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In some corners of American culture, one rule applies: The less you sleep, the more impressive you are. Tech CEOs and influencers love to tout their morning routines that begin at 5 a.m. or 4 a.m. or 3 a.m. (though at a certain point we really ought to just call them “night routines”). Many of their “How I start my day” videos have a moralizing tone: Waking up early is inherently good, the thinking goes. And not getting much sleep is presented as a symbol of hard work: Elon Musk and many of the Silicon Valley figures who came before him have been known to brag about staying up all night because they are so very dedicated to their company or mission.
Americans have been ascribing moral value to sleep, or the lack thereof, for centuries. In 1861, an Atlantic writer railed against newspaper articles in which “all persons are exhorted to early rising, to resolute abridgment of the hours of sleep, and the like.” Readers were told “that Sir Walter Raleigh slept but five hours in twentyfour; that John Hunter, Frederick the Great, and Alexander von Humboldt slept but four; that the Duke of Wellington made it an invariable rule to ‘turn out’ whenever he felt inclined to turn over, and John Wesley to arise upon his first awaking.” The writer identified the value judgment lurking behind these examples: “‘All great men have been early risers,’ says my newspaper.”
America was built on a Protestant work ethic, and the idea that hard work is an inherent good has never quite left us. But the Christian ideals that dominated early American culture also helped schedule leisure into the week in the form of the Sunday Sabbath. Throughout much of the 1800s, this day of rest was enforced by individual states, but such enforcement was waning by the end of that century. Americans were so tied to this ritual, however, that some petitioned Congress to legally codify the day. Eventually, the 40-hour workweek was created under the Fair Labor Standards Act of 1938, and workers were granted both Saturdays and Sundays as days off.
Even as leisure became part of America’s legal structure, the obsession with hard work only grew, especially for higher-paid workers. In the 19th and early 20th centuries, pundits predicted that automation would lead to more leisure time. But another ideology took hold instead, one that the Atlantic contributor Derek Thompson calls workism: Adherents to this quasi-religion, most of whom are college-educated Americans, build their identities and seek fulfillment through their job.
Once the twin pillars of working a lot and sleeping a little became symbols of American achievement, those looking to stay up later became prime targets for product marketing. A nation of people trying to rebel against their body’s basic instincts is a nation ready to pay for help. Coffee, for example, was successful in the U.S. in part because employers realized that caffeine would allow workers to toil longer. As time went on, the tools on offer got more varied: Now you can try an ice bath or dubious supplements or a thousand different kinds of energy drinks (some of which may give you a heart attack).
Though in recent years a majority of Americans have acknowledged that they’d feel better with more rest, the mindset that sleep equals laziness is hard to shake. When the actor Dakota Johnson said in 2023 that sleep is her “number one priority in life,” adding that she can easily sleep for up to 14 hours, her comments went viral, and she felt compelled to issue a clarification a while later. Sure, 14 hours is a lot of sleep; tech bros somewhere are shuddering at the thought. Perhaps one day, the new brag will be to say, “I sleep so much.” But we’re not quite there yet.
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