Every question, answered.

That's the scene it's built for. The wide flexible base spreads across cupped, gapped boards instead of teetering on one high plank, and the fins keep a drink from sliding loose when a wake rolls through. Push it off level and it settles back.

It doesn't float — if it goes over the edge, it sinks like anything else you wouldn't want to drop off a dock, so treat it the way you'd treat your phone or a good knife out there and keep it back from the water's edge. Soaking it on purpose is a different story: rinse it off and it's fine.

Measure the bottom, not the top. A base 2 to 3 inches across fits — the 40 oz Stanley does. Handled mugs are the one exception; the handle lands where a fin needs to grip.

No. Nothing screws in, clamps on, or gets glued down. It sits on top of whatever surface is already there and moves with you from the chair to the dock to the porch.

Yes. The base spreads its own footprint across grass, dirt, or pine duff instead of needing a table or a spike to stand on, so the circle finally gets somewhere for a drink besides the dirt next to a chair leg.

Yes — it works at least as well on soft cushions as it does outside. The wide base keeps a drink from riding the slope of a couch cushion or a bunched-up quilt, which is worth having on a rainy afternoon too.

Movement is the whole design brief. It resists tipping and settles the drink back level when the floor shifts under it — it's not magic, so a hard kick from someone jumping off the dock is still a hard kick, but an ordinary wake is exactly what it's built to shrug off.

Rinse it at the outdoor spigot or run it through the dishwasher back home. It's one piece of flexible material with nothing to trap sap, sunscreen, or lake water inside.

It's called the Steadi, molded in small runs in Orange, California by Steadi Labs — veteran-founded and patent pending. Every order ships free from steadilabs.com, with 30 days to change your mind.

It's one molded piece with no metal hardware, hinge, or folding arm to rust, corrode, or work loose — the parts that usually fail first on outdoor camp gear. Rinse it at the spigot or the dock hose and let it dry between weekends; the same flexible material that lets it settle onto a cupped dock board or a sunk chair leg is what's sitting out in the weather, with nothing inside it to trap water the way a mesh cup holder or an open koozie does.

Mostly a lost cause, honestly. A hammock has no surface within reach at all — just the ground below, and getting in or out swings the whole rig, so the reach-down itself is the spill risk, not anything a base fixes. What it does help with is the ground under the hammock: set it there and the wide base spreads across the same lumpy grass a chair leg would sink into, so at least the drink isn't already unsteady before your arm gets near it. The full-reach problem is a hammock problem; nothing changes that.

It doesn't need to, but most people fold it in with whatever else gets closed down at camp for winter rather than leave it outside on principle. It's one piece of molded material with no metal parts to rust and nothing that runs on batteries — and since it already packs flat for the drive up, it packs just as flat into a drawer for the off-season.

Enough that nobody's drink defaults to the grass or the arm of the couch — most groups land on close to one per person once you count the Adirondack chairs on the lawn, plus a couple of extras that travel: one that goes down to the dock for morning coffee, one that ends up at the fire ring after dark. It comes in a handful of colors, too, so having a few different ones around means nobody's guessing whose is whose once the fire's the only light.

It works on the steps themselves — no table needed. Porch floors are typically built with a slight downhill pitch on purpose, so rain runs off, which means every step is already leaning before anything gets set on it. The wide base compensates for that slope the same way it compensates for a sunk chair leg or a cupped dock board; the porch's built-in pitch isn't a special case, just one more kind of not-flat.

It tends to land well with the person already thinking about everyone else's drink — the one topping off the cooler, resetting chairs after golden hour, checking the fire ring before bed. It solves a specific annoyance instead of a generic one (the Adirondack arm that looks like a table and isn't, the porch step, the grass beside a chair leg after dark), and it packs flat enough to wrap without a box.

A clip-on solves one chair. It's also the option cup-holder buying guides themselves steer people away from — calling it an afterthought that scratches the arm — and even a clip-on that works only ever helps the chair it's clamped to, not the dock, the porch step, the fire ring, or the couch. Nothing here clips or screws into anything, so it moves from the chair arm to the dock rail to the fire ring in your hand, and there's nothing left behind on the chair to unscrew when the weekend's over.

For cups and cans in the 2 to 3 inch base range, yes — the same grip that keeps a can out of the grass at the fire ring gives a kid's cup somewhere besides the dirt next to a chair leg too. Very narrow juice boxes and pouches are their own shape with no real base to speak of, so those are still a hand-holding situation rather than a base one.

An ordinary bump is exactly what the flex is for — a nose or a wagging tail catching the edge rocks it, and the base resists tipping and settles the drink back rather than sending it over outright. A dog at a dead run crashing into anything is going to move it, the same way it'd move a lawn chair; that's not a claim this changes.

Not quite. A standard 16 oz Ball mason jar runs about 3.38 inches across the base — wider than even the fins' flexible ceiling of 3.15 inches — so it sits above what seats. Anything in the 2 to 3 inch range settles in fine, and a standard 12 oz can, at 2.6 inches, is well inside it; the mason jar just joins the fit list's other honest misses, same as a handled cup whose handle sits where a fin needs to grip.