That’s the headline on a little article from Rachel Luxemburg, a “social media strategist” at Adobe, who defines the “So what? test” this way: “Ask yourself, ‘Is this something my fans / friends / followers are truly going to care about or will they shrug and say ‘So what?’”
The “So what? test” is something every blogger understands. Or, this blogger, anyway. I realized early on, when I started blogging more than six years ago, that no one would care about what I wrote, unless I gave them a guarantee of two things: (a) the writing would be as good as I could possibly make it, and (b) I’d change the post five times a week, so that people could look forward to something fresh Monday through Friday.
I knew that you can’t assume people will come to your site unless you offer them a reason to come—and to return on a regular basis. It’s hard work, and I knew that I’d better not even begin, unless I meant to follow up and do what had to be done. After all, I don’t want to do anything unless I can do it really well. That was my approach to karate when I studied it; it included being a professional wine writer and critic for 25 years, during which I deferred to no one; and so by extension I applied that same exacting standard to steveheimoff.com.
From a marketing point of view, the “So what? test” also is important for wineries. As I’ve written many times in the past, having a presence on social media, including blogs, is fine and dandy, but I would argue that my two criteria—good writing and frequent updates—mark the difference between mediocre, ho-hum social media, and social media that attracts eyeballs. People are busy; no one has the time to go to an online site that’s boring, with the same content it had yesterday, and last week, and last month, and—gasp!—last year. But we all know winery sites that are fossilized; they’re the walking dead, zombies that look alive but aren’t.
Rachel, the Adobe strategist, suggests three simple ways a social media site can attract viewers: is “what we’re sharing…actually interesting, useful, or just plain fun?” It doesn’t have to be all three. What’s interesting may not be useful, although what’s useful generally is of interest. And fun need not aspire to any standard higher than simply giving people a few moments of enjoyment. It’s not rocket science, this business of making online content “interesting, useful or just plain fun,” which makes it all the more surprising when you see how many wineries don’t seem capable of doing it.
Well, in fairness, a winery can’t do it, if there’s not somebody at the helm who cares about social media, and has the time and resources to pull it off. Again, not all wineries have such a person, and it’s a pity, because it doesn’t take a tremendous amount of time or effort to do it reasonably well. I think the uppermost thing to keep in mind, for a winery social media person, is to find a “voice” that’s natural, human and communicative. Too often, winery social media is written and managed by public relations people who—for all their positive virtues—aren’t always the best communicators. They tend to take refuge in hyperbole and clichés, thinking that giving a stale old marketing message will engage readers. Unfortunately, that’s not true. Today’s consumer has seen it all, heard it all, and isn’t in the mood for another commercial disguised as a conversation. They want to be engaged as intelligent adults. They have finely tuned B.S. meters that can detect falsity a mile away.
Social media has evolved a lot since I started blogging, but in some fundamental way, it has remained the same—and will continue to. The rules of authenticity, transparency and respect for your readers and viewers still apply.
I love graphs like this.
It illustrates, in stark honesty, the multi-year stock performance of the S&P 500 compared with a randomly-selected portfolio that could have been picked “by a blindfolded monkey.”
Those, at least, are the words of the person who wrote the article, “A Random Way to Get Rich,” which appears in a summer, 2014 supplement on “Money” from the Wall Street Journal.
The article’s point—which investment advisors will not like—is that “If your money manager hasn’t managed to beat some random stocks…you might want to start asking some questions.” I don’t suppose it will come as a shock to anyone that managed stock portfolio accounts will, often as not, perform more poorly than a portfolio chosen by, well, a blindfolded monkey. Every time I see those ads on T.V. for companies that will “help you retire with confidence,” a wave of despair washes over me, for I don’t trust these companies any more than I trust, well, a blindfolded monkey. After all, their promises of “security” were completely undone by the Recession. But there is a point to be made here, and that concerns professional wine tasting.
