Old, Rich, White Guys
"Who is the 'Old Guard' of wine drinkers?" a member of the old guard—or is he?—asked me recently. And why are they such a problem?
Douchebag
/ˈduːʃˌbæɡ/
Noun
(US, slang, vulgar) A jerk or asshole; a mean or rude person; someone seen as being arrogant, snobby or obnoxious.
The sign on our door read, “Make wine less douchey.” It was our shop motto, because we all knew that wine had traditionally been reserved for douchebags, and it made everybody else who came in to buy wine laugh and nod in relieved agreement. I mean, everyone, that is, except for the douchebags. Generally, the douchebags looked a certain way—you could identify them right away—typically by their being old, white, and male, walking in with their chins stuck in the air, one eyebrow cocked, asking snottily for Bordeaux and smirking at the Cru Bourgeois offerings. Woof. (Alternatively, they’d be young, white, and male, walking in with too short shorts and a scroungy goatee, smelling like armpits and carrying a purse, and they’d roll their eyes in exaggerated d-baggy-ness if we pointed them toward anything but the cloudiest orange wine… but I digress. We’ll talk about those second-generation douche bros another time.)
I hate to stereotype (Oh, who am I kidding? No I don’t; I just did!), but in a very scientific study of customers who have acted like total douchebags in my nearly two-decade tenure as a wine retailer, nine out of ten of them presented as old, rich, white guys. They habitually shop with a chip on their shoulder, act like they know more than me, scoff at my recommendations and name-drop big bottles to ensure I feel small. Over the years, they’ve proved an unfortunate stereotype that old, wealthy, white men are often absolute pompous, stuck-up snots about wine, which makes the rest of us who are not old, not wealthy, not white, or not a dude feel like wine is… meh, not really our thing. It’s almost like merely associating with wine will necessarily increase our own doucheyness. We do not want this.
I have a lot of thoughts about this desire not to be associated with the douchebag class. I have even more thoughts of despair about the patriarchy, about the historical dominance of white males in society, and the gatekeeping, snobby cultural traditions and raunchy Boys’ Club attitudes that go in tandem with this, especially around wine… but I’m very thirsty and would rather pour myself another glass than start a university 400-level lecture right now, so let me hurry up and get to my point: Wine has an image problem. There’s no beating around the bush; the entire industry of wine has aligned itself over at least the past 75 years with luxury and exclusivity and a demographic that today is very, um… let’s just call it problematic. And while that particular demographic is out there gatekeeping to high heaven but also (conveniently) getting old and about to die, wine (inconveniently) is on the fast track to die right alongside it.
One might think, good riddance. “Fuck the patriarchy; burn it all down!” Except for one tiny problem: WINE IS DELICIOUS AND I DON’T WANT TO LIVE IN A WORLD WITHOUT DELICIOUS FERMENTED GRAPE BOOZE.
So how do we drain this cold, grey, patriarchal bathwater but keep the soft warm baby? In other words, how do we eliminate the douchey reputation of wine but preserve the tasty beverage as a whole and show all our fellow non-d-bags that wine is where it’s at?
Before we stab at how to get of of this fiasco, I think it’s important we briefly touch on how we got ourselves into it. No long lecture, just a quick Sparknotes-style recap. Go ahead, pour yourself a glass, and I’ll give you a short and extremely broad/generalized history of wine consumption up to now:
Back, Back in the Day
Science has proven that wine originated in the area now known as Georgia—the country, not the state—and intentional winemaking by wise, buzz-seeking humans dates back around 8,000 years. Mama, that’s a long time. Soon thereafter, wine made its way to Greece and southern Italy, and those stately Greeks and Romans propagated the vine throughout western Europe.
Interestingly, the patriarchy was already taking shape: Women of ancient Greece were not supposed to even be present at dinner or at parties, and Roman women actually had to fight for the right to eat at the same table with their husbands. Before women were granted that privilege, their duty was to kneel beside their husbands at the table and pour wine into their throats via horn-shaped drinking vessels called rhytons. THE MEN WOULD EAT AND DRINK LYING DOWN SO AS TO ALLOW THEM TO CONSUME MORE AS WELL AS EASILY FLATULATE. But I digress.
Fast-Forward to America, Circa Christopher Columbus
Wine was big in Europe and the Levant for thousands of years, so naturally the colonialists wanted to bring that good juice with them when they conquered “new” lands. Spanish missionaries brought the European grapevine, vitis vinifera, to the United States, but a combination of climate and cultural differences made grains, not vines, the dominant crop of booze-production in this “new world.” And when you ferment grains, not fruit, you get beer, not wine. If you distill your fermented grain, you get whisky. American drinking culture began to take root. Pun intended.
America, Post-Prohibition (December 5, 1933)
While most of ‘Merica got busy with their Bud Light and Kentucky Bourbon, who was drinking wine in America in the 20th century? It was that class of people who wanted to look like the type of person who drank wine. That is, those who had the money to travel to places where wine was made… which was… bingo—Europe! Combine the “exotic” appeal with the foreign languages found on the labels, the confusing and infinite iterations of grapes and place names, the physical song and dance of opening a bottle and its ritualistic aeration routine, and you’ve got a recipe for pure, snow-white elitist culture.
