Zero Pulse
996 and selective sobriety: Silicon Valley swaps alcohol for cognitive enhancement
By Anthony
To begin
The 996 work model — from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m., six days a week — took root in China as a symbol of relentless productivity before it was officially banned. Today, it is gaining ground in Silicon Valley, especially among AI startups facing fierce global competition. In that setting, abstaining from alcohol is becoming a badge of performance and total commitment. Yet the apparent restraint can conceal more radical practices, from LSD microdosing to nootropics.
996: working to the point of exhaustion
Originating within Chinese tech giants like Alibaba and Huawei, the "996" schedule mandates a 72-hour workweek. Although it was banned in China following several tragedies linked to burnout, it is resurfacing in Silicon Valley, particularly within the artificial intelligence startup ecosystem.
In a sector where innovation moves at breakneck speed, startups are openly embracing this model. Some even specify in their job postings that candidates should only apply if they are prepared to spend 70 hours a week at the office. For founders and investors, this extreme level of commitment is portrayed as a necessary step to compete on the global stage, particularly against Chinese rivals.
But behind this heroic narrative lie worrying realities. Studies show that entrepreneurs already far exceed a 50-hour workweek, that 88% of them feel emotionally exhausted, and that more than a third are in the danger zone for burnout. The symptoms are clear: sleep disturbances, irritability, addictions, and a mental health breakdown.
Sobriety as a new standard
Historically, the Silicon Valley startup world was built around a party culture, where happy hours and boozy nights out celebrated every round of fundraising. But a generational shift is underway. An increasing number of young founders—often aged 18 to 25—are choosing to give up alcohol entirely. In some Y Combinator cohorts, the bar now sits empty during networking events.
This shift sends a significant social signal. Declaring that one does not drink is becoming a way to demonstrate seriousness, commitment, and total availability for the entrepreneurial venture. Sobriety is part of a mindset dubbed “locked in”: dedicating every day solely to work and sleep, excluding any distraction deemed superfluous.
This abstinence is therefore not merely personal; it is performative. It allows founders to publicly demonstrate their dedication to the “996” schedule and their refusal to give in to social “temptations.” It is a form of modern asceticism where abstaining from alcohol becomes a mark of credibility in the ultra-competitive world of innovation.
“Cali Sober” and selective sobriety
While alcohol is now viewed as a hindrance to performance, this does not mean Silicon Valley entrepreneurs are embracing absolute sobriety. Many advocate for a “Cali Sober” approach, which excludes alcohol but tolerates cannabis—or even certain psychedelics. The concept is simple: ban whatever reduces productivity while retaining what might actually boost creativity and endurance.
This model exemplifies a selective sobriety that is utilitarian rather than moral. Cannabis is sometimes touted as an aid to relaxation that doesn't interfere with work, while young founders openly discuss microdosing LSD as a “booster” for focus and innovation. As for alcohol, it is relegated to the status of a poison incompatible with "grind mode"—that state of hyper-focus embraced by a segment of the new tech generation.
This redefinition of sobriety reflects an instrumental approach to body and mind: anything that optimises performance is kept, while anything that slows things down is rejected. Yet, beneath this optimisation logic lies a new boundary between well-being and disguised performance enhancement.
Microdosing and nootropics as performance boosters
Microdosing —which involves consuming a tiny fraction of an LSD dose before work—has become common practice in Silicon Valley. A legacy of the 1960s counterculture, it is now being reinterpreted as a productivity tool. Proponents claim it boosts concentration, creativity, and anxiety management. Steve Jobs himself acknowledged that his experiments with LSD influenced his vision and capacity for innovation.
Meanwhile, nootropics —often dubbed "smart drugs"—are experiencing a massive surge in popularity. Modafinil, Adderall, and Ritalin —originally developed for medical purposes —are being diverted to boost alertness, memory, and cognitive energy. According to some surveys, nearly one in six entrepreneurs uses them. Proponents view these substances as an “effective and modern” alternative to traditional stimulants like coffee.
These practices reflect a medicalisation of work: the entrepreneur is increasingly a "biohacker" of their own biology, constantly tweaking their internal chemistry to sustain the pace imposed by the "996" schedule.
The hidden dangers of a false sobriety
Beneath this new temperance lies a major contradiction. Rejecting alcohol in the name of performance might seem like progress, but replacing it with microdosing or nootropics introduces far more concerning risks. These substances—often illegal or diverted from medical use—expose users to severe side effects: dependency, anxiety disorders, paranoia, cardiovascular risks, and even psychotic episodes.
Indeed, psychiatrists are observing a rise in cases of entrepreneurial patients turning to these products to "handle" their workload. This medicalisation of daily life creates an illusion of control: the body is viewed as a machine that simply needs to be fueled with the right molecule to keep producing without faltering.
The paradox is glaring: these young founders track their calories, monitor their sleep cycles with sensors, and impose wellness routines on themselves... all while adopting work practices that destroy that very balance. The ostensible sobriety thus becomes a facade, masking another form of dependency—one that is more insidious and potentially more dangerous.
Towards sustainable and authentic sobriety
In the face of this “selective sobriety,” another path is emerging: that of genuine sobriety, which re-examines our relationship with work and work-life balance. Some countries already offer inspiring models: in Denmark, Switzerland, and Quebec, staying late at the office is viewed not as proof of motivation, but as a sign of organizational inefficiency.
An increasing number of companies are exploring concrete alternatives: strict office closing times, bans on sending emails in the evening or on weekends, and the implementation of a genuine right to disconnect. These initiatives restore rest time to its central role in health and sustainable performance.
The true revolution, therefore, lies not in rejecting alcohol alone, nor in the chemical optimisation of cognitive abilities, but in the capacity to invent a work culture that combines ambition, innovation, and respect for human capital. Authentic sobriety is not about deprivation, but about reconciling performance with work-life balance.
Silicon Valley’s embrace of the 996 schedule exposes a deep tension in the current race to innovate: speed is bought with human effort that is hard to sustain. The alcohol-free image can look like progress, breaking with the party culture of tech’s early years. Yet it can also conceal a selective sobriety built around other, subtler dependencies that are just as risky in the long term. LSD microdosing, nootropics and “Cali Sober” habits treat the body and mind as tools to optimise for the demands of 996 — a logic that can erode both mental health and creativity.
Durable change will not come from swapping one substance for another. It will come from redefining success and work to create a sustainable balance between achievement, work, innovation and sobriety, without artificial aids. When productivity demands seem endless, courage may lie less in enduring at all costs than in learning to slow down.