You have heard me say time and time again that the only wine review you should place your trust in is one that was conducted blind (albeit, not by monkeys). This is because of the nature of human psychology. If a financial analyst (I love that term, which conjures up images of brilliant, altruistic M.B.A.s working for no reason other than your financial security) imagines that he or she is being strictly objective in the choice of particular stocks, that M.B.A. ought to take a remedial course in freshman Psych 101. The stock market is, by definition and experience, a place of unpredictability. It is so random, so utterly un-analyzable by any human device yet conceived, that the 1905 description of Brownian motion, by Albert Einstein—for which he won the Nobel Prize, and which went on to become a conceptual base of quantum mechanics—could well apply to market fluctuations.
Randomness, too, characterizes the tasting and reviewing of wine. While wine reviewing may appear to be, or approach being, an exact science, of course it is anything but; and by this, I do not mean to undercut the role of the wine critic, which was a job that paid my bills for many years, and which I thoroughly enjoyed. No, I mean only to suggest that, if you consistently taste wines blind, wrapped in their little brown paper bags, you will find results quite different from those published by the majority of famous magazines and newsletters.
Correction: let me rephrase that. You might or might not find results that might or might not be quite different. In fact, in one parallel universe, if you taste enough wines, blind, for a long enough period of time, at least one of the results will look exactly like any given edition of The Wine Advocate. But an infinitude of other possible results will be different, sometimes only slightly so, sometimes significantly. That is the Heisenbergian truth of random results: they are random precisely because they are unpredictable, an aspect of reality that is hard-wired into the fabric of the universe.
Some conservatives lament theories of the random nature of outcomes. They say that experience proves otherwise—a car, driven at high speed, will not pass through a brick wall, but will smash into it with deadly results, despite the slight relativistic possibility that it will in fact emerge unscathed on the other side. So, these anti-relativists argue, it is ridiculous to think that anything other than our well-understood cause-and-effect universe could be “real,” except, possibly, in some fantastic mathematical sense.
This is true as far as it goes in our macro world of cars and brick walls. It is patently untrue when it comes to the anything-goes micro world of sub-atomic particles. And while the human mind seems neither to be part of the macro world nor of the micro world, it does in fact have more in common with the latter; for it is a “black box” into which others cannot peer, and of which the owner himself may be unaware, in terms of its particulars. Tasting wine openly, with full appreciation of its origin, is in fact contamination of the black box’s insides: you cannot do it without discombobulating the entire process. Thus, you cannot call open tasting “real,” since it represents a serious interference with the reality of what a wine actually tastes like. In the famous thought experiment called Schrodinger’s cat, one is confronted with a paradox: “This poses [says Wikipedia] the question of when exactly quantum superposition ends and reality collapses into one possibility or the other.” Open tasting illustrates this paradox: It is utterly impossible for the outsider to know, or even to begin to comprehend, what the thought process was of the reviewer, whose mentation may (or may not) have been influenced by any one, or combination of, multiple factors. Therefore, one cannot say that the reviewer’s conclusion is “real,” except within limits, and even then subject to faith and belief. One can accept the conclusion—it may influence one’s own conclusions and behavior—but one cannot assume that the conclusion itself has validity, at least in the scientific sense of being replicable.
Should therefore we entrust our wine reviewing to “a blindfolded monkey” or indeed a team of blindfolded monkeys? No; that would be a logical fallacy. But the realization that a random portfolio of stocks outperforms the S&P 500, which is the basis of so many mutual fund portfolios, should alert us to the fact that winetasting results from open tastings may also not be the best source of information; and this in turn should put the results of any such tasting into perspective. This is a revolutionary statement: if everyone subscribed to it—tastemakers, gatekeepers, consumers, producers, the media—the wine world as we know it would turn completely upside down. Nobody likes disruption, though, which is why the status quo is unlikely to change anytime soon, despite the burgeoning presence of Millennials who, it is said, are going to upset every apple cart there is. They should, in the case of formal wine reviewing; but they are unlikely to, because (speaking of apple carts), the fruit never falls far from the tree; each Millennial is more like his or her mother or father than one may care to admit. Still, go back and take another look at the chart. If instead of AAPL, CAT, XOM and NFLX you substituted Lafite, Romanée-Conti, Yquem and Screaming Eagle, would that cause you to reconsider your reliance on professional critics, now that you understand how perfectly random these things are?
