On Ageing

An appropriate theme for my Substackiversary

Today marks my first anniversary of The Wine Edit on Substack. Thank you to all my subscribers so far (especially the paid ones), and to my little Winestack community – it’s been a pleasure getting to know you all! Looking back, my most popular articles have fallen mainly under the “personal essay with tenuous connection to wine” genre – admittedly, a rather niche niche. So perhaps fittingly, this anniversary post is going to explore something that terrifies me personally: ageing.

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On ageing (in people)

It may only be July, but 2025 has felt like an uphill struggle. Over the past few months, my husband has been diagnosed with a vision-threatening eye condition, a close childhood friend has died from cancer, and I’ve developed an ongoing headache and general exhaustion that’s been sapping my energy (arguably, the latter is a direct response to the first two). In short: I’ve been confronted with my own mortality, and it seems I’m not ok with it.

The pain, the weakness, the loss of control are all reflected in what I see in the mirror: white, wiry hairs, the pouchy skin of my jawline forming a question mark on its side, eyebrows drawn southwards in worry. As a girl who came of age in the ‘90s, it’s still hard not to see my self-worth as a package of youth and beauty, tied up with skinny ribbon. I obsess daily about the physical manifestations of ageing, debating whether I can afford to do anything about them, and then concluding that whatever kind of physical change I might make is unlikely to fix how I actually feel.

I’ve had enough therapy to know that the only way out of this is to reframe the narrative – to redirect the self-talk. Dutiful to my journalling tradition, I start to list things I’m grateful for: I’m aware that ageing is a privilege that not all of us get to enjoy (or endure). Those who die young don’t live to see another line appear on their foreheads. Those of us who do are the lucky ones. And while my energy levels right now might be preventing me from doing much at all, I’m confident that my body is basically capable: before all this happened, I was lifting cases of wine and hiking Mount Etna. I know this is something to be celebrated – that my body should be cherished for what it can do, not denigrated for what it can’t.

Climbing Mount Etna in April (and apparently feeling particularly strong!)

On ageing (in wine)

But let’s get on with this tenuous vinous connection. Of course, ageing isn’t just a feature of being human; vintage is also a defining characteristic of wine. Admittedly, the majority of wines are made to be drunk young – within a year or two of being bottled. But those wines that are designed for longer ageing have a few things in common: they show a balance between acidity and sweetness, between alcohol and tannins, between body and freshness – in other words, they have the structure to age. (

Stacey Midge

is good on structure in her article last week – I’ll leave a link to it at the end.)

If you’ve ever tasted a properly aged wine, you’ll notice the layers that have built up over time: the primary fruit flavours, the secondary notes from the wine maturation process (oakiness or creaminess, perhaps) and the tertiary flavours as everything develops (fruit that tastes dried or stewed, nuts that taste toasted). And those layers are what give a well-aged wine its complexity.

We revere an older wine: its grace, its depth, its story of the place it came from and the people who made it. When we talk about “fine wines”, we mean a 1985 Romanée-Conti, not a 2024 Vieille Ferme rosé. But why don’t we (in my culture, at least) have that same respect for age, complexity and wisdom in people?

The limitations of the metaphor

Ok, I’ll admit that the parallels here have their limits. While many wines aren’t meant to mature, only wines of the highest quality are destined for lengthy ageing. That’s a judgement I hope no one thinks I’m making about people: all of us deserve the chance to grow old, while not everyone gets it.

But my point is this: those of us who are hurtling past the tipping point that is middle age probably need to see ourselves less like a cute, peppy rosé that's past its prime, and more like a well-made Burgundy that's busy acquiring complexity lines and wisdom highlights*. At least, that’s how I plan to redirect the self-talk.

*With apologies to

Simon J Woolf

for stealing his “wisdom highlights”, as a euphemism for grey hairs, from a recent chat!

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What I’ve been drinking this week: young, old and middle-aged

I only started drinking wine again last weekend, after almost two weeks off the sauce (let’s call it a failed medical experiment). But still, it was enough time to try a few bottles:

• Tre Venti Nerello Mascalese Rosato 2024 – a young rosé from Cantine Birgi in the west of Sicily that’s designed for summer on a roof terrace: refreshing on the pomegranate but a little cloying on the bubblegum.

• The Garajeest “Bruce” Cabernet Franc 2016 – although 2016 is “only” nine years old, this is perhaps the first Cab Franc I’ve drunk that isn’t crunchy red-fruited, grippy and green peppery (at least, since I started taking note of such things). From the Elgin sub-region in South Africa, the funky label makes you think it’s going to be glouglou and natural, but the mature and sophisticated liquid in the bottle is all dark, dried fruit and warm spices.

• Roberto Sarotto “Puro” Chardonnay 2021 – I bought a case of this tropical, elegantly oaked Chardonnay from Piemonte almost two years ago, and it’s still going strong now. In fact, I wrote about it last August when I was determined to dig it out from the back of storage after five months abroad. I have one bottle left – when should I open it?

The Garajeest Cab Franc: young and funky label; mature and sophisticated wine!

Related reading:

No Stupid Wine Questions: What is Wine Structure?