Is the Cure to Male Loneliness Actually Just Buying A Sea-Doo?

Sometimes a text message can hit like a dodgeball to the face.

My most recent one came while I was shopping for a Sea-Doo.

I was on the showroom floor of a certain massive Redondo Beach powersports dealer, eyeing a 2025 Sea-Doo Explore Pro—a beast of a touring Sea-Doo with an industry-first touring windshield, a massive 52.3 gallons of storage, and a powerful Rotax 1630 ACE engine, available in 170 hp or a supercharged 230 hp.

My phone buzzed just minutes after I’d posted a pic to my Instagram story of me eyeballing a 2025 Sea-Doo RXT-X, pictured below, in ice metal / manta green. The RXT-X is a performance beast boasting a supercharged 325-HP Rotax engine capable of 0-60 MPH in a mind-bending 3.4 seconds. It was blatantly obvious where I was on this beautiful Saturday afternoon, and that I was seriously window-shopping.

The text was from my buddy Greg. It read:

“You’re not allowed to buy a jet ski until you have a house or sell BroBible.”

Now, Greg’s a good dude, always looking out. But his well-intentioned warning perfectly encapsulated the modern man’s dilemma. On one hand, I’m staring down the barrel of 40, living in Los Angeles where buying a house feels less like a financial goal and more like an advanced, highly aggressive game of Monopoly where everyone else owns Park Place and Boardwalk, and I’m still trying to buy Baltic Avenue.

On the other, my remote internet job with a mostly remote team all over the country, while intellectually stimulating (sometimes), has turned me into a digital hermit, fostering a creeping sense of male loneliness that apparently, according to some eggheads, is reaching epidemic levels. I’m in year 8 of my California adventure, and at this point, I’m feeling settled in, financially stable enough (…at least until AI takes over my job), and ready to dig in a little past the tacos and sunset hikes. I freakin’ love this place, and I plan on continue to do so. There are no plans to sell BroBible anytime soon, either… at least that I’m aware of.

See, I also hate sitting around. Despise it, in fact, as much as I despise 405 traffic. The easy access to the ocean and many lakes around California are practically begging for some personal watercraft action. Trips to Newport Beach, Havasu, Lake Mead, Lake Arrowhead, Ventura, Santa Barbara, etc.

I flirt with other midlife-crisis-adjacent hobbies myself. Like buying a beat-up 1985 Land Cruiser, the same year I was born, and tinkering to restore its former glory, or perhaps collecting vintage electric guitars that I can pick up on Facebook Marketplace.

My case for buying a Sea-Doo isn’t logical, but neither was the impulse that drove so many Boomers to Harleys: they found their tribe, a roaring brotherhood of chrome and leather, going on weekend warrior rides on their Softails and Electra Glides that made the cubicle farm feel like a permanent existential wasteland. The true dread of aging, they discovered on those trips to Sturgis and Daytona, wasn’t the wrinkles or the slowing metabolism, but the chilling realization that your best conversations were with your dog, rather than with other human beings with whom you had something in common.

I saw it firsthand with my own dad. He puttered around on a cheap Honda motorcycle in his early 20s before he met my mom, took a solid three-decade hiatus while raising kids and a mortgage, then—bam!—bought his dream Indian bike at 55. I think he’s on his third or fourth one in retirement now.

That need for a shared passion and a sense of belonging to a tribe is universal and timeless. It’s so remarkably human. This is where a modern solution like the Sea-Doo Social Club comes in. The Sea-Doo Social Club is an initiative designed to build a community around their new purchase. It’s a network that connects riders, new and old, to share their passion.

PWC enthusiast and popular YouTuber Adam Swords, who has built a massive following around his adventures, believes this is the core appeal. “I think the main thing it does is just gives people a sense of community from the minute they walk out of the dealership,” he tells me on the phone. “And that is something that I think has been missing on a grand scale, because, riding PWCs is fun, right? Yeah, riding PWCs with friends is even better.”