In the 1980s and early 1990s, I was a fairly frequent visitor to Square One, the restaurant Joyce Goldstein had opened, in 1984, in the Jackson Square neighborhood of downtown San Francisco.
There, I was treated like a regular, mainly through my acquaintance with the sommelier, Peter Granoff, whom I had met earlier when he’d served in the same capacity at the old Mark Hopkins Hotel. Well do I remember strolling into Square One on any given night, usually by myself after an evening of doing something else that had brought me to the area from my home in Noe Valley. I’d take a seat at the bar and order something off the chalkboard menu—a little pizza or focaccia, some fettucine, wood-fired grilled shrimp—while Peter surreptitiously brought me tasting sips of the most interesting wines of the evening. Peter also held regular wine tasting classes in a small room of the restaurant. It was there that I learned, more than anyplace else, about Condrieu, Cote Rotie, Spanish sherry and other wines to which I would otherwise have had little access.
These were not mere wine tastings. Peter’s boss, Chef Joyce, provided delicious little plates to wash down the wine. One night, a blind tasting of Monterey County Chardonnays (Estancia, Morgan, Pinnacles, Talbott, Chalone, Wente and so on) was paired with a signature crab cake with mango salsa, and ginger-marinated pork loin on a bed of corn pudding.
That food was, of course, California cuisine, or what came eventually to be called California cuisine, although Joyce herself, after extensive research for her new book, Inside the California Food Revolution, writes that exactly who coined that phrase remains a mystery. Not mysterious at all, though, is what California cuisine means. Joyce Goldstein: “…restaurants broadened from formal and ceremonial to more democratic and casual. Kitchens that had been hidden were opened up to become part of the dining room. Chefs who had toiled behind closed doors in anonymity became stars. Ingredients such as arugula, baby greens, and goat cheese, virtually unknown previously, became household items…”. California’s fabulously diverse ethnic constitution, including Mediterranean, Asian and Latin American cultures, also became part of the mix that contributed to the new, complex combinations that constituted California cuisine, whose “one common element,” Joyce writes, was “fresh, seasonal ingredients, preferably raised nearby.”
I hadn’t known Joyce had written this book until I ran into her son Evan, an old friend, at a wine tasting event. I’d told him how much I’d always longed for a formal history of California cuisine, which was restaurant-based long before it became a staple of home kitchens. Evan smiled and told me there was one: He arranged to have the publisher, University of California Press, send me Inside the California Food Revolution. If you’ve ever hankered for an insider’s account of everything and everyone from Alice Waters and Chez Panisse to Wolfgang Puck, Jeremiah Tower, the French Laundry, Laura Chenel, Zuni Café and, yes, Joyce Goldstein (as insider as they get), this is the book. It recounts, in loving terms, what Mark Miller (Fourth Street Grill and Santa Fe Bar and Grill, both in Berkeley) describes as “California cuisine[‘s] revolutionary [nature], in terms of not only its fashion, its style, but also its culinary ethos.”
The California food revolution cited in Joyce’s title spilled over, of course, to the California wine revolution—or perhaps it’s fairer to say that both were the result of the revolutionary attitude that always has characterized California. In the book, too, you will find references to Paul Draper and Ridge (whose wines Alice Waters celebrated early at Chez Panisse), Randall Grahm and Bonny Doon, Josh Jensen (Calera), Dick Graff (Chalone), Bob Long (Long Vineyards) and others. Interestingly, Joyce, in retrospective hindsight, goes back to this period to foreshadow wines “with overly hard tannins, too much oak, and in time, higher alcohol levels”—shades of today’s ongoing debate. But that is another story.
