Flippin’ FOMO
To what degree do we pour scorn on those leveraging the financial gains of this beautiful spirit? As a new whisky drinker, where do we turn when all those around us are losing their minds?
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t bought two identical bottles of whisky, with the intention to drink both, but with half an eye on the potential for the unopened one becoming profitable. I’ve done it once. I might have been in the whisky drinking arena for less than two years, but I’ve immersed myself in this world long enough to see the trends; the sways of the whisky zeitgeist and the ludicrous profitability of some bottles, if you are fast or connected enough to leverage it.
When I started my whisky journey in 2021 the first bottle I bought was for researching a partnership in a professional project. This 18 year old bottle, consisting of mostly sherry cask influence, opened a previously closed gateway into this magical world. It’s only reasonable then that the very next bottle I sought was of similar makeup, so I bought a Dailuaine Flora & Fauna. Then a Glenfarclas 15. Then the mother of all sherry bombs, an Aberlour A’Bunadh. And so it went, sherry cask after sherry cask, until one day I tried an Arran 10, and my appreciation for bourbon maturation began.
I started a spreadsheet. There, I said it. This spreadsheet catalogues every bottle I’ve ever purchased, when I bought it and how much it cost. Looking down the rows now, I can easily see my whisky brain seeking out the next whisky experience that builds upon the last: the bottles after the A’bunadh were an Edradour cask strength IBISCO, Aberlour Casg Annamh and GlenDronach 15. But at a point in my trajectory, I went off-sherry-piste and it was right after I bought a Glen Scotia 15. This was around the time I started seeking opinions outside of the tasting notes provided on the websites. The landscape of whisky and where things are heading started to be of interest. In order to shape my whisky experience, I was mostly guided through YouTube: Ralfy, Whisky Wednesday and eventually Aqvavitae’s vPub.
It’s safe to say, looking down this seemingly never-ending spreadsheet, that I not only fell head-first into the world of whisky, but that there’s a clear pathway between each bottle and a very obvious trend towards me seeking the next exciting thing. My eyes soon turned to the independent bottlers to get more direct examples of certain distilleries such as Glenrothes, Miltonduff and Benrinnes.
The summer of 2021 welcomed the opening gambit of Lindores Abbey and I had my first thrilling experience of rushing towards, and finding a bottle of their easy to remember MCDXCIV, before they all sold out. This new-to-me concept of a young distillery offering its brand new wares obviously made an impression, because soon after I bought some Ardnamurchan. Their half-and-half bottling of peated and unpeated malt eased me very gently into the scary world of peat. This coupled with a visit to the Scotch Whisky Experience in Edinburgh for my birthday, reflected its presence in my whisky spreadsheet; a Caol Ila from Signatory and a Port Charlotte 10 that featured in the tasting flight, was procured.
By this point I was getting stuck into the mechanics of whisky, reading a few books like the brilliant Everything You Need To Know About Whisky (But are too afraid to ask) by Nicholas Morgan, and the rather wonderful Whisky by Aeneas MacDonald. I was also becoming more chatty on social media, through my visual cataloguing of my whisky journey on Instagram. The community aspect of whisky is a force to be reckoned with and no sooner had I posted my enjoyment of my latest Glen Scotia Victoriana, did I have messages declaring the urgency to sample the other Campbeltown dram. The inimitable, orange labelled, visually underwhelming Springbank 10.
The Rise of the Snafflers
Springbank, I’d heard of, obviously, because you can’t wave a stick around whisky land without striking some reference to the little Campbeltown distillery with a huge reputation. Availability seemed lacking and I have a low threshold for effort when it comes to whisky seeking dedication. Luckily for me I’d decided to buy another bottle of the Ardnamurchan I’d just finished, and – timing gods rejoice – a new shipment of Springbank 10 had just been plopped on to the website. I selected my three chosen bottles, made it to checkout, paid and received an email to say my order was successful. I refreshed the Springbank 10 page a few minutes later – all sold out. I had inadvertently experienced the rarest of things: stumbling upon a ferociously in-demand bottle of whisky at precisely the right time. Although I didn’t know it yet, I was about to stumble into a new sub-world of whisky.
