A Report From Wine Explorer Diego Samper
Paris, France
Behavior Is the New Luxury
In a city full of luxury, behavior has become the symbol.
There was a moment at dinner recently when the conversation stalled.
Someone reached for their phone and said, “Let’s see what ChatGPT says.”
The glow hit his face. The rest of us waited.
It was subtle. No drama. But something shifted. The argument did not need memory. It did not need experience. It needed a voice. Immediate. Certain.
I used to joke about “Grandpa Google.” He knew everything, or at least where everything was. He gave you options. Blue links. You still had to read. You still had to think.
There was friction.
This feels different.
No links. No trail. Just a clean answer that sounds like authority.
We are stepping into an era where it has never been easier to know a little about everything. Surface knowledge is frictionless. You can sound informed about Bordeaux or bonds before the second glass is poured.
Soon, everyone will sound polished.
When that happens, what stands out?
Not access. Not information.
Commitment.
Obsession used to be something we warned against. Don’t go too far. Don’t make it your whole personality.
But in a distracted world, obsession looks like discipline.
It looks like someone who chose one thing and stayed.
It is why vinyl records are coming back. Not because they are more convenient, but because you sit down. You pull the sleeve out. You drop the needle. You listen to a whole side. It forces presence.
That is behavior.
In the January 2026 issue of International Living, Bill Bonner wrote that the mission today is not just to open doors, but to close them.
You cannot walk through all of them.
Anyone can buy a case of wine.
Anyone can buy a house in the mountains.
But owning is not the same as returning.
A mountain house is beautiful in the brochure. Snow on the roof. Fire lit. It becomes meaningful only if you go back, season after season. You have to live it.
Wine does not demand that kind of weight. It is lighter than that.
You can walk into a shop, grab a bottle because the price feels right or the label has a dog on it, open it that night, and enjoy it.
There is nothing wrong with that.
But it is not the same as pulling out a bottle that has been resting in your home. A bottle you saved because you remember the harvest. A bottle that carries context.
It is not heavier.
It is richer.
This week I spoke to Giovanni at Cascina Galarin in Piedmont. I asked him how his day was going.
“It’s busy,” he said. “Very busy. But it’s a good day.”
They had just started filtering the wine they were about to bottle. He paused.
“It’s beautiful.”
Then he made that small gesture—fingers to lips. A quiet chef’s kiss.
No audience. No performance. Just recognition.
Years of decisions collapsing into one moment.
During Wine Paris, Agustín Lanús stayed with us here in Paris. He played with my son on the living room floor. In the morning, over coffee, he was already replaying harvest dates in his head.
When you see a winemaker as a supplier, you see boxes.
When you see him in your kitchen, you see someone who has organized his life around one valley.
They are not chasing everything.
They are staying with something.
And when you choose to follow a vineyard over time, even quietly, you step into that rhythm.
Some circles are worth staying in.
It is not obligation.
It is attention.
In a world where answers arrive instantly and everything is available, the rarest move is to give something your time.
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To remember a vintage
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To wait before opening a bottle
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To know where it came from without looking it up
You can drink whatever is open on the table. That is enough.
But when you pull a bottle that carries memory, that has traveled with you for months, the moment shifts.
Context matters.
In a city full of luxury, objects no longer separate us.
Behavior does.
And choosing to care, quietly and consistently, has become the symbol.
Diego Samper
The Wine Explorer