I haven’t written much about my new job because it’s been important for me to keep steveheimoff.com a place independent of whatever job I have, whether it was the guy who wrote wine reviews for Wine Enthusiast or my new position at Jackson Family Wines.
The reason it’s important for me to preserve and protect this space as a sort of safe house is because I have (or think I have) a compact with my readers. That compact is terribly important to me. It’s almost a marriage—I mean, that’s how seriously I take it.
The thing to understand is how hard I’ve had to fight to maintain this blog’s independence. My former employer strongly encouraged me to end it—why, I never could understand. Obviously, I refused. After that experience, I am tremendously grateful to Jackson Family Wines for being supportive of the blog’s continuation.
My official title is director of wine communications and education. As such—and things are still evolving—my work is mainly confined to three areas: writing (they call it “content” creation), giving advice on various matters of my expertise to colleagues within the company, and working with outside gatekeepers in the ongoing work of tasting Jackson Family Wines.
This latter task is driven largely by the fact that there is a body of opinion among some people that Kendall-Jackson is a single wine company and that all of the company’s other brands must somehow be associated with K-J. That perception—real or imagined—is, of course, nonsense. Mentioning only some of the California wineries, it is clear, or should be to anyone who pays attention to these things, that Champ de Réves, Edmeades, Stonestreet, Verité, Hartford Court, Cambria, Atalon, Cardinale, Freemark Abbey, Mt. Brave, Lokoya, Byron and Matanzas Creek, etc. (I could go on) are wineries of the highest caliber; in my years as California editor of Wine Enthusiast I gave many high scores to their wines, including several 100 point scores (and I had the reputation of being stingy with perfect scores). I personally long ago formed the opinion, which was based on fact, that Jackson Family Wines was a large company, with brands at virtually every price point, and moreover, those brands met or exceeded in quality their competitors—and often at a lower price. This gave me great respect for the company.
So when I began to hear, from various others in this company, of an outside attitude that K-J somehow impugns the other brands in the portfolio, it was rather shocking. I wonder how anyone working in this business could fail to make the distinction between price tiers. After all, one doesn’t hear of a gatekeeper’s revolt against Mouton Rothschild because its parent company also produces Mouton Cadet, which is said to sell around 1 million cases annually, making it very much a commodity wine. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. Besides, I have never heard anyone offer any reasonable argument to dispute the concept that a large wine company can walk and chew gum at the same time: that is, produce fairly-priced wine in large quantities for the everyday wine drinker, and simultaneously make ultrapremium wine, based on estate-grown grapes from the finest coastal appellations, and vinified by some of the top winemakers in California.
If I have any gripe at all with the upper tier of the industry—not the wines themselves, but the critics and somms who concern themselves with those wines—it’s that they so often give the impression that the everyday consumer doesn’t matter—that everyday-priced wines, the kind you find in a supermarket, are somehow illegitimate when compared to the little garagiste labels. This, too, is nonsense, and patently unfair. At Wine Enthusiast, I developed an affection for the everyday segment of the market (and the magazine reflected that affection). It always made me happy to give a Best Buy to an under-$15 wine, because I appreciated, having come from that part of the population that can’t afford expensive wine, that some wine companies take seriously the notion of making inexpensive quality wine, and I also knew how technically difficult that can be on a consistent basis, across vintages. That is one reason why Kendall-Jackson so often got my nod.
So what is it about some gatekeepers that makes them unable to appreciate the qualities of an ultrapremium wine made by the same company that produces an everyday wine? I have to confess that this is an aspect of my job I take most seriously, as I have great respect for “the truth,” and truth, after all, ought to live at the heart of every conversation about wine. Does the wine taste good? Is it clean and well-made? Does it drink well with food? Does it have the interest and complexity to satisfy over the course of a meal? These are the criteria by which sommeliers and gatekeepers should judge wines—not some hocus-pocus about scarcity or romance or garages.
