Obviously, those sales weren’t because of this commercial. It’s not as offensive as some, and it’s certainly not as stupid. Rather, it’s almost bland, as if the ad agency can’t decide how to market a product with a less than stellar reputation. And I can’t figure out why the blonde playing the bass is in the band, other than to shake her very 1980s hair.
How bad is this TV wine ad for Boone’s Farm? As bad as they come, unfortunately
The one thing that has been sadly consistent during the blog’s historical survey of TV wine ads is their incompetence. Past incompetent, actually, in which the infamous Orson Welles Paul Masson commercial is merely bad.
The latest example? This TV wine ad for Boone’s Farm Wild Mountain “grape wine” from the early 1970s. Those of a certain age will remember Boone’s Farm as the stuff one got drunk on as a teenager; those not of a certain age will be glad they don’t have to remember it.
The Boone’s Farm ad is so awful that it doesn’t require any more analysis. Watch and groan. And then wonder why TV ad quality hasn’t improved all that much between then and today. Right, Roo?
The distracted boyfriend meme pretty much sums up the last five years or so on the blog, doesn’t it? Who knew the Wine Curmudgeon could get so young people — or be as hip as Dolly Parton?
Because, as a friend of mine put it the other day — and he is one of most optimistic wine people I know — it looks like the Golden Age of wine that we enjoyed for the past 20 years may well be over.
“It used to be that winemakers valued terroir, now it’s all about moving merchandise off of shelves,” he wrote me in an email during a discussion about yet another travesty of winemaking. “That is not a groundbreaking revelation. But that goal, sales at any cost, is now the driving force of the industry. It was our naive belief that with the rise of Big Wine many labels were brought into the mix so that many different palates could be satiated. Which is the opposite of what happened, and it has turned into a nightmare for anyone who cares about wine.”
Hence, it makes perfect sense that the 21st century wine business has turned into a 21st century meme.
Premiumization has sucker punched cheap wine quality, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible to spend $10 a bottle and get distinctive wine
Can cheap wine still be interesting? This matters more than ever, as producers continue to dumb down wine that costs less than $15 in their effort to produce something whose reason for being is to be smooth and inoffensive.
In addition, the perception that all cheap wine is swill and not worth drinking seems to be growing as premiumization takes hold and consumers buy into the mantra that “If it doesn’t cost $25, don’t buy it.” And who can argue with that when even a producer like Bogle, which once cared about quality, sweetens its sauvignon blanc?
But know four things before we dismiss cheap wine as a waste of time:
• I drink wine most nights with dinner. These days, samples probably account for about one-third of what I drink, so that means I pay for 20 bottles of wine. That works out to $200 to $250 a month, at $8 to $15 a bottle. It’s not the average of $500 a year, but I drink quality wine, get twice as much, and spend about the same as the 10-bottle, $25 buyer. And how is possible I write about wine, but spend less of my income on it than someone who drinks wine as a hobby?
• There is quality cheap wine. Yes, it’s more difficult to find and it may cost $12 to $15 instead of $8 to 10, but it’s out there. The biggest problem for wine drinkers is that they’re terrified to drink something out of their comfort zone, be it varietal or region. And it doesn’t matter how much they spend. So chardonnay drinkers won’t try a $12 French viognier because it’s not chardonnay, and the Napa Valley cabernet sauvignon drinker won’t try a $13 Rioja because it’s not from Napa. In those situations, writing off cheaper wine because it’s different solves the problem of actually tasting it.
An analysis of studies that looked at how labeling on food packaging, point-of-sale materials and restaurant menus prompted consumers to eat fewer calories and fat; reduce their choice of other unhealthy food option; and eat more vegetables.
What more do we need to know about the efficacy of labels? How much better off would wine be if each bottle listed calories, fat, and the like? Wouldn’t consumers benefit to know that there are about half the calories in a glass of wine than in a jelly doughnut? Wouldn’t they feel better knowing their wine was mostly fermented grape juice instead of something like Dr Pepper – with its 250 calories, high fructose corn syrup, and four percent of the daily value of sodium?
The wine business disagrees, and just not because it doesn’t want consumers to know wine sometimes has a lot more in it than fermented grape juice. Instead, I will get emails and comments citing another part of the study: Consumers “also selected 13 percent fewer other unhealthy food options such as sugar-sweetened beverages, alcoholic beverages, non-alcoholic caloric beverages, french fries, potatoes, white bread, and foods high in saturated fat, trans fat, added sugars or sodium.”
My answer: Doesn’t wine need to do something drastic when it’s compared to french fries, white bread, and sugar-sweetened beverages? When consumers think your product is as nasty as french fries, you’ve got nothing else to lose.
So read this, and know the way the world is going. And know that the wine business is headed in a completely different direction.
Why do Valentine’s Day wine reviews offer so much overwritten prose and overpriced plonk?
Valentine’s Day brings out the worst in the wine business – overwritten prose and overpriced plonk. Is it any wonder the Wine Curmudgeon refers to it as The Holiday That Must Not Be Named?
Hence the following, which – sadly – demonstrates the point after the most basic of Google searches:
• From something called The Spruce Eats: “… Cupid claims some serious turf when it comes to wine for your Valentine.” If so, Cupid should know better than to recommend a 7-year-old rose, which would likely taste like pink paint varnish.
• Most of the wines recommended in this Town & Country post are more than adequate, if a bit pricey. But doesn’t someone at a big-time magazine like Town & Country care about writing? Am I the only one who thinks a line saying that one wine is “just like the slightly sweet kiss from your special someone” should be edited with extreme prejudice?
Who cares if the wine tastes like vanilla cherry cough syrup? We’re being paid to say nice things about it. Stop acting so 20th century.”
Who cares about integrity or honesty or legitimate reviews? I’ll just run paid posts
The following email, asking me to run paid posts for a wine club, shows just how little the wine business cares about the people who buy its products. I’ve changed the name of the wine club (which is reasonably well known) so I don’t get sued; otherwise, it’s verbatim:
Hey Wine Curmudgeon Team,
Big Time Wine Club wants to create some new partnerships with influencers. Our wine club works with acclaimed wineries and vineyards to curate a portfolio of highly rated wines from all over the globe, and then bring those wines to lovers of great wine across the US. You have great blog posts, and I want to find out if we can work with you to create new content around a few of our featured wines. We have some ideas on potential Spring themes, but we are more than happy to talk with you on your ideas for incorporating wine!
We have wine available to send, some paid placement budget, and an affiliate program. I’d love to get your thoughts on the best way for us to work together. Are you available to talk wine this week or next?
The jargon is annoying enough, but what’s worse is asking me to pimp for their products — “create new content around a few of our featured wines.” The only thing in the email that’s fair to consumers is the affiliate program, in which I’d get a tiny, tiny commission if anyone bought one of the wines I pimped for. The rest is an insult to me and to everything the blog stands for. As well as to you.