Legal High: How Loopholes in the Law Create a New Market for Psychoactive Products in Ukraine, the EU, and the US

Biology has a term for it: «adaptive radiation». When an environment vacates a niche, an explosion of new species fills it within a few generations. Darwin's finches on the Galápagos split into a dozen and a half species for different food types — each beak ground for its own gap. UN toxicologists watch the same phenomenon, just faster: as of October 2025, their early-warning system had logged 1,396 new psychoactive substances across 153 countries. The record for a single year — 688 new molecules — was set in 2024. Every molecule is a beak, ground for one specific gap in one specific law.

The widest of these gaps is opening up right now in the middle of Texas. A state where recreational marijuana can still get you a criminal case — and where the very same store that sells beer keeps a cooler stocked with cans of THC drinks. The same psychoactive molecule, the same high. Except one version rides with you in the back of a patrol car, and the other rings up at the register next to a bag of chips.

This isn't one state's anomaly. It's an industry. According to the Hemp Beverage Alliance, US sales of hemp-THC drinks grew from 692,435 cases in 2024 to 1,616,075 in 2025 — up 133% in a year. The number of retail points reached roughly 305,000, also more than doubling. Brightfield Group valued the entire hemp-THC product market at $3.5 billion back in 2024 — up from under $200 million in 2020, with a forecast of $4.4 billion by 2029. DoorDash delivers it to your door. The Sprouts supermarket chain put it on the shelf. The going rate: a can for $5.

I'm an entrepreneur, and I've spent twenty years watching markets get born. Almost no major consumer market of the last decade was born from permission. They're born from a badly written definition. The US, the EU, and Ukraine each wrote a different definition — and out of every gap crawled something different.

One Phrase That Cost Billions

In 2018, the US Congress passed the Farm Bill — a massive agricultural law in which a small victory for the hemp industry's lobbyists hid among the corn subsidies. The law legalized hemp — industrial cannabis — and defined it: a cannabis plant containing no more than 0.3% delta-9 THC by dry weight. The intent was about rope, fabric, and seed. Senator Mitch McConnell, who personally pushed the provision through, wanted to give Kentucky's farmers a replacement for tobacco.

Chemists read that definition differently. If the plant is legal, so is an extract from it. And if the limit is set as a percentage of the plant's dry weight, it simply doesn't apply to a finished product: in a huge can of lemonade, even a decent dose of THC is a tiny fraction of a percent. You can extract THC from tons of perfectly legal hemp and concentrate it into drinks, candy, vapes. The letter of the law is honored flawlessly. The spirit of the law, meanwhile, was lying somewhere under a combine harvester in Kentucky.

The law writes a definition. Chemistry reads it as a spec.

First out of the gap came delta-8 THC — a slightly different molecule, a «lite» euphoria. From $200 million in 2020 to $1.2 billion in sales by 2023. Then the industry found the real trick: no need to fuss with exotic isomers — you can just sell plain old delta-9, simply at a low dose spread across a large can. Industry estimates put the entire «intoxicating» US hemp sector at roughly $28 billion and hundreds of thousands of jobs. For comparison: the whole regulated cannabis market through licensed dispensaries runs $30–35 billion. The grey branch caught up to the legal one without paying a fraction of its taxes and licensing fees.

Then the loophole met a cultural trend — and the drinks category is what took off. In 2025 Gallup recorded a historic low: only 54% of American adults drink alcohol at all (down from 62% in 2023). Gen Z drinks roughly 30% less than millennials did at the same age. US alcohol volumes fell 5% in 2025, beer 6%. But the social ritual hasn't gone anywhere — people still need something to hold at a party. The THC drink sells the perfect compromise: the ritual of a cocktail, about 30 calories, zero hangover, a light buzz. In Minnesota, the first state to let these drinks into bars and tax them at a 10% excise rate, they sold $54.6 million worth in a single quarter of 2025 — while individual craft breweries complained of beer sales collapsing 30–60%.

