A Diet Coke Taxonomy

Get in. We're classifying Diet Cokes.

Dec 04, 2023

I will drink any kind of Diet Coke. I say this almost literally: Like many of the soda’s dedicated fans, my preferred vehicle for it is an ice-cold can, but if you hand me a plastic cup of flat, room-temperature Diet Coke, I’m probably going to drink it. If you give me a bottle that has been sitting out for a few hours, unremarkable and unrefrigerated, I’m probably going to shrug and say why not. I am trying to think of a Diet Coke that I would reject automatically, on the merits, and I’m not sure there is one.

But all Diet Cokes are not created equal. This is a diverse population. There are more Diet Cokes in heaven and Earth, buddy, than are dreamt of in your philosophy. This is my attempt at classifying them.

Three Diet Cokes of varying sizes in harmony — A Diet Coke Bottle Family: A glass bottle (8 oz.), a standard plastic bottle (20 oz.), and the classic, third-grade-pizza-party-approved 2L plastic bottle

A few general rules: Cans are superior to bottles (feel colder, better showcase for carbonation, delightful staccato one-two-three of the pop-top, etc.), and glass bottles are far superior to plastic bottles. But no Diet Coke is bad. Each has its virtues. Every Diet Coke is beautiful in its own way. And here they are.

Regular Can (12 oz.)—The standard. It’s perfect in every way. I’m not even going to try to describe its excellence—like trying to share the wonder of the moon through a photo taken on an iPhone—but I will note that among the millions of objects in the various collections of the Smithsonian, our national attempt to capture history and science and culture, there are two items related to the term “Diet Coke.” Both are 12-oz. cans.1 Which is, of course, the right choice.

Mini Can (7.5 oz.)—Even as someone whose default position on Diet Coke is “more,” I love the mini cans. They’re just so damn cute. And I think there’s an important principle at play here besides: The best sip of Diet Coke is always the first one. Sometimes, all I really want sometimes is the zip and possibility of that first magical sip, and a mini can is small enough that the whole thing feels rather spiritually close to the first sip. The mini can’s purpose is not utility. Its purpose is delight. This is a Diet Coke built for want rather than need, in other words, and isn’t it important to have that sometimes? (Also, neither here nor there, but it’s easily the best can option for making a mixed drink.)

Tall Boy (16 oz.)—I mostly love this as a sign of American initiative. “What if Diet Coke in a can, but more?” This is the opposite of the mini can not just in stature but in function. If the mini can is about joy, wonder, cuteness—the tall boy is about practicality. It knows its purpose and serves it well. There is no pretense here. Just honest work. The tall boy is for the most 3 p.m. on a Wednesday of all 3 p.m.s on Wednesdays. Its only failing is that it’s not more widely available.

Glass Bottle—I’m grouping all glass bottles together, regardless of size, because the glass bottle isn’t really defined by its volume. (Though, for what it’s worth, I really only see the 8 oz. bottle nowadays.) No, the glass bottle is defined by its spirit. It’s a throwback, a classic, a rare treat. Which is also its problem. If I’m seeking out an old-school glass bottle specifically to serve as a little gift to myself? I don’t want a Diet Coke! I want a regular Coke. (Preferably a Mexican Coke, if I can swing it.) The glass bottle clashes with soul of a Diet Coke—everyday, convenient, ubiquitous. It’s better than its plastic brethren in just about every way. But at its core, the glass bottle about putting in the effort to seek a bit of indulgence, and if I’m putting in that effort, I want to indulge more. I apologize to the glass bottle for punishing it for its ambition. But I must.

Standard Plastic Bottle (20 oz.)—I know there are people out there who are regular plastic bottle drinkers, and I do not begrudge them it, but look: The plastic bottle is an inferior drinking experience to the can. It just is! Yes, the bottle has its virtues, namely portability and the previously mentioned key advantage of “more Diet Coke.” But it doesn’t stay cold to the touch. It doesn’t feel like it enhances the carbonation. It doesn’t fit in the hand the same way, and it isn’t as instantly recognizable as the iconic silver of the standard can, and there is no opportunity to admire a cool lip gloss imprint left on the rim. Twisting off a plastic lid has none of the ceremony of popping open a can. When do I drink a standard plastic bottle? When I have no other good choices. When I’m at a poorly stocked gas station or, like, a CVS. When it’s the only thing around. The plastic bottle does its job. But it’s not a job for which I have much use.

Rather Svelte Plastic Bottle (16.9 oz.)—I love when a place stocks both 16.9 oz’ers and 20 oz’ers and puts them next to one another. Just some light bottle-body-shaming. And my apologies to the standard option, but 16.9 oz is a more reasonable size for a single drink, and its bottle just looks… better. Shapelier. There’s a certain economy to its curves. At risk of endorsing unrealistic beauty standards for our beloved Diet Cokes, I have to say I see what corporate was after with the younger, more petite model, and if given the choice, I will almost always take a 16.9 oz’er.

1.25L Plastic Bottle—I am honestly not sure why this exists. Sincerely: I would love to see whatever market research led Coca-Cola to a plastic bottle that’s bigger than a typical person would drink in a sitting yet not big enough to be the beverage anchor of a party! What is the use case for this? Let’s ignore the existence of cans for a moment. If you want to personally drink a reasonable-ish amount of soda without it going flat, you’re getting a smaller bottle. If you want something to share, or you personally do not care about potential flatness and want something to stash away for a glass at a time, you’re getting a 2L. (It’s the value buy!) Who is buying the 1.25L? Why? I’m picturing someone rolling up to an intimate gathering with one like it’s a bottle of wine to present to the host.

If you know anything at all about this—have you bought a 1.25L bottle of Diet Coke?—please email me at emma.baccellieri@gmail.com, or leave it in the comments.

2L Plastic Bottle—Here’s a shameful thing to confess as a soda newsletter operator: I kind of love a flat Diet Coke. It’s not a worse drinking experience so much as simply a different one. The soda poured from a 2L is almost necessarily going to end up flat. It’s not “good,” in a technical sense, not crisp or fizzy or any of the adjectives used in soda advertising copy. It’s less stimulating. Easy. Familiar. I like to think of it as gentle rather than as weak. Which is not what I want from a soda I get to revive me on a weekday afternoon or provide refreshment on a hot day. But it is perfect for the context of Diet Coke that comes in a 2L. This is soda that’s meant to be shared. You don’t seek it out. It just comes to you. A 2L is meant to be poured into plastic cups and passed around. It’s the soda of a grade-school party, or a picnic, or a visit from my grandfather. It’s the soda of a basement or a barbecue. A 2L is not about the quality of the soda (bad). It’s about communion. And I love it.

Apologies for the unexpected two months off here. Got caught up with the MLB playoffs and then with assorted personal and professional disasters of varying importance 🙃. Finally, some quick housekeeping regarding my last edition. Beloved friend and SodaHead Anna K. pointed out that I failed to mention a crucial fact about Fresca: It was Lyndon B. Johnson’s favorite soda! He even had a Fresca fountain installed in the White House!! (The first time Fresca was mentioned in the pages of SI was actually on a tour of the White House bowling alley in 1968—“Cases of empty Coke and Fresca bottles are stacked outside the door.”) (The second time Fresca was mentioned in the pages of SI was when Joe Torre recommended it as part of a healthy diet in 1971.) Thank you for keeping me honest.