So, is a Sea-Doo really a midlife crisis purchase, or is it a damn prescription for what ails us?

My First (Glorious) Dip into PWC Life

I pondered this thought on a recent trip to Long Beach on a Sea-Doo, a prototypical California summer day plucked straight from a Beach Boys song. My friend Kat, bless her soul, had just emailed a week prior, enthusing, ‘Summer in LA = my favorite time of year. I’m sure you’ve got a solid line-up of activities already.’ She was right, sort of. My ‘solid line-up’ essentially boiled down to this one Sea-Doo excursion, a couple Sierra trips, and a general, vague intention to, you know, enjoy myself.

This trip out on Sea-Doo GTIs was my inaugural voyage on the open ocean aboard a personal watercraft, courtesy of the good folks at Jetski2Catalina, a tour group with a navy of Sea-Doo GTIs, specializing in guided personal watercraft excursions, often including two-hour each-way day trips to Catalina Island. It’s part of Sea-Doo’s Uncharted Society that helps link non-owners with epic guided adventures. More on that later.

Note, we didn’t actually go to Catalina. But, let’s be honest, is now firmly entrenched on the ol’ bucket list. Apparently, groups often ride with dolphin pods or get a private show from a humpback whale? Sign me up!

My fiancée and I were so hyped to take Sea-Doos out that we even booked a hotel the night before in Long Beach so we could toast the weekend with a celebratory Outback Steakhouse feast (did you know they now have Chimichurri on the menu now?!) and have a nice, leisurely morning before slipping into wetsuits. My only previous PWC experience was riding shotgun with my dad on a rented Sea-Doo in St. Thomas as a kid on vacation, which, let’s be real, almost doesn’t count if you don’t get to drive.

Part of our collective stoke, I realized, was that the invite landed smack-dab in the middle of our Eastbound and Down rewatch. Kenny Powers, for all his many, many flaws, was a devoted personal watercraft aficionado (though technically a Jetski™ guy vs. a Sea-Doo™ fella, and, yes, there’s a difference). He famously declared, “I’m not a hero. I’m a goddamn legend, and I ride a jetski.” Slicing through the Long Beach chop, I felt a kinship with the man, the myth, the legendary mullet haircut. It reminded me of that iconic early 2010s meme:

“They say money doesn’t buy happiness…. have you ever seen a sad jet ski?”

Touché, Kenny. If that’s not motivation to work harder, I’m not sure what is.

The day was, to put it mildly, an unadulterated blast. The Long Beach harbor is a veritable aquatic bumper car arena, rife with little wakes just begging to be played with. Some sections were choppy, like a bad haircut, while others, behind the breakwater, were smooth and wide open for unleashing the beast.

I was throwing up shakas like a seasoned surf god, quickly learning the cardinal rule: hang loose with your left hand, unless you enjoy inadvertently launching yourself into low-earth orbit by accidentally letting off the throttle.

I could have stayed out there until the sun clocked out into the Pacific, a grin plastered on my face like a kid who just discovered chocolate for the first time, and who defiantly refuses to come inside for dinner, even when mom threatens to take away TV time. But there was a music festival to get to: The reggae-rock heavy CaliVibes Festival, of which Sea-Doo was an official sponsor, featuring the crunchy golden hour grooves of Stick Figure.

I get it now. Sea-Doo is a whole damn lifestyle.

Midlife: Less Crisis, More ‘What If I Bought a Jet Ski?’

The popular image of a “midlife crisis” usually involves a red convertible, a dramatic career pivot, or perhaps a questionable tattoo. But research suggests only about 10-20% of individuals actually experience a genuine “crisis.” For most of us, it’s less about a meltdown and more about a moment of profound self-discovery. It’s a chance to hit the reset button. It’s the realization that if you don’t chase that long-deferred dream now, you might just wake up one day still stuck in neutral.

