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Soapbox: Libby Brodie bursts the communication bubble

Fashions change, tastes change, audiences change and wine communication changes too. Thank goodness, given the fact it has by and large been an abject failure for most of the population. While food communication has soared, wine has been relegated to a dusty subclass with most consumers imagining its birthplace to be the cellar of an ageing white man in red trousers or a factory pumping straight to the supermarkets. The idea that it comes from the ground, tended for years by hardworking farmers and winemakers, has somehow been lost.

My own wine-drinking peers are mostly well-travelled, well-educated and well-off enough to dine as they would like. They know how they want their steak cooked, buy organic and free range, and can confidently serve or order a culinary feast. But wine is a hesitant “red or white?” afterthought, with no understanding of the difference between grapes or styles. Even worse, there can be an assumption that to actually care about wine is an automatic act of snobbery, in a way that thinking about the food they consume is not.

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Those who readily spend more on Fairtrade coffee scoff at spending over £8 on a bottle of wine because they aren’t “a wine snob”. Once you deduct things such as transport, duty and packaging, the wine itself is only a few pennies and when costs are squeezed it can mean the addition of corner-cutting chemicals, or the more vulnerable getting paid less than fairly. Suddenly it is less snobbery and more about physical and moral wellbeing.

I hasten to add I do not think a wine’s quality is inherently linked to price, nor that people must spend big to drink well. Wine is a pleasure to be relished however you choose, but knowledge enables people to make their own informed choice, and it is this ability to make these choices independently that traditional wine communication has seemingly not encouraged.

The simple truth is that most people do not know how to read a wine label, what temperature their wine is best served at or that Chablis is a Chardonnay – and for a mass-consumed beverage regularly drunk by the public, that is rather embarrassing for those whose job it has been to enlighten them.

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A question of survival

There is a reason Gen Z – who are drinking less alcohol overall – are turning to craft beers and spirits when they do, with their simple messaging and easy engagement, welcoming in a way wine is not. Too late our industry realised it has let a new generation of potential oenophiles slip through its fingers. Those who scoffed loudly at the rise of “vinfluencers” a few years ago have stealthily slipped online (some prolifically) – and wisely so. Time moves on and people must either move with it or be content to fade away in their own grouchy echo chamber. To survive, the circular self-congratulation of one’s own expertise needs to end and be replaced by a focus on sharing that – in an understandable, accessible way.

This is not to detract from many who have gone before, enthusiastic orators, clever writers, those who have progressed and celebrated wine by publishing works that continue to encourage and educate. Their work informs my own and many others – but wine can be a bubble, producing content for those already interested and invested.

To have a product’s messaging dominated by a single subset is madness and it is boring. It reeks of gatekeeping, deliberate or not. Wine is everywhere, there are aisles of it in the supermarket for anyone (of legal age) to buy.

Those speaking about a product should reflect its audience in society. There may be an increase of women in the industry, but it certainly doesn’t reflect the ratio of drinkers, with 48% of women in the UK preferring wine compared to just 24% of men (YouGov Food Study) and huge leaps are needed when it comes to socioeconomics and ethnicity. Wine’s own variety is so vast it makes sense to embrace a range of voices. To appeal to a new customer, new thinking is vital.

Fundamentally we engage in different ways, so the expansion of platforms allowing people to become curious about wine is primarily a good thing. I love wine, I love its history, its global culture, the poetry, passion, and parties that spring from it. It is a connector, an inspiration and, most importantly, it is a darn delicious drink. I do not care if someone has bought a bottle because of a funny TikTok, witty article, entertaining podcast or beautiful image – and neither should you. A person’s foot in the door – or nose in the glass – may well lead to them exploring more, spending more, choosing to buy that lengthy tome on terroir or even, who knows, joining the trade itself.

• columnist
• communication
• Soapbox
• Libby Brodie
• wine communicator
• Bacchus & Brodie