Nationalism, Natural-ism and Registered Trademarks

Caitlin Perlman, 18 November 2018

Can a country’s modesty hinder individual cultural progression? The question can’t help but be raised reasonably shortly after arriving in New Zealand: an awe inspiringly beautiful nation. Even just walking round the nation’s capital, Wellington, one can’t help but feel slightly befuddled about where New Zealand ranks their identity against the vestiges of modern day icons of globalization. Multiple news outlets loudly applaud arrivals of vapid food chains — photographing lines of delighted people elbowing one another to be first to stick a Krispy Kreme ô into their mouth. The problem isn’t so much the embracing of brands, as it is a suppression of local identity and character.

Brands, however, are not limited to the registered trademarks intrinsically tied to overly catchy jingles. We are in a day and age of using platforms to promote ourselves as our very own brand. Unfortunately, wine is no different.  And as with all other things projected via the lens of social media, natural wine has been transmogrified into yet another categorical brand. Instagram pages teeming with eye-catching labeled bottles lining bars in Tokyo; graveyards of sought after wines with a romantic dusting on the bottles in a cavernous restaurant in Paris, bottles fetching high price tags and adoration being consumed by the young and beautiful in New York. Even the language follows suit. What started out as creative witticisms has been diluted down to barely literate Instagram model captioning standards.

If I sound exasperated, it’s because I am. I’m sad that “smashable juice” is now the highest praise for wines that have forever changed my outlook on what alcohol can mean. There is also an inherent danger to what the limited scope of language can bring to a growing area of the industry. It turns wines that many of us have such great passion for into a dismissible “fad”. Wines intended for a singular age group, those of a narrow scope of fashion aesthetics. Language has a greater ability than we often give credit to confine things. Demographics matter. And language is one of the best tools we have to restrict demographics. 

Language can also be used to alienate wines that although cleanly fit into the overarching natural wine production standards but are not so readily waving the natural flag in New Zealand, and therefore, not the brand. For those reading about crazy blends of skin contact, carbonic ferment wines made overseas, will biodynamically farmed, zero addition wines labeled simply from New Zealanders own backyards offer enough? 

This is probably the point I note that I am not advocating for the erasure of humor in wine writing. There are many people who have been able to convey compassion and humor with both relevance and eloquence (sure, maybe some cursing, all caps and emojis — but modern day eloquence is rather elusive). Much of my indoctrination and initial love affair with natural wine began with the way people spoke. Assessments were internal and emotive. Grid-laid tasting notes were abandoned in favor of evoked childhood memories; picking raspberries on a sunny afternoon at summer camp, the smell of my grandmother’s Hollywood home pantry.  In familiar circles, wines were remarked upon as if they were friends — beloved for zeal, character and, even, the imperfections (I’ll leave the contentious topic of flaws out of this).The wines themselves tell the same narrative — nothing added, nothing taken away — complete sums of the soils, climates and traditions. 

The overwhelming love I heard projected in the voices of my colleagues was a far cry from what I heard going through the courses of the Court of Master Sommeliers. Fully armed with every type of red/green/granny smith, bruised/ fresh/ baked apple in my descriptor arsenal, I walked into San Francisco’s natural wine lair, Terroir, looking for a job (there’s a punch line in there somewhere). And while I was considered the lowest rung of human, occasionally heard using the adjective “smooth”, my coworker was enthusiastically selling glasses of Aramon by describing the uncanny likeness of the aroma to that of camel shit — well, at least what he imagined camel shit would smell like. (And in case any one is wondering, the Court of Master Sommeliers does not list  “supposed camel shit” as a common aroma identifier). 

For effect — I LOVE NATURAL WINE. But I am not cool. I will never be cool. I’m a homebody who binge watches anything with measuring cups. The natural wine scene overseas has begun a campaign for exclusivity in many places. And that needn’t be a foregone conclusion here too. 

My interest is in separating the growth of New Zealand winemakers curtailing conventions and interventions from the overseas natural wine “brand”. There is absolutely no need to inherit the divisiveness that is loudly expelled from online articles from cities dealing with their own tumults of industry change. The idea that natural wines in New Zealand are somehow recalcitrant outliers needs to change. The mere existence of these wines is opening doors a different group of drinkers demanding transparency from the producers. It is the allowance for viticulturists and winemakers a like to explore beyond the given varietal selection seemingly set in stone for many regions and perhaps allow for more direct relationships with the people consuming the bottles. 

For the people who love, make, sell and drink these wines, I believe we have a responsibility to actually think about how we want natural wine to be represented in New Zealand.  If we cast these wines out as purely wines made in deference to tradition are we really doing any service to the greater story? Natural wine does not need to become the next Burger Wellington — an overseas staple that dwarfs localism and individuality (at the end of the day, I suppose I am still something of a salty American).  The best New Zealand has to offer does not need to be reformatted into an overseas template to prove it’s good enough. 

This is my plea: Those of us who already foster a love for what these wines represent, let us represent these wines to the best of our abilities. Let’s drop the sliding scale of natural-ness and embrace the wines adhering to a philosophy that resonates while making good wines; Let’s work on our language to remove imbedded smears and move towards inclusive, educational words.

Let’s interact with the producers pushing these wines forward in New Zealand instead of purely lusting for cult wines that are still 5 years from landing on these shores. Let’s create the scene we want — one of love and inclusion. Let’s prove that natural wine is more than a fad — one that New Zealand is already too late upon. New Zealand can be a next natural wine destination, but it can do so in a way that will remain true to New Zealand.