For millennials, the generation that popularized the “quarter-life crisis” over a decade ago, the millennial midlife crisis has officially arrived, as Alex Abad-Santos at Vox heralded in June 2025. The narrative for my generation, however, is starkly different. A 2024 study found that a staggering 81% of those polled felt they couldn’t “afford” a traditional midlife crisis. Instead of blowing cash on sports cars like the Boomers, we’re apparently seeking “internal renovations”—prioritizing therapy over shopping sprees and pursuing side hustles like Etsy stores, baseball card collecting, or community gardens. It’s a pivot toward finding meaning, not just acquiring things.

But is there connective tissue between these quiet hobbies, a creeping sense of isolation, and the occasional urge for a big, splurgy “YOLO” moment just because you can? Perhaps these internal renovations and the longing for a tangible thrill aren’t mutually exclusive. Maybe that internal search for meaning sometimes leads you right back out into the world, seeking a different kind of release.

It’s a thought that crystallized for me on that Saturday afternoon, when I found myself on a dealership floor staring at a Sea-Doo and seriously considering the splash.

My Hobbies Are Killing My Gas Mileage

As we get older, our hobbies serve as the connective tissue that ties us to others. It’s great to have a community centered around a shared interest… like owning a Sea-Doo.

Now, when winter rolls around, I’m usually found on the slopes, scratching that primal ‘I need to get outside and do something that doesn’t involve spreadsheets’ itch. Skiing is my jam. It takes a while to get to the hill, sure, but I don’t mind. I’m locked in and intentional about it. And I have a diverse group of people I love to go with.

Golf, on the other hand? It’s fine. Like Benson Boone’s music, or decaf coffee. I’ll chip up and play if the company is right, but my enthusiasm for it has been perpetually apathetic and calloused, a direct result of toiling too many hours at country clubs in my formative years for a paycheck, witnessing firsthand the bad moods and sheer existential dread that can accompany a poorly executed slice.

Summer is my seasonal conundrum. Last year, I rekindled my love for fly fishing, which is genuinely sublime, until you factor in the four-hour-each-way pilgrimage required to find California trout waters that haven’t been fished out by every aspiring Instagram influencer with a GoPro. Unlike skiing, there’s a lot of curmudgeonliness in the fishing community, since some parts of the hobby are more about solace, escapism, and gatekeeping than active kinship with others. I’ll admit I haven’t found my tribe in that world yet.

Meanwhile, I live a mere stone’s throw, or perhaps a well-aimed frisbee toss, from the beach and Marina del Rey, the largest man-made small-craft harbor in North America. Logic, and my rapidly appreciating gas bill from trips to the Sierras to fish, screams for a hobby that actually leans into that quintessential coastal California lifestyle, not one that requires a full day’s journey to even begin.

The Bro-Loneliness Epidemic

But there’s a deeper current running beneath this ennui, especially for guys: the male loneliness epidemic. It’s a silent killer, and the stats are pretty sobering. A May 2025 Gallup survey revealed that one in four young American men (15-34) feel lonely “a lot of the day.” And get this: the number of men reporting zero close friends jumped by 3% since 1990, hitting a stark 15% by 2021.

Meanwhile, the guys with six or more close friends? That number plummeted from 55% in 1990 to a dismal 27% in 2021. Among single men, it’s even worse: 20% have no close friends at all. We’re talking about loneliness becoming a weekly routine for 40% of men. The consequences are grim: men are 3.3 times more likely than women to die from “deaths of despair” (suicide, overdose, and alcohol-related illness). Loneliness has even been linked to a 10% increased cancer risk in middle-aged men over a 20-year study. Yikes.

We are creatures that need golf buddies, ski buddies, fishing buddies, and surf buddies; otherwise, we’re just gorillas that stare blankly at screens and feel the existential dread of spreadsheets.

