Let me tell you a bit about my brand: I am what happens when you shove a Powerpuff Girl, a Sprinkles cupcake, and Taylor Swift's discography into a trash can, violently shake it, and then spill it out on the street. That is to say, I am, as the kids say, "basic," in every Valencia-filtered sense of the word. And while I am not ashamed that I spend most of my Friday nights surrounding myself with pumpkin-scented three-wick candles and openly weeping to Netflix rom-coms, I am a wee bit ashamed of leaning into one particular trend that I had no business endorsing from the start. And so, friends, in the wise words of Troy Bolton and Gabriella Montez, I'm breaking free: the truth is, I kind of ... don't really love rosé.
Before you #NotAllRosés me, I will acknowledge that there are some rosés that are good! But even the best rosé is not as good as a glass of red wine*. Like, present me with a fancy rosé, chilled to perfection and served to me by Golden Globe award-winning Oscar Isaac in the flesh, and I'll still be aching for two-buck chuck Merlot from the bottom rack of the Trader Joe's Wine Store. (To be clear, I'd take the rosé anyway because Oscar, but I digress.)
Anyway, I know about as much about wine as I do about successfully navigating the dating scene in New York City (which is to say, very little), but here's my super scientific, extremely reasonable, not at all biased reasoning for why red wine is better than rosé, despite what Jessica Day and Jon Bon Jovi's son want you to think.
It Does Not Taste How It Looks
I grew up on a steady diet of pink Starbursts, Hubba Bubba Bubble Tape, and cotton candy. I know how pink is supposed to taste! And rosé, despite being ridiculously Instagrammable, does not taste like pink. It is dry, decidedly unsweet false advertising in a pretty bottle.
Am I garbage for wanting my pink things to taste like they were all churned in Rainbow Brite's basement? Obviously. Does it make rosé any less of a lie? Nope.
Red wine, on the other hand, tastes red. It's not masquerading as something that it's not. And aren't we all in the business of trying to live as our truest, most authentic selves?
It's So High Maintenance
This is extremely lazy of me, but I feel held hostage by the fact that rosé only tastes good cold. You have to use forethought (a thing I hate using!) and refrigerate it in advance, and then when you drink it outside, you're basically in a perpetual race with the sun to guzzle it before it gets warm again.
There's enough pressure in my life trying to overcome the existential prison that is redefining the meaning of success in a gig economy while in the middle of a generation that will never be able to afford homes! I don't need rosé on my back, too.
The Red Wine Vibe > The Rosé Vibe
When I think rosé, I think of being outside on a boat, or a rooftop, or even a literal island — i.e., all places I have to put time, effort, and money into getting to, all so I can be a part of the ~experience~. When I think rosé, I think of my ever-crippling fear of summer FOMO. Rosé isn't a drink, y'all. It's a destination — and you'd better look cute for the Insta.
But when I think red wine, I think books and coziness and taking my sweet time drinking it, whether I'm by myself or with other humans. Red wine is a drink, and wherever the heck you are is its destination. It doesn't care if you haven't showered in 72 hours, or if you're out on the town, or if you're a strung-out former lawyer and White House aide trying to clean up the president's messes in full makeup and heels. It's just happy you're here.
Anyway, I assume the minute I hit publish on this article I'm going to get beaten up in the wine aisle of Whole Foods by Elle Woods' chihuahua and the pink Power Ranger, so remember me as I was, y'all — and pour out some rosé in my good name.