“Fuck it,” most of us said. If we didn’t have the privilege, the money, the gender or stuck-up attitude, we’d smirk and go on with our bad selves to claim a different social status and lubricating beverage that doesn’t involve such douchebaggery. The more of us non-white-wealthy-boomer folks who opted out of wine’s rigamarole, the less of us the rest of us saw drinking it, thereby perpetuating the cycle, leaving wine squarely in the domain of the aforementioned stereotypical class.
History lesson wrapped, and here we’ve landed with today’s challenge, i.e. the “class problem” of wine—the “Old Guard” of wine drinkers (white; wealthy; male; old) seemingly preoccupied with keeping wine (and, cough, their overarching status) to and for themselves. Plus the subsequent apathy or even distaste towards it from the rest of us. My assertion? THIS is (at least in part) why wine is hemorrhaging followers. And why do I care? Because everyone deserves a tasty glass of wine (not least of which is yours truly, right about now).
HOW DO WE BREAK OUT? Who gets “into” wine and how? There’s certainly more to tease out around financial means and access, education around discerning wine labels and vocabulary, the practicality of bottles and corkscrews, and the social rituals of wine consumption, but we’ll get to those in due time. You’ve been with me long enough here, today, so I’m going to wrap with a simple recommendation to the wine industry and to wine consumers that relates directly to this “image problem.”
Any marketer worth their salt knows that the most effective way to bring in new audiences is to show more demographics legitimately and authentically enjoying your product. Humans seek belonging. They buy into a product or practice or belief because they see someone else who they like and respect and identify with, who is touting that thing.
It’s like wearing a fanny pack. A little while ago you thought, “Fanny packs?! NO SIRREE BOB, you won’t catch me dead in that.” Until you saw Beyonce wearing it, and it was game over. You Amazon Prime-d that pack to arrive next day (or got seriously antsy over Etsy shopkeeper CoolPacksULuv’s slow-AF processing times out of Lithuania).
If the only people we’ve ever seen drinking wine are old, rich, white guys, and we’re not that, we automatically, instinctually think, “I do not belong here.” Conversely, if we see someone with whom we identify (or, better yet, someone whom we genuinely like and want to be like!) drinking wine, we think, “Hm, maybe wine could be for me, too.” If only Beyonce had stuffed a can of sparkling rosé in her hip pack!
In this sense, the solution is simple: We just need more non-douches to publicly, visibly drink wine. Hey wine industry marketing executives: Start with your teams! Who’s on them? Use their insights to help you design strategies and campaigns that tap into and show off a more diverse audience. And hey drinkers: Start by inviting someone new to share that gorgeous bottle with you! [I flip my hair, bat my eyelashes, place one hand on my hip and the other on my chest, feigning surprise… “Who? Me? Why I simply couldn’t… OH OK FINE YES, me! Ooh, ooh! Pick me! I volunteer! I will drink the wine!”]
But seriously, I happen to believe that because I’m not an old, rich, white guy, I’m in a unique position to save the wine. If YOU are not four-out-of-four old, rich, white, and male, you also, dear reader, are in a unique position to save the wine. (If you are a member of what one may perceive as the “Old Guard,” just don’t be a douche about wine, and tell your cronies to knock it off while you’re at it.) All you have to do is go buy some wine, then drink it, ideally with a friend or four, and make sure as many people as possible see you doing this, which should not be a problem because social media is a thing right now. And you know who’s most reliably not on social media and all up in your feed? That’s right: old, rich, white guys.
I feel terrified thrilled that I might have rocked the boat hard on this post, but we’re definitely not getting anywhere by pretending this isn’t a problem and not ever talking about it. So I’d like to hear from you in the comments. Do you agree? Disagree? Are you upset or invigorated? What else is on your mind? Thanks for reading!
I think this article is purely brilliantly written. Thank you
This post unfortunately misses the mark by reducing a complex issue to oversimplified terms like "douchebag," which trivializes the deeply rooted and intersectional history of exclusion in the wine industry. The call for inclusivity is important but feels incomplete, as it overlooks the reality that people of different races and genders can still be part of the elite class that perpetuates this exclusivity. At its core, wealth and power—not simply demographics—are the true gatekeepers to access in wine culture.
The portrayal of class in the post feels one-dimensional, focusing more on appearances than the socio-economic realities that shape wine accessibility. The blog suggests that making wine more inclusive can be as simple as showing more diverse people drinking it, using Beyoncé’s popularization of fanny packs as a comparison. While visibility and representation are undoubtedly valuable, this argument glosses over deeper barriers. These include the high cost of quality wine, the lack of wine education in underrepresented communities, and the ways wine brands are marketed and priced, which continue to exclude large swaths of the population.
The post also misrepresents who the "old guard" of wine truly is. Beyoncé, one of the most powerful and influential figures in the world, operates within this sphere of exclusivity, even if she doesn't fit the stereotypical image of the "old white man." Beyoncé and Jay-Z are well known for their association with Armand de Brignac Champagne, one of the most expensive and elite brands in the world. Jay-Z purchased the brand in 2014, and their bottles can sell for hundreds of thousands of dollars. This, along with Jay-Z’s co-ownership of D’Ussé Cognac—another exclusive luxury brand—demonstrates that the power of wealth and exclusivity transcends race or gender lines.
The focus on diversifying wine culture through representation alone overlooks the fact that people like Beyoncé and Jay-Z already participate in this elite space. While representation is important, it won’t address the structural barriers that keep wine inaccessible for many. We need to acknowledge and dismantle the deeper systems—like income disparity and lack of access to education—that keep wine culture exclusive.