Why are we so bad at this? We’re conditioned to “man up,” suppress emotions, and avoid showing vulnerability. It makes it damn hard to build the kind of deep connections we crave. We prioritize work, relationships, or independence over maintaining friendships. Add in constant screen time and the performative echo chambers of the internet, and you’ve got a recipe for isolation.

It’s like we’ve collectively decided that emotional fortitude is best demonstrated by pretending our feelings are just dusty old furniture we can ignore in the attic of our souls.

Rx: One Sea-Doo, Hold the Existential Dread

So, where does a shiny new Sea-Doo fit into this existential mess?

Look, it’s a machine. It’s a very precise, precisely engineered machine that requires upkeep. It’s not cheap. But it’s also a vessel, both literally and metaphorically.

It’s about the experience and, more importantly, the community. This isn’t just me waxing poetic. Research backs it up: water-based activities and adventure sports are legit therapeutic. The recreational boating market is booming, expected to hit USD 65.9 billion by 2034, with 100 million Americans hitting the water in 2022.

And guess what? Boaters are happier and healthier! A 2018 survey by Glasstream Powerboats found that boat owners rated their quality of life 5% better han non-boaters. They felt 8% less useless, 7% less lonely, 5% less unhappy, and 4% less fatigued.

Quantifiable health perks include boaters averaging 7.5 hours of active recreation per week (compared to 5.5 hours for non-boaters) and lower hospitalization rates (11% vs. 14%). A whopping 67% of boat owners reported an improvement in well-being, with self-esteem increasing by 10% and the ability to enjoy life rising by 9%. Even their sex lives reportedly got 7% better. Nearly two-thirds said that owning a boat brought their family closer together.

This isn’t just statistical mumbo jumbo. It’s the “Blue Mind Theory” in action: being on or near water puts you in a meditative state, boosting calmness, creativity, and overall well-being. Studies show people near the ocean are 22% less likely to report depression and anxiety. The sight and sound of water literally lowers stress hormones and pumps up your “happy hormones,” such as serotonin and dopamine. It’s basically a spa day for your soul, but with more splashing and less cucumber water.

PWC enthusiast and popular YouTuber Adam Swords, who has built a massive following around his adventures, sees this as a crucial escape. “Being out in what I like to call big nature… you realize how insignificant a lot of what goes on in the world really is,” he explains. “To cut the digital noise and get some of that clarity from just being outdoors in nature… I think it’s huge for mental health and people feeling more connected to themselves and the world around them.”

How Sea-Doo Is Boosting Blue Mind, Now On Demand

But for many, the barrier to entry—the cost and responsibility of ownership—feels insurmountable. That’s where the genius of a program like Sea-Doo’s Uncharted Society comes in. As the official outfitter program for BRP (the parent company of Sea-Doo), it creates a global network of certified adventure providers, like Jetski2Catalina. The goal is to give anyone access to the thrill of the latest Sea-Doo, Can-Am, or Ski-Doo vehicles without the commitment of buying one. It effectively removes the biggest obstacle and makes the “Blue Mind” benefits accessible to all.

Look, you can rent machines and take them out on your own, sure. But the Uncharted Society is all about the group vibe. It’s for a curated, shared experience. It’s a structured way to combat the loneliness many feel in modern life. Instead of having to buy a machine to slowly cultivate that tribe, you can simply book a trip and test the waters.

You show up, and the adventure—and the day’s social circle and potential for lasting connections—is ready and waiting. Other Uncharted Society outfitters offer everything from multi-day coastal explorations in a Sea-Doo to Mojave desert OTV rides in a Can-Am, all designed around fun and shared passion.

Why The Sea-Doo Social Club Is A Cheat Code For Community

And for those who take the leap to full-on ownership, the support system doesn’t just disappear. BRP extends its community-building ethos with the Sea-Doo Social Club.

Adam Swords, who runs his own massive ride group, the “Sea-Doo Senders,” sees the club as the ultimate solution for a common problem that keeps people on the fence. “It removes the barrier to entry, which is, ‘Man, I’ve always wanted a ski, but I don’t have any friends that have them, so I don’t want to go and ride by myself,’” he explains.

