How Social Media Propelled the ‘Cult’ Wine World Into Absurdity
The “cult wine” of yore still prevails. Priced in quadruple digits (or higher), released in scarce quantities, and scooped up by collectors who identify as Sotheby’s regulars, these bottles are often elusive and unattainable to all but a select few. Think: crates of Screaming Eagle, Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, or Château Lafite — estates with centuries of pedigree bolstering their prestige (and their price tags).
That said, these days, we’ve developed a new, parallel approach to generating collective hype. We’re no longer turning to auction houses for our cues. We’re not mining magazines for vintage reports or tasting scores. Instead, we’re using the internet to seek out our next “it” bottles. And as such, the modern “viral wine” represents a different beast altogether.
Sure, sales are still fueled, in part, by the allure of scarcity (along with hard-won, earnest quality) — but unlike domaines rich in history or grounded in acclaimed appellations, many of these labels obtain their caché in rapid spikes due to widespread online circulation. Moreover, unlike so many traditional cult-status-contenders, rarely are they Napa Cabs. Think: Overnoy, Frank Cornelissen, Domaine des Miroirs.
There’s no obvious template for virality here: We’ve seen the phenomenon strike for small-scale producers tucked away in the once-obscure Jura region; brilliant biodynamic farmers working in ashy volcanic terroir; and forward-thinking winemakers crafting elegant Pinot Noir in northern Japan. Either way, when certain figures — be they wine-world insiders or full-blown content creators — post bottle photos championing particular cuvées, curious onlookers find themselves seeking out (and posting) said bottles, too. “Enough of the same few 100 people put something on Instagram and every wealthy person’s fomo goes off,” says Chris Clark, beverage director at Flatiron’s Oiji Hospitality Group.
As a result, the wine in question appears everywhere (online and IRL), until it’s nowhere to be found for the eager novice drinker. Then, of course, the next hype-wine emerges. The internet moves quickly, and so, too, does the cycle of virality.
At bottom, the mass social media marketing of any wine seems net positive (the kids are, in fact, drinking wine!). But virality also comes with its complications — namely, stock issues, quality disparities, and price spikes. All of which begs the question: What actually makes a wine go viral? And in the end — when wine lovers are left mourning out-of-stock bottles of Guilbert Gillet Savigny-lès-Beaune — is that a good or a bad thing for the industry?
The Makings of a Viral Wine
Surely, you’ve seen the viral wine in action: that one bottle of Savagnin or Champagne that your favorite somm’s favorite somm has been posting on Instagram — and now seems to be plastered all over your feed. But the question is: What, exactly, drove that obsession in the first place?
The matter of scarcity — or, at least, perceived scarcity — is indeed relevant here. It’s unlikely that anything at all produced and distributed en masse will develop the mystique required for cult status given its general accessibility. In the best (and most earnest) of circumstances, however, limited release is not a business model, but rather, a result of small, careful, involved production. “In reality, so many small-scale producers are only putting out small releases for quality purposes. They’re hand harvesting, working with intention, and refusing to release bottles they don’t believe in. They can’t scale up,” says Matt Turner, wine director at Chinatown’s Lei.
There’s also the notion of singularity: These days, the average consumer maintains a unique compulsion toward brand identity or narrative intrigue. “I’ve seen this happen so many times — Salon Champagne, for instance, was $300 or $400 five years ago, and now you’re paying $1,000 minimum for a bottle,” says Tom Zacharia, VP of strategic growth at K&L Wine Merchants. “There’s a sort of collective acceptance that it’s one of the best Champagnes in the world, with a unique story, a singular identity, and excellent terroir. When you’re talking about what makes a wine go viral, I’d argue it should fill two to three of those buckets.”
In the recipe for virality, quality matters — but so does context: tales of gritty innovation, family histories, winemakers in possession of some wild brand of genius je ne sais quoi. It’s about madness and greatness.
That brand of idiosyncrasy can be derived from many sources: agricultural prowess; atypical production practices (think Jacques Selosse’s multi-vintage “continuous cuvées”); tales of vintner underdog-ship. “Singularity can derive from a unique big personality at the top like Didier Dagueneau in the Loire, or it can also come from singularity of place like with Comando G’s Martian-like terroir,” Zacharia posits. “Or it can even come down to label design. [Wölffer Estate’s] Summer in a Bottle rosé on the entry level side totally captured something in drinkers’ imaginations and became an overnight sensation in the tri-state market.”
With that in mind, while we can, at times, write clever packaging off as a marketing gimmick, the impulse to imbue a bottle with a distinct and perceivable personality can be an entirely genuine act of originality. Case in point is Gut Oggau, crafted by Stefanie and Eduard Tscheppe in Burgenland, Austria — the likes of whom have achieved household-name status in the natural wine world.
For the pair of winemaking impresarios, so much of their wine’s joie de vivre comes from the biodynamic process. But on top of the production practices themselves, Stefanie and Eduard commit remarkable time to holding tastings, pop-ups, and master classes all over the world, preaching the gospel of well-tended land. There’s a sense of global community and intimacy there.
“One thing that really drives viral or cult status now is the person making the wine” Matt Stamp of Napa’s Compline Wine corroborates. “As much as we talk about terroir, it’s also the people behind the wine that drive interest — and information about those people is so readily available online now.”
“Enough of the same few 100 people put something on Instagram and every wealthy person’s fomo goes off.”
As for the labels: In the Gut Oggau repertoire, each wine is given a distinct character, quite literally. Rather than identified by grape variety, each cuvée has a first name — think Eugenie, Timotheus, Theodora — and each bottle is labeled with a portrait specially designed to evoke the spirit of the wine. “Twenty years ago, we decided to describe our wines differently than the wine world expected us to. No tasting notes, no scores, no jargon that excludes people. We talk about our wines as a family, each with their own personality,” Stefanie Tscheppe explains. “People are tired of being told they need to know something in order to enjoy something. What they want is to feel emotion.”
