I entered the Slug and Lettuce in Sheffield for my first experience of a bottomless brunch. It was lunchtime, and I didn’t know what I was expecting. I mean, I knew what a brunch was—something between breakfast and lunch. The bottomless aspect was less clear to me. Was this going to be endless food? I thought to myself. The large room in the Slug and Lettuce was largely empty when I arrived with my three friends. We were ushered to a circular table by the windows overlooking the cold and very wet Sheffield streets as well as the rest of the bottomless brunch venue. We were soon brought a glass of prosecco, and it was becoming evident, as I removed my many layers of winter clothes, that the food was secondary and even peripheral to an abundant stream of time-limited fizz and cocktails.

In recent years, bottomless brunch has emerged as a defining social ritual in Northern England, particularly among women in cities like Manchester, Leeds, Newcastle, Liverpool, and Sheffield. More than just a meal, bottomless brunch represents a broader cultural shift in female socializing, drinking habits, and leisure consumption. From a social science perspective, bottomless brunch can be understood through various lenses, including sociology, gender studies, and consumer culture theory. The phenomenon is shaped by factors such as changing gender norms, the commodification of experience, and the role of social media in identity formation.

The history of brunch dates to late 19th-century Britain, when it was promoted as a more relaxed and social alternative to the traditional Sunday roast. The term was popularized by British writer Guy Beringer in 1895, who argued that brunch provided a gentler transition into the day after a night of indulgence. By the mid-20th century, brunch culture flourished in the United States, particularly among urban elites. The addition of alcoholic drinks like mimosas and Bloody Marys turned brunch into a social drinking occasion, making it a more celebratory and leisurely event.

The bottomless brunch model—where customers pay a fixed price for unlimited drinks—emerged in New York and London in the 1980s and 1990s as restaurants sought to attract more weekend customers. By the 2010s, bottomless brunch had become a global phenomenon, particularly among young women in cities with thriving food and nightlife scenes.

Sociologists have long studied gender and drinking culture, noting how historical norms have shaped where, when, and how women consume alcohol. Traditionally, British pub culture was male-dominated, with public drinking associated with masculinity and women’s drinking either confined to domestic spaces or subjected to greater moral scrutiny.

The emergence of bottomless brunch has shifted this dynamic, creating a female-centered drinking space that emphasizes social bonding over reckless binge drinking. As sociologist Anne B. Cohen (1999) suggests, the social acceptability of women drinking in public has evolved alongside feminist movements, reflecting greater autonomy in how women engage with leisure. In Sheffield, for example, Division Street and Kelham Island have become hubs for female-led brunch culture, reflecting how the hospitality industry has adapted to new gendered leisure patterns.

Bottomless brunch is also a product of the ‘experience economy,’ a concept introduced by Pine and Gilmore (1999) to describe how businesses now sell experiences rather than just products. Millennials and Gen Z consumers prioritize memorable experiences over material goods, leading to the rise of brunch as an event rather than just a meal. The structured, time-limited format of bottomless brunch aligns with modern consumer preferences, where people seek ‘controlled indulgence’—enjoying alcohol in a setting that feels curated rather than excessive.

Sheffield’s independent café scene, including venues like Tamper Coffee and The Botanist, has embraced this model, offering ‘Instagrammable’ brunch experiences designed to be shared online. Social media plays a huge role in the rise of bottomless brunch, particularly among young, urban women. Pierre Bourdieu’s theory of distinction argues that people use cultural consumption to signal status and identity. Brunch—particularly when shared on Instagram—acts as a form of cultural capital, signifying participation in an aspirational lifestyle.

The Instagram effect has influenced how restaurants market brunch, with venues designing visually appealing dishes, neon signs, and themed cocktails to attract social media engagement. Studies on digital identity suggest that social media allows users to curate an online persona, and brunch has become a way for women to present themselves as social, stylish, and in control of their leisure time. In cities like Sheffield, brunch venues like Pom Kitchen and South Street Kitchen have capitalized on this trend, offering bright, plant-filled spaces with pastel aesthetics that appeal to digital culture.

Despite its popularity, bottomless brunch has also faced criticism from public health experts, economists, and feminists, raising questions about its impact on drinking culture, commercialization, and gender politics. Public health researchers argue that bottomless brunch promotes binge drinking under the guise of leisure. The time-limited nature (often 90 minutes to two hours) encourages rapid consumption, making it harder for individuals to monitor their intake. Cities like Manchester and Leeds have discussed restrictions on bottomless drink promotions, similar to measures placed on happy hours and other alcohol deals.

By about 3pm, the early sizzle of alcohol in my bloodstream had transformed me into a party animal with limitless bonhomie, breaking down any personal restraint and precipitating public and impromptu dancing in a bar in downtown Sheffield. The video recording of me dancing at this stage is not available publicly, and it leaves me with a combination of regret and amusement. However, I did have a very good time. The subsequent hours remain a warm, memorable blur. I think this was largely due to the rapid intake of cocktails in a short time on an empty stomach.

Yet, many independent restaurants in Sheffield and beyond struggle to make bottomless brunch profitable. While it attracts large crowds, it also reduces profit margins, leading to drink limitations or lower-quality offerings. The demand for ‘Instagram-friendly’ spaces puts pressure on independent venues to prioritize aesthetics over sustainability. By the time we staggered out of the Slug and Lettuce, the venue was full of mostly women with a small handful of men. It was a woman’s space, and vibrantly so.

While bottomless brunch creates a female-centered social space, some feminists critique it as a form of gendered consumerism, where corporate interests profit from female leisure habits. Angela McRobbie (2009) discusses how modern capitalism sells empowerment as a product, often reinforcing traditional gender roles under the guise of choice. Some argue that bottomless brunch reinforces social expectations around female sociability, appearance, and controlled indulgence, rather than offering true liberation.

Bottomless brunch has become deeply embedded in the social culture of Northern England, particularly in Sheffield’s thriving café scene. From a social science perspective, it reflects changing gender norms, where women reclaim social drinking spaces; the rise of the experience economy, where leisure is increasingly commodified; and the impact of social media, which transforms brunch into an aesthetic event rather than just a meal. While criticisms of excessive drinking and commercialization remain, bottomless brunch is unlikely to disappear anytime soon. Instead, it will continue to evolve, reflecting broader changes in how women navigate social life, identity, and leisure in a fast-changing world. My second bottomless brunch in Kelham Island was similar, and by 6.30pm I felt once again uninhibited in another Sheffield pub, but with the impression that it was 2am.

For now, the bubbles will keep flowing—both in glasses and on Instagram feeds.