I mean not to impugn any gatekeepers. I was one myself, so I know how hard these people work, and how honest they feel in their own hearts regarding the wines they recommend. I simply look forward to sitting down with them, as best I can, and asking them to put aside whatever stereotypes they may harbor, and perceive reality as it actually is: the wine inside the glass.
Matt Kramer is Wine Spectator’s best columnist. He’s fresh, witty, smart to the point of intellectual, and he doesn’t repeat himself by writing the same old thing over and over again (which suggests also that he possesses good taste). He also can own up to his mistakes, which he has done in the June 30 issue.
In it, he admits that he got Syrah “so wrong” when he predicted, in 2003, that it was “the most exciting wine in America,” more so than Pinot Noir. In fact, he believed Syrah would be “the next really big red.”
He should have asked me fifteen years ago. I would have told him, No, Matt, I’m afraid that’s not going to happen. If Syrah ever had a chance, it was back in the late 1980s-early 1990s, when there really was an opening for a “next really big red” that wasn’t Cabernet Sauvignon or Merlot or a Bordeaux blend.
After all, that time period, 1989, was when Matt’s own magazine had its famous cover story on the “Rhone Rangers,” featuring a photo of a masked, costumed Randall Grahm, reaching with his right hand for what appears to be a bottle of wine in his holster and wearing pants that are just a touch too tight. The Rhone Rangers in fact became so famous in the industry so that, around that time, a group of the leading producers from the Rhone Valley came all the way to the enemy camp, Napa Valley, to sniff out what they were up to.
I would have bet even money in 1991 that Syrah would explode in popularity, but alas, it never did, and today vintners still occasionally can be heard wondering why the category simply collapsed (unfairly, in my opinion, but that’s reality). I’ve explored this several times in my blog and won’t do it again, for the question I want to address today is what happens when famous wine critics get stuff wrong.
That they do is obvious. Wine critics are only human and, being thus, they are fallible and subject to inaccuracy. We like to believe that our leaders, whether they be shamans, priests, Presidents or wine pundits, speak unerringly (and they like it when we so believe) but of course, everybody gets stuff wrong. Even Einstein concluded he’d been wrong about his cosmological constant (although more recent research suggests he may have been right after all).
However, the wine world is replete with critics getting stuff wrong. This runs the gamut from incorrect ageability predictions (common as dust) to prognostications of what’s hot and what’s not (cf. Matt Kramer). Wine critics commit, not only sins of commission, but sins of omission, such as a failure to overlook quality in brands they are not receptive to. Now that we’ve discovered critics can be wrong, what should we conclude about their real bread and butter, the wine review?
Well, the question answers itself, doesn’t it? This doesn’t invalidate the role of the wine critic, it merely puts it into perspective. Any given wine review is only partly accurate; this can be proven by asking the critic to repeat the review a second time, even a third time, but under blind tasting circumstances. (This is unlikely to happen very much, for a variety of reasons.) With this observation I now segue into the world of the gatekeeper, and specifically the sommelier. Did you know that some somms actually work against the best interests of their clients, who are the diners who eat at their restaurants? This was brought home to me the other day by someone who deals frequently with somms on a professional basis. He told me of a Bay Area restaurant, which I will not identify, whose wine list is so esoteric (Hungarian Juhfark, Republic of Georgia Kisi, Slovenian Rebula) that many customers end up bringing their own California Chardonnay or Cabernet Sauvignon and pay the corkage, just so they can have something they like. To add insult to injury (according to my source), the restaurant’s somms then make the wine-bringers feel like village idiots.