He notes that it actively works against the cliquishness that can define other hobby groups. “I’ve been to rides with other jet ski clubs where, when I showed up, I felt like the outsider. It can be kind of cliquey and intimidating if you’re new,” he admits. “What Sea-Doo Social Club has done is remove that sort of feeling… It’s sort of this big umbrella that basically allows all of these groups to come together… and also allows individuals who have just bought a ski to show up and immediately make friends.”

By “owning the vibe” of this ready-made network, Sea-Doo acknowledges a fundamental truth: you’re not just buying a machine, you’re leveling up your social life. To some, it’s a cheat code for adult friendships around your newfound hobby, which, as we know, can be tricky to develop as we get older.

To see this community in action, look no further than a recent Adam Swords YouTube video. He chronicles an epic 160-mile weekend trek down the Colorado River starting in Lake Havasu with an armada of over 30 riders. It starts as a group of friendly strangers ready to have some fun in the sun. By the end of the trip, many had forged a true bond.

An Investment In Joy Is Hardly a Crisis

If you spend enough time doom-scrolling on “rich people Reddit” (yes, it’s a thing, don’t ask how I know), you’ll inevitably stumble upon threads debating the “more money, more problems” truism. And you know what the common thread is? The only real truism about getting older is that you gotta “be excellent to each other”, as Bill & Ted would say, and find ways to enjoy the ride no matter where life finds you. The obsession with compulsive frugality and the constant finger-wagging about younger generations being “financially irresponsible” because of too much avocado toast (…all while house prices have gone up 100% in a decade, give or take, for factors beyond my comprehension) misses the point entirely.

So, Greg, my friend, I hear you. A house in LA would be swell. Maybe one with a guest house for all my newfound Sea-Doo buddies, complete with a mini-fridge stocked exclusively with jars of Erewhon Sea Moss. But when the creeping tendrils of isolation start to feel like a permanent fixture, and your remote job turns you into a professional screen-gazer, perhaps realizing your deepest connection is with your Google Home and its ability to tell you the weather scores of the Dodgers game, maybe that “midlife crisis” Sea-Doo isn’t a crisis at all? Maybe it’s a proactive, meaningful, community-building solution. Maybe it’s a strategic investment in my mental health, social calendar, and general badassery. Maybe it’s the closest thing to a happiness potion you can buy without needing a prescription.

Because ultimately, life is like riding a Sea-Doo: it’s always more fun when you have a community to ride with. And who knows, maybe I’ll even find a place with a dedicated parking spot near the beach. Or at least a garage big enough for both the Sea-Doo and my ever-growing collection of ironic jam band concert t-shirts. A man can dream, right?

I’ll let you know if I take action. That’s part of both the male loneliness crisis and a mid-life crisis, right? The build-up and tension to making a wildly erratic move, just for the hell of it, that then becomes your entire personality in the healthiest possible way. Just dream something like buying a Sea-Doo aloud enough times, to enough people in your orbit like Greg, until you get the cajones to say “You know what? I’m so sick of talking about this, I’m actually going for it.”

And then—bam!—one day you woke up and spoke it into existence.

So is the cure to male loneliness buying a Sea-Doo?

The hell if I know…

Yet!

But, the proof of its power is evident. Adam Swords shared one final story with me, a comment he received on his YouTube channel that stopped him in his tracks, highlighting the deep sense of purpose he’s cultivating within his community. It’s from a military veteran, and it says everything.

“Adam Swords, you are very much an inspiration. You’ve dug me out of a hole and got me to purchase a Sea-Doo and enjoy my life. So thank you for that. Being mentally drained takes a toll on your body, but your videos make me want to go out and find a new adventure. So thank you.”

If that doesn’t give you the warm and fuzzies, I don’t know what will.

Alright, I think I have some waves to chase.

Mahalo!