The physics of it work against the newcomer. Between 2.5 mg of THC in a «session» can and 25 mg in a strong one, the difference is roughly that between a glass of wine and a very bad night. Edibles and drinks kick in with a delay of up to an hour: a first-timer has time to decide it's «not working» and crack open a second one. A market that grew up on a culture of moderation is selling a product that's easiest to overdose on precisely because it's so mild.

The Loophole Is Closed by Its Own Author

On November 12, 2025, Congress passed the budget package that ended the longest government shutdown in US history. Inside it: Section 781. Its author — 83-year-old Mitch McConnell. The same man who wrote the hemp definition in 2018 came back to bury it: the new language counts «total THC» (including all isomers and precursor acids), and, crucially, sets a limit of 0.4 mg of THC per container of finished product. Not per serving. Per container. A popular can holds 5 or 10 mg; almost nothing fits under the new threshold. The industry group U.S. Hemp Roundtable estimates that 90–95% of the current product range will end up outside the law, putting hundreds of thousands of jobs and roughly $1.5 billion in annual state tax revenue at risk.

McConnell's explanation was simple: he never intended to legalize getting high — only grain and fiber. His fellow Kentuckian, Senator Rand Paul, called it «a ban wrapped in the gift paper of consumer concern» and tried to strip the provision from the budget. The amendment was buried 76 votes to 24. Enforcement was pushed back a year, to November–December 2026. Which means the entire boom described above — the doubling of case volumes, the 305,000 retail points, the shelves at Sprouts — played out in 2025–2026 in a market that already had its death sentence signed. The industry grew the way grass grows thickest on a volcano's slope — right before the eruption.

The delay in carrying out the sentence, to December 11, 2026, was lobbied for by the White House — officially, to «finalize the regulatory framework». NBC News, meanwhile, reported that the son-in-law of the White House chief of staff runs a large hemp company, and Republican senators were openly asking whose interests, exactly, were being finalized. The White House denies all of it. Either way, the price of one more month of the industry's life turned out to be a question of family dinner in the country's highest office.

The Fourth Category, or Death

On August 10, 2026, Republican congresswoman Beth Van Duyne of Texas and Democrat Greg Landsman of Ohio introduced the bipartisan Beverage Regulatory Parity Act (H.R.10079). The idea is telling: don't pretend THC drinks don't exist, and don't kill them — regulate them roughly like alcohol. Up to 5 mg THC per serving, sales to 21+ only, verified labeling, a ban on synthetics, three-tier distribution overseen by the alcohol and tobacco bureau TTB, a federal excise tax of $0.08 per milligram of THC. States can add their own layer on top.

In effect, America is deciding whether a fourth major category of recreational drinks will emerge: beer → wine → spirits → THC. The map of interests around the bill doesn't line up with the usual «progressives versus conservatives». Wholesale wine and spirits distributors (WSWA) are for it: they want to haul the new category in their own trucks, and have already endorsed the bill officially. The licensed marijuana industry is against it: dispensaries have spent two years telling investors that less-regulated hemp is eating their revenue, and would happily watch it buried. Beer and liquor lobbies split down the middle. The November 2025 ban, incidentally, was also lobbied for by alcohol associations — and nine months later, part of that same camp is lobbying for legalization. Principles are principles, but the trucks have to keep rolling.

Texas shows the price of delay. In June 2025, Governor Abbott vetoed a full hemp-THC ban with mere minutes to midnight, citing a federal court that had blocked a similar law in Arkansas. Two special sessions he called passed nothing. By August 2026, the industry was already suing the state over a later ban, citing 36,000 lost jobs in the lawsuit. In a state with $5.5 billion in hemp sales, the rules of the game are being set not by the legislature but by the court docket.

A ban does not cancel demand — it only decides who gets the market: the excise stamp, the grey importer, or the chemist with the next molecule.