Those somms also are getting something wrong: fundamentally, inherently wrong. It’s fine to suggest new and different things to customers, but you also have to respect their own preferences. There’s something horribly ideological about a restaurant insisting that everything its customers like is inappropriate, simply because the fact that the customers like it is de facto proof it must be pedestrian. Wine already suffers from an elitist image, and sommelier behavior like that only adds to the problem.
So if wine critics and sommeliers can get stuff wrong, can wine bloggers? Submit your answer to me written on the label of a bottle of 1947 Cheval Blanc. Winners get a free lifetime subscription to steveheimoff.com.
Once a headline is out there, it becomes “reality”—whether it’s based on reality or not. Thus, “Millennials: Wine Dull, Cocktails and Beer Exciting”, which is the header of this online article, is repeated on Lewis Perdue’s Daily News Fetch, so that people who don’t have time to actually research the topic—which is most of us—go away with the impression that Millennials are turning away from wine (if, in fact, they ever embraced it) in favor of the latest signature cocktail or craft suds.
The “dull wine” meme comes from this story in Wines & Vines, which based its own headline, “Wine Losing On-Premise Sales,” largely on the remarks of an MW who is the beverage director of a large restaurant chain, who said, “Cocktails and draft beer are more entertaining to [Millennials] than wine.” In a key quote concerning his own beliefs, the MW inplied that, for younger drinkers, beer and cocktails “feed the souls,” while wine presumably doesn’t, since it is not associated with the visual feast of “attractive, muscled bartenders with tattoos shaking cocktails like maracas and blenders whirling.”
Wow. I’ve seen plenty of muscled winemakers with tattoos, but it’s true that they’re not on public display the way mixologists are (and maybe they should be). Still, as much as I doubt the entire truth of the premise that Millennials are turning a cold shoulder to wine, there is in my own life some evidence of it. I have friends in their 20s and early 30s who really don’t care much about wine, but they do love a good glass of beer and if they’re in full party-on mode (which they frequently are late at night) it’s hard liquor they turn to. It’s always dangerous to base one’s conclusions on anecdotal evidence, but there’s little doubt that there are folks out there in their 20s and 30s who for whatever reason don’t perceive wine to be as cool as a local mini-brew with a badass label, or a glass of something hard with all kinds of fruits and colors swirling around.
Still, I come down on the side of Sara Schneider, the wine editor at Sunset, who was quoted in the Wines & Vines article as saying she doesn’t agree with the MW. Calling wine “almost de riguer in new restaurants,” she pointed also to the proliferation of wine bars as proof that Millennials, and drinkers of all age, remain dedicated fans of the grape. And then there was the floor manager I met yesterday from BJ’s Restaurant and Brewhouse. I asked him if his young customers think wine is dull and he said, in essence, hell, no. So once again this confusion underlies the fact that the market is incredibly complex; there’s no such thing as “Millennials”, there are individual millennials, and divining what they like and don’t like is an inexact science.
So it may or may not be true that Millennials see wine as dull; there are studies, and then there are studies, and you can generally find anything you want to with a Google search. Be that as it may, there are clues in this little debate concerning what wineries should be doing, from a marketing point of view, in order to remain competitive with beer and booze. If my experience is any indication, and I think it is, they have to get out there any and every way they can: on social media, on wine lists, at meet-and-greets, pouring in hotel lobbies and hosting events and in general hitting the road. The market is wide open right now for wineries to make fast, smart moves, by-passing traditional gatekeepers (who tend to be the most conservative people on earth) and plowing new ground. A winery that believes it’s been shut out of a particular market, such as Millennials, will be, because we make our own reality.
I go to the 2014 Wine Bloggers Conference next month, for which we (the organizers and myself) already are deep in the planning stages. I’ll participate in three panels, and each requires a great deal of forethought in order to maximize the chances that the audiences will be happy they came, which is what we all want.
Aside and apart from, and perhaps above, those immediate considerations, I’ll be looking for any evidence concerning the State of the Blogosphere. Having been deeply involved in wine blogging since 2008 (late, by some standards, but six years after all is a pretty good tenure), I’m in some position to weigh in on blogging’s evolution. And it seems to me that things are a bit static.
