I was a junior in college when I first saw it. Jade, a new friend, entered the room holding it: a liter-sized plastic water bottle containing a massive amount of liquid in a golden yellow hue. Urine? This was college, after all. “It’s the Master Cleanse,” she explained, taking a seat on the couch and looking a bit green. She pulled a Ziploc out of her bag. In it: bottled lemon juice, maple syrup, cayenne pepper. She laid her head back, then put up her feet. She seemed ill. “It’s all I can eat for ten days.”

I’m not sure how long Jade wound up lasting on the Master Cleanse, but that wasn’t the last time I’d see similar carafes—usually Nalgenes—filled with murky, lemon-cayenne liquid. In 2006, you could spot a Master Cleanser as easily as a Sky Top, a slouchy Balenciaga knockoff or a Livestrong bracelet. Nearly 20 years later, I—now a recovering millennial—want to revisit this spicy, acidic concoction with a more critical eye. Why did we believe suffering in the form of spicy lemonade was the path to self-betterment? What did that era sell us in the name of health, and why did we drink it up by the gallon?

What Was the Master Cleanse?

First things first: No, Beyoncé did not invent the Master Cleanse (even if everyone associates it with her). That was Stanley Burroughs, an unlicensed “naturapath” and marketer who promoted the elixir with his 1976 book The Master Cleanser. The lemonade diet, as described in the book, promises to be “the easiest, most delicious and effective weight loss diet available.” Plus, it’s a straightforward plan: No food. Only lemon juice, maple syrup, cayenne, water for ten days.