Europe: A Game of Whack-a-Mole With Forty Molecules

The European version of this game looks different, because here the gap wasn't in an agricultural law but in the very logic of bans. The EU controls substances by name: every new molecule has to go through detection, risk assessment, a Council decision — and then up to another six months for member states to implement it. Chemists know how to read regulations: in May 2022, HHC appeared on the market — hexahydrocannabinol, a semi-synthetic cousin of THC cooked up from perfectly legal hemp's CBD. Formally, banned nowhere. Within eight months it was on sale in roughly 70% of EU countries: vapes, candy, a «legal alternative to cannabis» in ordinary shops on the high street.

In the Czech Republic, HHC candy became so commonplace that schoolchildren were buying it: over 170 children and teenagers ended up in hospital, and in March 2024 the country imposed an emergency ban on HHC along with HHC-O and THCP. Within a few weeks, Czech shelves already carried HHCP, HHCH, HHCB, and HHC-C8 — the health ministry wearily asked to add seven more items to the list. In Ireland, HHC sold in vape shops right next to cafés until it was banned on July 29, 2025: in a European survey, 62.4% of Irish HHC consumers said they bought it at an ordinary retail shop, not from a dealer. A psychoactive substance delivered straight into a teenager's pocket — without a single law broken.

The law writes a definition. Chemistry reads it as a spec.

By the end of 2024, the EU's drugs agency counted 24 semi-synthetic cannabinoids. By the end of 2025 — 40. HHC has now been banned by 23 EU countries, and the UN added it to its international conventions as of December 6, 2025 — three and a half years after it hit the market. Forty months of legality: in the world of regulatory arbitrage, that isn't a loophole, it's a business plan with a longer planning horizon than most startups get. In its 2026 report, EUDA describes the manufacturers' strategy in one dry phrase: «a reactive substitution strategy — changing precursors in response to controls». Germany is the only country to play ahead of the curve: in December 2025 it wrote a ban by structural similarity into law — covering, in a single sentence, entire families of future molecules that nobody has synthesized yet.

Ukraine: The Same Game, Just Without Rules

In spring 2026, Ukraine got its own, considerably darker version of this story. The U420 chain positioned itself as legal «cafe shops» selling CBD products and «souvenirs»: the first outlets opened in Kyiv in spring 2025, and advertising ran through well-known bloggers and actors — with no ad disclosure, like a perfectly respectable beverage brand. Per police data, there were 13 outlets in November 2025. By April 2026, there were 105. A scaling speed any coffee-shop franchiser would envy.

In February 2026, Bihus.Info journalists made test purchases at three Kyiv shops and handed the products over to a private laboratory and an Interior Ministry expert center. Both tests found ADB-4en-PINACA — a synthetic «spice»-class cannabinoid — and, in some samples, ordinary delta-9 THC as well. The specific substance was added to the banned list by a government resolution dated February 5, 2026. The chain managed to sell the molecule for mere days before it became illegal — and investigators suspected the product's composition was changing to track changes in the law. Whack-a-mole, except here the moles read the government gazette themselves.

In April 2026, police carried out 281 searches in Kyiv and ten regions, then more than 70 additional ones: according to investigators, the network was run by a group called «Khimprom», directed from abroad by a Russian citizen who has been on international wanted lists for years. Authorities seized over UAH 75 million in assets, froze 416 accounts, and blocked roughly a million dollars in cryptocurrency. Almost immediately after the raids, outlets reopened under a new sign in several cities — police are now searching both brands at once.

The difference from the US is fundamental: U420 isn't a legal business operating in a loophole. According to investigators, part of the product already contained banned substances — this is crime, no asterisks attached. But the mechanics are the same — the speed of chemistry against the speed of the law. And beside it stands a bitter mirror: the medical cannabis law, passed back in December 2023, came fully into force in August 2024. As of July 2026, cultivation-license applications stand at zero. The legal market the state permitted never got born at all. The grey market nobody permitted grew from 13 outlets to 105 in half a year. Demand doesn't read laws — it reads storefront signs.

The Law Always Loses the First Round

Three stories, one mechanism. The law regulates something specific: a plant, a percentage, a molecule. Chemistry and entrepreneurs find room right beside the formal definition. Within months, a product appears; within a year or two, a market — with brands, distribution, and lobbyists. Only afterward does the state find out exactly what it just accidentally permitted.

