“May your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears.”
It’s a line often attributed to Nelson Mandela. He wasn’t talking about wine. But he might as well have been.
Recent research from the University of Zurich reveals something about how we choose bottles. In private, we follow curiosity. We choose wines aligned with openness and self-expression. In professional settings, it changes. We become defensive. Choices lean towards conformity, tradition, and safety.
If you’ve ever played sport, you’ll recognise the shift immediately.
There’s a big difference between playing to win and playing not to lose. When we pick wine for ourselves, we play to win. We choose for the pleasure of it. When we pick wine in front of others, we start playing not to lose. We just hope it doesn’t make us look foolish.
The product doesn’t help.
Reading a wine list can feel like sitting an exam. Language, geography, history. Often all at once. European wine, for all its beauty, has doubled down on this. Labels shaped by law to protect provenance have created a kind of status anxiety. You’re not just choosing a drink. You’re signalling sophistication.
So we retreat to safety.
But Nelson, whether he said it or not, offers a better way.
Choose with hope, not fear.
Years ago, as a clueless student, I had a “house bottle” for any occasion. I’d heard it mentioned on Test Match Special, a cricket radio programme. The game was so slow that the commentators pulled a wine critic out of the crowd and coaxed him into naming the best bottle under £5. For me, that was both funny and useful.
Before I even knew to feel insecure about wine, I was reliably breaking the ice with new people. The best possible outcome for a socially awkward 19-year-old.
And that’s the thing.
When you choose with hope, it is very hard to get it wrong. You might not pick the best-known bottle in the room. But you will probably bring the best story.
And what more is wine for?
Yours Intrepidly,
Henry Clark-Jones
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