Drive through almost any Utah town and you’ll see a familiar sight: a line of cars wrapping around a brightly colored drive-thru, drivers patiently waiting for a customized concoction of soda, flavored syrups, fruit purees, and cream.

Whether it’s Swig, Thirst, Sodalicious, Fiiz, or one of the many competitors that have appeared across the state, dirty soda has become as much a part of Utah’s landscape as mountains, temples, ski resorts, and fry sauce.

For visitors, the phenomenon can seem baffling.

Why would a state known for avoiding coffee create one of America’s most successful beverage trends? Why would people willingly add cream and flavored syrups to drinks that already contain more than enough sugar? And why are Utahns willing to wait in long drive-thru lines for something they could technically make at home?

The easy answer is that Utahns love sugar.

The more interesting answer is that dirty soda isn’t really about soda.

Filmmaker Madison Pope came to that conclusion while working on a documentary about Utah’s dirty soda culture. Through interviews with business owners, historians, psychologists, and customers, she discovered that dirty soda offers a unique window into Utah’s culture, values, and evolving identity.

The trend’s roots are unmistakably Utah. While dirty soda has spread nationally through social media and reality television, the concept emerged here. Swig opened its first location in St. George in 2010, and other companies soon followed. What started as a local curiosity eventually became a statewide obsession and then a national export.

For generations, Utah’s dominant religious culture shaped the way people socialized. Members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints follow the Word of Wisdom, a health code that discourages the use of alcohol, coffee, tea, and tobacco. While interpretations varied from family to family, the result was a culture that largely developed without the coffee-shop traditions common throughout much of the country.

Elsewhere, coffee shops serve as gathering places. They are places where people meet friends, conduct business, study, work remotely, or simply take a break from the day. In cities across America, the neighborhood coffee shop often serves as a community hub.

Utah eventually developed its own version of that experience.

Instead of espresso machines, there were soda fountains.

Instead of lattes and cappuccinos, there were customized Dr. Peppers, Mountain Dews, and Coke products mixed with coconut cream, lime, peach syrup, vanilla, fruit purees, and dozens of other flavor combinations.

One of the more surprising discoveries Pope encountered involved the relationship between Mormon culture and caffeine. Many Utahns grew up believing caffeinated soda was discouraged by church teachings. Yet historians note that the LDS Church never formally prohibited caffeinated soft drinks. In some communities, Coke and Pepsi were treated almost as seriously as coffee. In others, nobody thought twice about drinking them.

The distinction highlights how culture often evolves separately from official doctrine.

As Utah changed, so did attitudes toward caffeine. Dirty soda arrived at exactly the right moment. It offered a socially acceptable source of caffeine, a customizable treat, and perhaps most importantly, a shared experience.

The business model proved remarkably successful.

Today, dirty soda shops occupy some of the most visible corners in Utah communities. New locations continue to open while established brands expand into neighboring states and beyond. What many outsiders initially dismissed as a quirky local habit has become a major industry.

But the popularity of dirty soda cannot be explained entirely through entrepreneurship.

If it were only about sugar, the trend likely would have faded years ago.

There is certainly a biological component. Psychologists point out that sugar activates the brain’s reward systems, creating feelings of pleasure and satisfaction. Caffeine adds another layer of reinforcement. Together, they create habits that can be difficult to break. Pope’s research found that many soda shop customers become regulars, returning day after day for the same drinks.

Yet plenty of sugary products fail.

The deeper explanation may have less to do with what’s in the cup and more to do with what happens at the drive-thru window.

Many soda shop employees know their regular customers by name. They know what they order. They know when they usually arrive. They ask about their families, jobs, vacations, and children. Conversations are brief, but they happen consistently.

In a society where many people spend increasing amounts of time staring at screens, those interactions matter more than we often realize.

Sociologists use the term “third place” to describe locations that exist outside home and work. Historically, these spaces included diners, barber shops, churches, community centers, cafes, and neighborhood gathering spots. They were places where relationships formed naturally and where communities developed a sense of identity.

Many Americans have fewer third places than previous generations.

Remote work has changed social patterns. Social media has replaced many in-person interactions. People move more frequently than they once did. Neighborhood institutions often play a smaller role in daily life.

Dirty soda shops have unexpectedly stepped into that role for many Utahns.

Pope found that many customers weren’t simply purchasing a beverage. They were participating in a routine. They were seeing familiar faces. They were experiencing a small moment of recognition in an increasingly anonymous world.

That may sound insignificant, but it helps explain why these businesses inspire such remarkable loyalty.

People rarely line up around a building simply because a product tastes good.

They line up because the experience means something.

The trend also reflects another defining characteristic of Utah: entrepreneurship.

Utah has long been fertile ground for businesses that identify a niche and scale it quickly. From technology startups to outdoor recreation companies, the state has developed a reputation for turning unconventional ideas into successful businesses.

Dirty soda follows that same pattern.

Someone identified an underserved market. Customers embraced it. Competitors emerged. Expansion followed.

An entire industry was built around a concept that many outsiders initially found strange.

The result is a multimillion-dollar business sector that employs thousands of Utahns and continues to expand into new markets.

Not bad for a product built around adding flavored syrup to soda.

What makes the story especially fascinating is that it mirrors Utah’s broader transformation.

Modern Utah is more diverse, more connected to national culture, and more economically dynamic than it was a generation ago. New residents arrive from across the country every year. Technology companies continue to attract workers from California, Texas, Washington, and elsewhere. Traditional cultural boundaries have softened.

Yet dirty soda continues to thrive.

In some ways, it has transcended its origins.

Many of today’s customers are not members of the LDS Church. Many drink coffee. Many consume alcohol. Yet they still embrace dirty soda as part of the Utah experience.

What began as a distinctly local solution has become a cultural symbol.

Like fry sauce, funeral potatoes, green Jell-O, and pastrami burgers before it, dirty soda has joined the growing collection of things outsiders associate with Utah. The difference is that this one became a national business success story.