What’s the deal with a $300 Okaba water bottle?

“What is he doing? He does?” my friend asked me as we sat there staring at the futuristic-looking, chrome-pink cylinder sitting on the table. “It’s just a water bottle,” I said.

“Doesn’t it filter your water? Track how much you drink?” I asked. I shrugged. “No, I think it looks cool though.” My friend was asking me because Okapa, a brand that only offers one product, sells its flagship water bottle for $295.

For context, most high-end water bottles cost around $50, or maybe $100-150 if they have cool features like self-cleaning UV lights, built-in filters, or connecting to an app to monitor your drinking habits. When a brand charges significantly more than market value, it’s usually for one of two reasons: either it’s a luxury product meant to be a status symbol, or it solves a consumer problem that no one else has solved.

Okapa claims to do both. Her Instagram bio says “luxury moisturizing,” and she’s tapping into the fashion world to find her clients by partnering with a boutique designer to show at New York Fashion Week. But also, Okaba claims that its bottle redefines cleanliness and durability, using materials typically found in medical and aerospace applications.

In fact, Okaba says it took eight years of research and development and more than 10,000 prototypes to achieve “micron-level precision” for her bottle, and in the process she has secured more than 70 patents globally. By the way, if you’re wondering what Okapa means, or where it comes from, according to the company, it’s clearly a mindset. “We call it the ‘Okaba State’ where the unthinkable is made possible,” says the PoMF website. The site then adds that the bottle itself is a “technical feat of engineering beyond reason.”

Hardy Steinman, founder of Okapa, is no stranger to the luxury market, or indeed over-promising products, having started out in the 1980s and 1990s managing marketing and sales for the high-end watch brand Hublot in the US, then relaunching the Swatch Group’s Hamilton brand globally.

However, do these medical and aerospace materials actually make a difference in the water bottle? Could a water bottle really redefine hygiene? I tested it for about two months and spoke to a medical toxicology expert to find out.

Initial thoughts

Before I even got my hands on the water bottle, I saw the website. It has a retro video game aesthetic with pixelated text and sliding transitions. Even the user manual is illustrated in the same fun style. And I adore a company that puts so much intention into their branding and atmosphere.

When I unboxed the water bottle, I was even more sold. This thing is beautiful. The lines are clean, the dotted pattern is eye-catching, and the finish has a soft, matte sheen that looks expensive. I got the pink and yellow (“Peaches Copperwire”) ones, but there are eight colors in total, from all black to bright red. Each has a name that sounds more like a character from a low-budget sci-fi movie rather than a color, such as “Redd Rumble” or “Mitsi Pinku.”

With this distinctive design, will my luxury water bottle make my colleagues or strangers jealous? Can they say it costs too much? I’ve used this all over airports, spas, work events in NYC, and on trains in Europe. I kept it in my hand, swinging it between my fingers, hunting for praise. I didn’t get anything.

Test experience

Water bottles are a very basic product, so the engineering and detailing of the Okaba bottle surprised me. Firstly, it’s really fun to drink from. The lid opens with the push of a button and releases a small, clean “pop” as the spring-loaded top snaps back on. It’s easy to open with one hand, and when you tilt the bottle to get the last drop, the cap stays out of the way instead of flipping forward to hit you on the forehead.

The shape of the mouthpiece fits perfectly when you place it on your lips, and the Swiss-made Grilamid plastic feels softer and more premium than most. It also has a locking mechanism that works very well. Even when I forget to activate lock mode, the lid on my bag never opens. (I once destroyed a laptop when my Owala opened halfway, so I appreciate having a trustworthy latch.)