In Real Life

I’m a Millennial with the soul of Nina Simone and the curiosity of a toddler. I’ve spent close to a decade working in fine wine, moving through very different corners of the industry. I’ve worked on the floor in Michelin-starred restaurants, in private members’ clubs, in business development for wine brands, and as a private client manager for ultra-high-net-worth individuals. Today, through my business Cellar Atelier, I curate cellars for private clients operating at the serious end of the fine wine market.

Alongside the expected clientele, I’m increasingly meeting prospective collectors in their mid to late twenties. They’re younger than me. They’re global. One is East Asian, one Ethiopian, one Russian. And while their purchasing power may resemble that of collectors decades older, the way they engage with wine is fundamentally different. That difference is not just generational. It is cultural. No generation is monolithic, but patterns of behaviour become difficult to ignore when observed repeatedly across markets, price points and social contexts.

Out with the old

Historically, many collectors were introduced to wine through hierarchy: institutions, inherited knowledge, private members’ clubs and established systems of authority. Wine arrived framed by rules: what to drink, when, how and with whom. For younger generations, the entry point is rarely institutional. It is cultural, curiosity-led and experiential. Even when access exists, it is usually experience that comes first. Wine often arrives alongside food, music, travel, friendships and unrepeatable shared moments long before it becomes something to analyse, store away or invest in. This route into wine may look informal, but it is no less serious. It simply prioritises lived experience over inherited authority.

This difference in entry point shapes everything that follows. Older collectors might buy five cases of Roumier to lay down untouched for a decade. Younger collectors are more likely to buy one or two bottles first, open them with friends, and decide from lived experience whether they want to go deeper. They explore before they commit. They drink socially. They build emotional relationships with wine before financial ones.

Memorable moments

I see this behaviour mirrored constantly, including in my own life. Some of the most memorable wine moments I’ve had recently involved drinking vintage Champagne with close friends and fried chicken, or opening a guanciale-garnished carbonara pizza with solera-style Pinot Meunier Grower Champagne at home, still in my pyjamas. These moments aren’t about irreverence. They’re about weaving wine effortlessly into life. Wine becomes part of living, not a performance.

This is why experiences have become such a powerful gateway into fine wine, particularly for Millennials and Gen Z. Not because wine itself has lost value, far from it, but because it no longer needs to carry the entire experience alone. Wine remains the anchor. But it now shares space with place, food, people, and feeling.

For the on-trade, this means designing pairings and programming that feels like real life. Experiences that convert first-time drinkers into confident, repeat buyers.

During lockdown, I hosted a small event in my local park called Champagne and Oysters in the Wild. It was simple, slightly absurd and deeply intentional. We sat on blankets. I served three different oysters, each paired with bubbly poured from magnum: Anglesey Welsh oysters with English sparkling wine; Gillardeau with a Grand Cru Blanc de Blancs; and Utah Beach with a Blanc de Noirs. I was obsessed with the nuances, salinity, texture, acidity, freshness, iodide, creaminess, and with telling the story of where both the oysters and the wines came from.

Four years later, I hosted a second edition in the same park. This time, five oysters, five Champagnes, all from magnum. Some of the bottles were extremely special, including Bollinger PN TX20 paired with creamy Carlingford oysters and Moët Grand Vintage Rosé 2008, paired with the powerhouse oyster that is Tia Maraa. The kind of wine you don’t need to open in a public park. But that generosity was the point. Even if every guest didn’t understand the intricacies of a particular vintage or producer, they understood the feeling of being trusted with something rare. They’ll remember that moment long after they forget tasting notes.

Events like this attract different kinds of people. Some come because the idea itself is unexpected. Some are drawn by the oysters. Others by the Champagne. Many are intrigued by the contradiction of a luxury experience unfolding in a very ordinary public space. What people quickly realise is that they’re paying for the creation of something thoughtful, fleeting and shared.

Embedded, experiential education

Creating experiences like this carries risk. Financial risk, certainly, but also emotional and reputational risk. Every event is an offering of taste, judgement and self. Translating these ideas into practice requires care, from licensing and food safety to risk management. These considerations are part of thoughtful hospitality, not reasons to avoid innovation.

Education still matters, but it works best when it’s embedded rather than imposed. Learning through food pairings, through contrast, through storytelling, feet in the vineyards. Nobody needs to be told they’re being educated. They just need to leave knowing more than they did before.

Price sensitivity is also impossible to ignore. Younger audiences are often priced out of traditional fine wine experiences, even when interest is there. Brand partnerships, merchant support and thoughtful structuring matter. Scarcity, creativity and community can coexist with accessibility. In many cases, natural wine has acted as the gateway. Fine wine, presented with generosity and context, is what earns long-term loyalty.

Community is what turns these moments into something lasting. For the second edition of this event, I collaborated with Aethos London, who were in the process of founding their first members’ club and hotel in Shoreditch. It became a meeting point between my community and theirs. People asked when the next one would be before the blankets were folded away. That response tells you when something has landed.

Investing in the future

Balancing this community-led work alongside a discreet, high-net-worth cellar-curation business can be challenging. I don’t see it as a contradiction. I see it as ecosystem-building. Standing firmly in the world of fine wine while nurturing future collectors before they arrive at large-scale purchasing feels not only compatible, but necessary.

What this means for producers, merchants and on-trade operators is simple. The future of fine wine will not be secured by chasing younger audiences once they dominate the market, but by investing in them now through experiences that build confidence, trust, and emotional connection without compromising quality or integrity.

If the wine industry is, at its core, a people industry, then its relevance will be shaped by the moments it creates today and the drinkers it chooses to take seriously.