The Wine Business is Dead. Long Live the Wine Business.

It’s not about more anymore. It’s about meaning. Wine’s future is rooted in connection.

Le Semeur - Jean-Francois Millet - 1850

I thought our Texas wine being distributed in 10 states meant we were building something.

And for a while, we were. That reach didn’t come out of nowhere. It came from people who believed in what we were doing. People who poured our wines, talked about them, came back for more.

I don’t want to pretend that didn’t matter. It did.

But then it got too big, too fast.

Somewhere in the spread, I started to lose sight of who was actually drinking the wine. When I couldn’t name all of the places, or the people, when I didn’t know who we were showing up for… that’s when the panic set in.

That’s when it stopped feeling like connection, and started feeling like performance.

I thought I was building a business.

What I was really doing was drifting away from what made it matter in the first place.

I don’t look back with bitterness. Just clarity. The kind that only shows up after the storm.

Because here’s what I’ve learned, and what I think a lot of us in this business need to remember: What makes wine matter isn’t the label or the price point. It’s the context. Who’s talking about it. Who’s pouring it. Why it’s there. What it means in that moment.

Wine doesn’t sell itself. It never did.

You do. Your story does. Your presence does. And if you’re not in the room, not in the conversation, not in the hands and hearts of the people pouring it, then what are you asking anyone to believe in?

If you let scale outrun connection, you lose the very thing that made it worth scaling in the first place.

And that’s not just a high-end problem. It’s everywhere.

At the top of the market, score-driven wines are struggling to find buyers with the time, money, or energy to care. And at the bottom, commodity wine is falling through the floor. Cheaper formats. Race-to-the-bottom pricing. Endless gimmicks. Wine as soda, but without the cultural momentum.

They look like different problems. They’re not.

Both are symptoms of the same thing: we’ve lost conviction in what wine is for. We stopped telling people why it matters. Or when. Or how.

We thought prestige, packaging, or price would do the work for us. But meaning doesn’t scale on its own. It has to be built. Slowly. Deliberately. With people who give a damn.

That’s not a return to tradition. It’s a rejection of the idea that growth equals depth.

The future of wine isn’t about being everywhere. It’s about being somewhere, fully.

There was a window, not long ago, when natural wine reminded us that wine could still be wild. Still alive. Still human. For a moment, it reawakened something. But then we tried to define it. Brand it. Gate it. Others tried to kill it altogether. And the joy leaked out. You were either in or out.

That wasn’t growth. That was fear, dressed up as purity.

We don’t need more dividing lines. We need more people showing up. Not for clout. For care.

For too long, we let Instagram carry the weight of connection. We chased virality instead of depth. Importers flooded the market with “the next big thing,” hoping something would stick. Restaurants played it safe, pouring what everyone else poured. Consumers were told to trust the vibe.

It worked. Until it didn’t.

Now tariffs are squeezing margins. Distributors are scaling back. Sales are flat. And the culture that once revolved around conversation is collapsing under convenience.

But I don’t think this is a death sentence. I think it’s a reset.

We’ve been selling wine like content. But wine’s never been content. It’s context.

And the parts that matter, the human parts, are still there. We’ve just forgotten how to use them.

My hope is that this is the beginning of the great reconnection. Not a return to the past, but a reimagining. One rooted in presence over proximity. In conviction over consensus. In people, again.

I’m heading to en primeurs this week. Five years ago, I wouldn’t have even considered it. Not because I didn’t respect the wines, I did, but because it felt like someone else’s scene. Too stiff. Too polished. Too far from the way I thought wine should feel.

But something’s shifting. The scaffolding is coming down. A few are paying attention. Winemakers. Owners. Storytellers. They’re starting to get excited again. There’s energy in the uncertainty. A chance to decide what comes next.

And if that’s true, maybe we start by remembering what holds.

Not mass exposure. Not market coverage. Not trying to be everything, everywhere.

I don’t regret being in 10 states. But I regret thinking that meant something.

These days, I’d rather be in three places and know every person pouring the wine.

The world doesn’t need more wine. It needs wines worth wanting. And people willing to stand behind them like it matters.

Maybe it starts with one bottle. One visit. One real conversation.
Maybe meaning comes back the way joy does.
Quietly, at first.

Not with a campaign, but with a commitment.
Not with hype, but with intention.

So…
If you’re a winemaker, stop scaling what you don’t believe in. Wine is a promise and we’re asking people to spend money on something they can’t touch until they open it. Why should they care if you don’t?
If you’re an importer or distributor, stop signing people you won’t stand behind… especially when things get hard.
If you’re a buyer, stop hiding behind consensus. Lead with conviction.
If you’re a wine drinker, stop settling for anonymous wine: the kind no one wants to tell you about, because no one even can. Demand better.
If you’re a wine writer just starting out, especially one who feels like you’re shouting into the void, trust your voice. Even when it’s going against the grain. Even when it’s not the common wisdom.

Robert Parker built an empire from a small mailing list. Jon Bonné helped reframe a generation of California wine. The people who shaped this world didn’t wait for permission… they just started.

You don’t have to agree with any of them to see the lesson: sometimes it only takes a few people really connecting to start something real.

Wine has always been about connection. Now we need to prove it.

And to the ones who believed in us early on:
The ones who poured our wines when no one else would.
Who told our story even though we were (and still are) figuring it out.
Who followed us from Long Island to Texas and beyond.

Even if we haven’t spoken in years, even if you’ve moved on- you still matter to us.
You always have. You always will.

You helped make this story real.

We’re still here. Still building. Still chasing the same thing we were back then… just with a little more clarity, and hopefully, a little more patience.

And it’s only because of the stories you told, over dinner, behind the bar, in the cellar, in writing, that we’re even able to keep going.

Because that’s how it works.
That’s what roots.
That’s what lasts.

The future of wine isn’t big.
It’s deep.

And depth isn’t a vibe.
It’s a decision.
A business model.
A posture.
A refusal to let wine become background noise.

It shows up in how you build.
Who you work with.
What you’re willing to stand for.

C'est parti.