Contrary to popular belief, the Chinese don’t mix Bordeaux with Coke.

Yet, between November 2017 and September 2018, I lost count of how many times I was told this, along with countless other myths surrounding China. Many of these were drilled into me during those 10 months leading up to my business launch in China, where I eventually opened three online shops.

Everyone, whether they had experience in the Chinese market or not, had an opinion on what the average wine buyer wanted.

And yet, in the six years that followed, not one of those myths turned out to be true. If anything, the average Chinese wine buyer not only doesn’t drink Figeac with Coke but is often more educated on wine than the average European consumer.

But I’m not here to talk about China. I want to talk about another myth — one that has been circulating in the wine industry for years and is changing the way wine is made and consumed.

We tell ourselves stories in order to live, writes Joan Didion. The same applies to business. We turn fragments of truth into a narrative that “fits,” but we don’t want to hear how it ends.

There’s a myth in the wine industry, and it goes like this:

Young people prefer approachable wines. They must prefer approachable wines. They always have. We tell ourselves this story: that younger generations don’t drink, that they don’t appreciate wines that age, that they don’t want to wait. That they are impatient. That they can’t afford a house, let alone a wine cellar. That they have no space, no time, no inclination. And so, naturally, they must prefer drinking young wines — light, fresh, and easy.

And so, winemakers have started making them that way. I keep hearing about how wines are becoming more “approachable,” more drinkable, more immediate.

And that worries me.

Not because I dislike elegant, drinkable wines. Quite the opposite. God knows how much wine was Parkerised to please one man and one country. A reversal from those excessively oaked, overly tannic styles is welcome.

But in making wines more “approachable,” are we eroding the very essence of what makes wine, wine?

And that is: wine’s ability to age.

Fine wine improves over time for no additional investment. A just-bottled fine wine can be unpleasant, closed, undrinkable — but left alone, it softens, opens, and transforms.

If I buy a handbag, even an Hermès Birkin, or a car, a watch — its price may rise due to rarity, status, or exclusivity, but its quality doesn’t improve. Once it leaves the factory, it can only deteriorate.

Wine is different. While some dismiss it as just alcoholic grape juice, it possesses a rare, almost alchemical ability to evolve — to become more than it was.

And yet, as we strip wine of its core, we need to know where this story ends.

It will end in a race against Coca-Cola.

While younger generations are drinking less, socialising online, and leaning toward easier wines, I’ve started to question the premise of this narrative.

How many people have actually had the chance to taste older Barolos, Bordeaux, …?

And how often?

Just the simple fact that most people don’t know how good an aged Champagne can be, says it all. Everywhere wine is poured — restaurants, tastings, wine bars — it’s almost always about the newest vintage.

And while I may have introduced this myth as a philosophical problem, let’s be clear:

This is an economics problem.

The real issue is the structural underpricing of storage costs.

Restaurants don’t have the space. Merchants — once stockholders invested in winemakers — now function more like brokers, flipping inventory before it even reaches their warehouses. Consumers, while they may lack the space or inclination to store wine, might want to drink older wines — if they had access.

But before we can get younger generations to drink older vintages, we need to fix the economics of ageing wine.

I hate to bring up interest rates, but we need to talk about interest rates.

With the reemergence of positive interest rates, the cost of storing wine now sits at around 10% per year. And that means that a ten-year-old wine must more than double in price just to break even.

A merchant who bought a Barolo for £50 in 2015 must sell it for £130 in 2025 just to cover these costs.

A private investor who bought Bordeaux En Primeur for £50 in 2015 must sell it for £130 in 2025 — not to make a profit, but simply to break even.

This isn’t a theory. This is the maths.

And here’s the catch: if I can buy the 2014 vintage of an unnamed Bordeaux wine for £110 today (which I can), then the 2024 En Primeur must be released at a maximum of £42 for it to make financial sense.

This is why people aren’t buying wine. This is why merchants aren’t storing wine anymore. And that’s why winemakers are making wine that’s drinkable now.

Because at today’s release prices, neither businesses nor individuals can justify the economic trade-off. It’s easier to sell a wine that’s ready to drink.

The work that goes into making fine wine that can age is immense. But the cost of ageing wine must be rewarded too. It requires patience, investment, and long-term vision. The real cost of not ageing wine is the loss of what makes wine magical in the first place.

If we strip that away, what’s left? Just an alcoholic grape juice.

The myth that younger generations prefer approachable wines is just that — a myth, a cover-up for the fact that release prices of wines built to age are simply too high, making long-term storage economically unviable for both merchants and consumers.

There’s no incentive to wait.

There are many myths in the wine industry.

But myths are just that — myths. And the truth of this one lies at the end of a simple maths equation.

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