Few debates are as lighthearted—and as deeply rooted—as the question of what to call a carbonated soft drink. Is it soda? Pop? Or, if you’re in parts of the South, simply Coke—regardless of what’s actually in the can? This linguistic rivalry has been bubbling for more than two centuries, and its origins are just as fizzy as the drinks themselves.
The Accidental Birth of Bubbles
The story begins in 1767 with English chemist Joseph Priestley, who unintentionally created the world’s first carbonated water. While living near a brewery in Leeds, England, Priestley suspended a bowl of distilled water above a beer vat and discovered that the water absorbed carbon dioxide. The result? A pleasantly sharp, refreshing drink. Priestley shared his discovery with friends, unknowingly setting the stage for a global obsession.
Not long after, flavorings entered the picture. During the late 18th and early 19th centuries, mineral water—both natural and artificial—was considered healthful. Pharmacists began adding herbs and chemicals to carbonated water and marketing these mixtures as remedies for everything from fatigue to foul moods. What started as medicine quickly turned into refreshment.
Where “Soda” and “Pop” Got Their Names
The word soda first appeared in 1802, derived from sodium, a mineral commonly found in natural springs. It made sense: carbonated mineral water often contained sodium compounds, so the name stuck.
Pop followed about a decade later. The earliest known use dates to 1812, when poet Robert Southey wrote to his wife that the drink was “called pop because pop goes the cork when it is drawn.” The name was delightfully literal, capturing the sound of opening a bottle. By 1863, the two terms merged into the now-familiar phrase soda pop.
A Map of American Fizz
Today, what you call your carbonated beverage often depends on where you grew up.
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“Soda” dominates the Northeast, California, Nevada, Arizona, Hawaii, and pockets of the Midwest such as St. Louis and Milwaukee. Its prevalence in the Northeast likely reflects the region’s long history with soda fountains. As Northeasterners migrated west to California in the mid-to-late 1800s, they brought the term with them.
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“Pop” reigns in the Midwest and much of the West, including the Pacific Northwest and Alaska. Linguists aren’t entirely sure why, but one theory points to Michigan-based Faygo Beverages, which prominently used “pop” in its branding. Another suggests that bottled drinks were more common in these regions, making the audible pop of a cork a familiar sound.
There’s even a sharp dividing line: running through western Pennsylvania and western New York near Rochester. West of the line—think Pittsburgh and Buffalo—you’ll hear pop. East of it, in cities like Syracuse, people ask for soda.
The Southern “Coke” Exception
In the Southern United States, the debate takes a unique turn. There, Coke often serves as a generic term for any soft drink, not just Coca-Cola. This likely traces back to Coca-Cola’s origins in Atlanta, where it was first served in 1886 at Jacobs’ Pharmacy. As the brand exploded in popularity across the South, asking for a “Coke” became second nature—much like using Jell-O, Kleenex, or Band-Aid as catch-all terms.
From “Soft Drinks” to Shrinking Consumption
The term soft drink itself once simply meant any nonalcoholic beverage, distinguishing it from “hard” drinks containing spirits. Over time, as carbonated concoctions grew in popularity, the phrase narrowed to mean sweetened, fizzy beverages.
Interestingly, Americans are now drinking significantly less soda than they once did. Annual consumption has dropped to around 41–44 gallons per person, down from a peak of over 50 gallons. Globally, the biggest soda-drinking countries include Hungary, Belgium, Argentina, the United States, and Chile.
More Than Just a Name
Whether you say pop, soda, or Coke, the debate is less about correctness and more about culture. Each word carries a bit of history, geography, and identity—proof that even the simplest pleasures can tell a surprisingly rich story. So the next time you crack open a cold one, listen closely. You might just hear history fizzing inside.