I discovered boxed wine when I was 21 and broke—and I never looked back.

I remember the night like it was yesterday. I was a student living in Columbia, South Carolina, a college town with a bar scene that mostly caters to fishbowl-fisting bros in seersucker fraternity garb. Anyone who doesn’t fit that very specific demographic seeks refuge at dusty house parties with handles of Taaka vodka and Busch Light. Not one for beer, I always opted for syrupy mixed drinks (like Malibu bay breezes and tequila sunrises), which taste delicious going down but leave gnarly next-day hangovers even the greasiest fast food can’t cure. Plus, they make you puke.

By the time I entered my junior year of college, my mind, soul, and liver collectively said, “Enough!” I couldn’t continue drinking jungle juice like a wide-eyed freshman, so I swapped my sugary, Carnival cruise-brand cocktails for rosé. The only problem? You don’t get nearly as much liquid in a cheap wine bottle as you do in a cheap liquor bottle—a colossal deal for a 21-year-old who’s just looking to ~turn up.~

But boxed wine is the exception. When my friends invited me to a house party in the middle of nowhere—an oddly common activity in the South, which I’d never do now because murderers—I stopped by my local Walgreens to stock up. I was just about to drop some serious coins (21-year-old speak: $9) on a small bottle of rosé when I saw it: a mammoth box of wine, standing proudly in aisle four like resurrected Jesus…or Beyoncé.