POV from a Female Wine Rep

Why do we put up with this shit?

At the risk of my Substack debut being just one long rant, I do want to preface this content with the following: my career is dynamic, engaging, interesting, and fun. My work also involves constantly having to choose what hills I’m willing to die on, when to stay in my proverbial lane, and second guessing if standing up for myself will risk losing business for the company I work for, and subesequently deplete my value to said company.

I’m in sales, but I don’t actively sell. I’m smart, I listen, I research, I don’t waste peoples’ time, and I don’t talk too much. I show up on time, make sure I present myself as authentic and professional, and hope the client likes me as a person, and lean on that for success. I don’t hard sell, I’m not cutthroat, and I don’t get a thrill from “closing the deal.” I rely on my likability to succeed in what I do and I’ve done fine thus far. But lately, as I close in on a decade of working as a wine rep, I’ve been reflecting on the road that I’ve taken to get here, and it makes me cringe a little. Keep reading.

The broad market sees wine as a sexy product because it kind of is. There’s interesting stories that will pique any intellectual or historian’s interest. Silly doodle labels of critters grace the likes of millions of influencers’ Instagram stories bragging about their natural wine experience, and god forbid you snap a pic of an unfiltered macerated white wine that is backlit by a soft light, especially if the color scheme of the label perfectly matches the color of the cloudy juice inside the bottle. You’ll never be so thirsty. That, my friends, is marketing. I digress. The reality is, is that wine is an agricultural product coming from not-so-sexy people. Why am I being objectified by a buyer at some shitty chain wine store for a product that came from a man in coveralls that haven’t been washed in a decade and a couple of missing teeth? Seems like quite the jump to me. That’s another topic for another rant on another day. Stay tuned.

For starters, let me regale you with some of the experiences I’ve endured in the last decade. Once, a restaurant owner asked to put their fingers down my pants. Another sent me photos of himself cross-dressing, requesting to have a “makeup girlie night.” Another kissed me as I was leaving a meeting to get a few BTG (by the glass) placements. Recently, one of my clients grabbed my face and pretended to make out with me. During service. At his restaurant. At the host stand. This doesn’t include the countless text messages I’ve fielded from men attempting to lure me in with the promise of a large order or several sustaining placements on their menu. All of this, and more, and I’ve laughed it off as mere entertainment from confused men that have misread my signals. But here’s the thing: I am extremely careful of how I present myself so as not to fall within the margins of women who are successful in wine sales simply for their sex appeal. Even writing that makes my skin crawl. Here’s my hypothesis: the food and beverage industry groomed me to accept such behavior as normal, and allow boundaries to be crossed for the sake of the sale. As someone who worked their way through college as a server and bartender, I learned to laugh at jokes that line cooks and chefs would make that would get them canned on the spot if they were in corporate America. The abuse came in the form of unsolicited side comments, facial expressions, flirting, and sometimes flattery. There was no hard evidence, rarely witnesses, and if there was, chances are they were accomplices. Their armor is their low pay, bad hours, and complacent management. Did they unknowingly make me believe I don’t deserve respect or safety? I know this much is true: my journey would’ve been bumpier, riddled with retaliation, hard conversations, and burnt bridges had I set firm boundaries with said buyers and coworkers. The joke’s on me, ladies and gents.

How does a female maintain her integrity, voice, and likability while selling what the world deems is sexy product? Why is it, that on my recent work trip to Europe, one of my first questions to our host before leaving the country was to inquire about the male to female ratio of the group so I could mentally prepare myself to be made uncomfortable by a travel companion? Lo and behold, there was a very ill-behaved fifty-something year old man on the trip that looked me in my eyes one evening and said “were you feeling sick the other morning because you had unprotected sex with your boyfriend?” This was moments after we all cheers-ed to International Women’s Day. Please believe, the irony is not lost on me. Instead of explaining to this man why his question was wildly inappropriate, I froze in awe that in the blink of an ignorant, entitled, white male eye, the entire mood of my evening had shifted. Did I will his behavior into existence because it’s been my world for the last 20 years? Am I the problem? There is something fundamentally wrong with sweeping sexual harassment under the rug for one industry, but then say, for the banking industry there are hundreds of standard operating procedures in place to address sexual harassment in the workplace and to help keep women safe. I am beginning to feel like I sacrificed my safety and sense of protection to work for a small company (sans HR department), in an envious role. Even women will say, with stars in their eyes, “wow, how do I get your job?” Trust me, lady, it comes at the price of an invisible muzzle that can only be removed once I’m in the company of a trusted and safe, colleague, partner, or friend who will believe me and my experiences.

In 2018 the #metoo movement moved mountains and gave a voice to women who’ve lived in silence for years. It was inspiring, paradigm shifting, and gave a glimmer of hope to women in the workplace. That is, unless you were a woman working in food and beverage. For whatever reason, that movement sailed over our industry like a flyball at a Dodgers game, forgetting us in the trenches with our glossy smiles and tip-ridden bank accounts. Do women only get a voice and a platform to be heard if they wear a pants suit, work in an office, and collect a salary? Luckily for me, I’ve had the opportunity to do both. I was 28 and opened a sexual harassment investigation against my direct report for a well known hotel chain, we’ll call it Chilton. They found his abhorrent behavior basis for termination, he got fired, and I got over-looked for promotion even after successfully running the department on my own for ten months as assistant director, and even interviewed new candidates to replace him, none of which were women or minorities. I resigned before they found a replacement for him or me. I can, with confidence, say that my voice was only taken seriously because of my rank and title in the company. I can also say that if I ever try to apply to the Chilton chain again, my file is more than likely flagged not to re-hire.

All this to say: every industry and every job has its own issues, I realize that. The “say whatever you want” attitude aimed directly at women in the beverage industry, though, feels a little more insidious for a myriad of reasons. If I attempt to list them all my fingers will detach from my knuckles, and my head will explode. I hope, one day, someone will shine the light of protection for women into the dark, cobweb, dust mite ridden corner of the beverage industry. Until then, if you know a woman who’s a bartender, sales rep, restaurant manager, or has any role in the service industry, hold space for her when she wants to vent about her journey. Believe us, respect us. It’s not as fun and sexy as you think.