platform for good—our Sober Pop Trucker hats are off to you!
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