Undoubtedly, these now-coveted bottles have made their so-called viral rounds on the internet circuit. They sell out far more quickly than they once did. But, in many ways, they’re also living proof that few algorithmic ploys to achieve PR-driven success will land (or endure) as effectively as honest-to-God singularity.
Then again, with regard to PR, the question remains: Who actually controls the hype machine? While we once turned to critics and legacy media publications for any and all essential wine discourse, these days, the Robert Parkers of the world have been replaced by online content creators like the Super Vino Bros — and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. “Once upon a time, a wine became cult-y because critics were much, much more powerful,” says Charles Antin, global head of auctions at Zachys. “That’s no longer the case.”
The role of the critic still holds, but the mass sharing of wines online has redistributed that power to the hands of a much larger cohort of drinkers and creators. “Platforms like Instagram have helped raise awareness for producers that otherwise may have never reached a wider audience. That exposure can be incredibly valuable, especially for smaller growers,” says Eitan Spivak, lead sommelier at Manhattan’s hot-ticket Kabawa. “And [social media accounts like the Super Vino Bros] can make wine feel fun and approachable at a time when the industry is struggling in a lot of ways, by stripping away some of the mystery and intimidation that has historically surrounded wine culture.”
How Virality Impacts the Wine Industry
It’s impossible to discuss the matter of cult or viral wines without addressing terroir. While the same longstanding reverence for Burgundy and Champagne persists (albeit, with an affection for up-and-coming producers), these days, drinkers are eyeing new territories with enthusiasm. “I like to call my portfolio neo-classical because I work with a lot of young or first-generation producers working on historic land. And I think people are really drawn to that right now,” says Bryan Garcia, who helms wine import company Cork Hoarder. “But people are also really excited about and receptive to other regions as well. Thirty years ago, a cult wine had to be Bordeaux. Twenty years ago, it had to be Burgundy. Now, it can be a wine from the Savoie, from Jura, from Etna. We’re not so tied to particular regions and their histories anymore. A producer from anywhere has the power to become the next big thing.”
According to Spivak, the most recent “viral” bottle to float around Kabawa comes from Jules Brochet — a younger, natural Champagne grower — distributed by none other than Garcia. “Within the first week [of the wine arriving], I was seeing the bottle all over Instagram. Almost immediately, guests started coming into the restaurant specifically asking for it by name,” he says. “That’s usually the clearest sign a wine has crossed into that viral territory for me. Demand moves faster than average and a wine becomes something people feel they need to try because they keep seeing it online.”
Naturally, that push can be a miraculous thing for an independent winemaker — but for an independent drinker, it can also make a wine exceptionally difficult to procure. “As anything increases in popularity, demand gets hot, but your supply doesn’t go up — and as demand gets more global, the U.S. importer or the New York distribution team might get less of the percentage of the total production,” Turner explains. “And then that makes it even harder to get allocations. So not only do you see an increase in pricing, but it becomes more difficult for consumers to purchase it, whether in a restaurant or retail.”
“Once upon a time, a wine became cult-y because critics were much, much more powerful. That’s no longer the case.”
On the matter of price, it’s worth mentioning that a wine’s cult status does not necessarily line a talented winemaker’s pockets. “There are often price increases when a wine spikes in popularity — not because the winemaker or importer is increasing the price necessarily. A lot of it is about matching the market so a wine doesn’t feel totally undervalued comparatively,” Turner explains. As he puts it, restaurants that don’t up those prices reactively create an ecosystem whereby secondary markets — retail and auction — take the lion’s share of the profit. “And the problem with those price shifts is that generally, the winemaker’s not really seeing any of that money — but the wines are getting harder to come by,” he adds. “The intensity of the hype behind a wine can cause a seller at almost any level to mark up the wine beyond what’s reasonable.”
The Next Big Thing
There’s also the question of merit. Virality can: a) cloud our quality judgements, and b) prevent us from broadening our horizons or stepping into uncharted (un-Instagrammed) territory. “For a wine to go ‘viral’ means that demand increases suddenly, not just because of the quality, but also for visibility and storytelling. It becomes part of a cultural conversation,” says Luigi Coco, head sommelier at Atlantis Paradise Island.
In that vein, it’s no secret that the world of social media is far from evergreen. Unlike most historic cult wines — many of which built their prestige over decades — these spikes in adoration can be fleeting. “Before the instant nature of social media, sommeliers would get excited about wines, and then wine writers and collectors would discover those wines through them. New projects from hot winemakers took longer to discover and diffuse to the wine-drinking public,” Compline’s Stamp says. “Nowadays, it’s much easier for new projects to achieve cult status before they even hit the market — but the flip side of that is that it’s just as easy to get replaced in a year or two by the next cult thing, and the cult thing after that.”
While we have a tendency to scoff at what becomes oversaturated — viticulture’s Top 40 — the hype machine does play a powerful and often beneficial role here. It expands the broader limits of our preferences and encourages thoughtful drinking and experimental consumption. It teaches, and welcomes. It puts wine in eager hands.
Nevertheless, we, as drinkers, have a pivotal role to play here, too. It’s our job to drink with discernment; our responsibility as consumers to open ourselves up to the plausibility of discovering, rather than regurgitating. To do our research. Great wine does not always align with the algorithm of viral success — and it’s important that we drink accordingly.
“Ultimately, there are so many interesting wines in this world,” Spivak says. “When people come in asking for certain things, I often challenge them to try this or that spectacular wine from a younger or less celebrated producer. That’s how we unmask the next cult wine. That’s the most exciting part.”
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