We saw initially a great deal of excitement with wine blogs. In the period 2007-2009, not only was the wine blog a new, shiny toy, but traditional print journalism was going through its most arduous and tumultuous times in recent history, what with the recession and the subsequent loss of advertising experienced by so many magazines and newspapers. Thus, it sounded almost reasonable when wine bloggers pronounced that “Print is dead, long live wine blogging!”
I, myself, never bought into that theory. I was aware that (a) recessions, no matter how severe, never last forever and (b) as soon as the current recession was over, advertising would return, and print publications would be back on track. At the same time, it would have been unduly credulous for me, or anyone, to suppose that print periodicals would return to the robust health they had enjoyed for so long in the twentieth century. Change certainly was upon print—but of what kind, and how and when it would arrive, no one could say.
Here we are now, the recession having ended, print having bounced back, and the 2014 Wine Bloggers Conference upon us. My sense is that blogging has lost some steam. That heady rush of excitement of four and five years ago isn’t there anymore. We’ve seen some well-known blogs go by the wayside and some new ones pop up, while the mainstays (including this one) keep on keeping on. We ought at least to give credit to blogs like Vinography, Dr. Vino, Fermentation and 1WineDude for longevity, or perhaps “stick-to-it-tiveness” is a more apt description.
Yet with the recovery of print publications has come the corresponding diminution of the wine blog. It was inevitable; it is a zero-sum game, this business of writing about wine, for there are only so many eyeballs out there who care to read about wine, and they have only so many hours in the day in which to do so. Besides, one senses (dare I say it?) a certain fatigue in the wine blogosphere. So much of what was so captivating five years ago has now become, well, the online equivalent of vin ordinaire. Of course the newer blogs still have the sense of awesome discovery that budding wine aficienados have displayed always, but their readers, such as they are, may be forgiven for being less than thrilled by yet another recitation of Argentine values or the best wine to drink with pizza. (I might say the same thing about wine magazines. They endlessly run the same cycle of articles over and over and over. Next November it will be “what wine to drink for Thanksgiving.”) At the same time, winery proprietors must take the blogs into consideration, regardless of what they personally feel or think about them (and believe me, in many cases, it’s not much), because you never know whose blog will help you move product. So that is where we are: a strange place, no doubt, and one that is evolving.
It was against this conceptual backdrop that I read that “Making an emotional connection with consumers, and creating personalized, shareable and useful content, is vital to selling wine.” This was the conclusion of “experts from major wine retailers” who gathered at the recent London Wine Fair, as reported in Harper’s.
Blogging would seem perfectly positioned to express “personalized, shareable and useful content.” Blogging is, by its very nature, personalized, in the sense that there is real connectivity, almost intimacy, between blogger and reader, the way there isn’t in print. This is especially true when readers can instantly comment on a blog, which certainly isn’t the case with a magazine or newspaper. I write Letters to the Editor of the San Francisco Chronicle with some frequency, but 95% of them never are published, which distances me from the paper and makes me wonder if my opinions are truly valued. Not so at many blogs; you can comment on steveheimoff.com, and your comment will instantly go up, with no prior approval from me, as long as I’ve previously approved a first comment from your computer. That is truly personalized service, and shareable, too. (I leave it to my readers to decide if my content is “useful.”)
But blogging has not yet achieved the gravitas of newspapers or magazines. Perhaps it’s that very personalized, easy-breezy quality that makes a blog feel like, well, just a blog—a fancy email–while a newspaper or magazine has the weight of authority and tradition and all the labor and costs that go into the production process. That may never change; the low bar to entry works against taking individual blogs too seriously, or investing your energy into them (not to mention your money). Still, I have to say that wine blogs have been the most innovative development in wine writing of the 21st century.
At any rate, that’s the view from where I sit!