This isn't new. It's the fourth lap of the same carousel.

Wave	Years	Gap in the definition	Peak scale	Legal response
Spice / K2 (synthetic cannabinoids)	2008–2015	The Analogue Act applies only to substances «intended for human consumption» — packets were printed with «not for human consumption»	7,794 calls to US poison control centers in 2015	Named list: 26 molecules added to Schedule I (2012); new molecules kept appearing
Mephedrone and cathinones	2009–2013	New molecule outside the convention lists	Mass retail of «bath salts» across the EU	EU record: banned in ~7 months — «new cathinones appeared to fill the niche» almost immediately
Delta-8 THC	2020–2023	Farm Bill: the 0.3% limit applies only to delta-9	~$1.2bn in sales (2023)	Banned in some states; the market shifted to low-dose delta-9
HHC and semi-synthetics (EU)	2022–2026	Named control: the new molecule isn't on the list	On sale in ~70% of EU countries within 8 months	23 national bans + UN (after 3.5 years); market already has 40 successor molecules
Hemp-THC drinks (US)	2023–2026	Percent of plant dry weight ≠ dose in the finished drink	1.6M cases, ~305K retail points (2025)	Section 781: 0.4 mg/container from late 2026 — or H.R.10079: regulate like alcohol
U420 (Ukraine)	2025–2026	«CBD and souvenirs» + synthetics that outrun the banned-substances list	105 outlets in 5+ cities	281 searches; the network tried a rebrand

Even a record doesn't save you. Europe banned mephedrone in seven months — the fastest ban in its history — and successors filled the niche before it even took effect. Meanwhile the global conveyor belt is only accelerating: 688 new psychoactive substances in 2024 alone. The regulator is playing chess by mail against an opponent who moves every minute.

The law writes a definition. Chemistry reads it as a spec. And every time the definition gets rewritten, the next spec is already printing out in some lab.

Three Endings to the Same Match

The difference between the three markets isn't in the mechanics. It's in the choice of ending.

Europe mostly plays an endless match of «ban the molecule»: honest, consistent, and structurally a losing game, because every move in it costs months, while the opponent's move costs weeks. The exception is Germany's ban by structural similarity — the only attempt to ban not a molecule but the direction of attack itself. Ukraine, for now, is fighting an openly criminal version of the market — while simultaneously carrying a stillborn legal one on its books: zero licenses after two years of the medical cannabis law being in force. And the US stands at a fork no country has faced before: it has, at the same time, a signed death sentence for the industry (Section 781) and a bill for its full legitimization (H.R.10079) on the table. Whichever document wins will become the precedent for every other jurisdiction.

The US repealed Prohibition in 1933 not because America changed its mind about morality, but because a Depression-era state was desperately short of excise revenue and legal-industry jobs. A more recent example: nicotine pouches went from a grey zone with 160 warnings issued to retailers to the FDA's first-ever authorization in about two and a half years — the state figured out that a regulated product beats an unregulated one, and made it official. THC drinks are next in line for that marriage to the excise stamp.

News stories of the «country X banned substance Y» shape are worth reading through four questions. First: did they ban the molecule, or the mechanism that replaces it? If the molecule, expect to read the same story with a new letter tacked on within a year. Second: where will demand go — into a regulated channel, a grey one, or a criminal one? It will go somewhere, guaranteed. Third: who profits from the new definition — the tax authority, the lawyers, or the chemist? Fourth: how many months until the next molecule — and whose child will manage to buy it perfectly legally while the ban is still being drafted?

Because what's at stake in this game isn't some abstract «drug policy». What's at stake is the difference between a can with a verified dose at the supermarket checkout and a bag of unknown synthetics from a «cafe shop» that will change its sign tomorrow. A market for psychoactive substances will exist under any legal definition. The only thing the definition actually decides is who writes the label — the regulator, or «Khimprom».