This distillery is a bit of a trend-setter, because the supply of Springbank is far outstripped by the demand for the whisky, with no scope for the distillery to scale up to meet said demand thus leaving sour grapes in the mouths of all those who are unable to react faster than an Ayrton Senna loafer. The availability (or lack thereof) trend is becoming more prevalent in whisky with particular friction around newer distilleries. Daftmill, Lochlea, Ardnamurchan, Nc’nean, Bimber, White Peak and many more new-release spirits are gone within minutes of hitting digital shelves.
The truth of it is, these new whiskies are snapped up because the excitement around the launch of a new whisky distillery is warranted – it’s a magnificent thing to welcome a new stream of the uisge beatha into the world and say you were there when the first tentative steps were made. The potential to watch a distillery carve its path in realtime is a fascinating, humbling thing; these folks are pouring themselves into this joyous spirit and we, the drinking public, could, in a few years, be able to sample the glorious fruits of their labours. But the ability to try the whisky, to smell and taste it, is falling desperately short of those willing to exploit these new strains through the mechanisms of FOMO – fear of missing out – and the very real prospect of making loads of money. The dedicated drinkers fall prey to the trigger fingers and camping exploits of professional speculators. That whisky you’d been reading about for months leading up to release is unobtainable anywhere unless you are painfully well informed and ready to click some buttons faster than you’ve ever clicked buttons in your life…or you are willing to stand outside a bricks and mortar establishment for many hours for the chance, not the certainty, of picking up a bottle. And who here has the time, or the inclination, to do any of those things?
Well, I fall somewhere in the “happy to try it if I find it, but don’t worry too much if I can’t” camp of the spectrum. I would love to be among the first to wrap their lips around the best whisky that a new distillery could muster, but not if it means Herculean efforts. There’s loads of other whiskies I haven’t tried that, if we’re all honest here, are likely more enjoyable, more complex and more mature. However it’s a rather depressing reality of the human condition to subconsciously think, should you not win the fight for a bottle of this new stuff, that you’re missing out on an experience otherwise impossible to replicate. The feeling remains after the unsuccessful bid, needling you in the side each time you read a review of that whisky you missed; that could've been me.
I do share a small sympathy with those who do go to the effort only to find they’d missed out due to “high demand” or website issues, looking a few weeks later to find the same whisky on an auction site for two, three or even six times what it would have cost them at source. It smarts a little. Even more so when you find bulk auction listings of six identical bottles when retailers unanimously deployed a one-bottle-per-person rule for fairness. How could anyone have six? Is it a person, is it a shop? A couple of clicks and you can find a lot of the auction sites also have “sister” shops; actual bricks and mortar whisky shops, ready to parcel your latest auction win with any other bottle(s) purchased from their shop at the same time…the conspiracy!
I’m newer to whisky than most people I’m reading or interacting with. Some have been enjoying the golden nectar for decades and remember with misty eyes the time when they could easily nip down to the off-licence and pick up a bottle of 21 year old Rare Malts Selection Brora for £40. Ah, those halcyon days before the internet went and spoiled it for everyone. But what does it mean for people like me, who are relatively new to whisky with an interest solely in the experience of tasting the spirit, rather than selling it for profit? It’s a topic hotter than the Antarctic ice shelf, and it’s clearly simmering under the surface of a lot of people, ready to boil over at any point. When rants kick off on YouTube reviews, bemoaning the quality of some official bottles compared to how it used to be, you know it’s becoming a bit of an issue. I feel like I missed out, even before being old enough to legally drink the stuff.
Seek and Ye’ Shall Find
For folk like me there’s still a way to find drams that excite, without all this extra emotional damage. We can look to the independent bottlers; the weathered industry boffins bottling their own expressions of distilleries that have gone off the cliff of compromise. Of particular excitement for me right now is a James Eadie Linkwood 10yo and the Benrinnes 9yo, both hugely enjoyable and affordable. A Carn Mor Dailuaine. A North Star anything. An Infrequent Flyers Knockdhu 8yo of such resonance that I almost cried when the last solitary drop fell into the bottom of my Glencairn. There’s loads of places to find superbly priced, incredibly tasty drams.
We can turn to the auction sites, not to pay abhorrent prices for the trendy stuff, but for the other bottles that are going under the radar – the untrendy stuff. A Cadenhead’s Small Batch 8 year old Glentauchers, or a Signatory Cask Strength Linkwood 2006 have been eye-openers for me. If you’re lucky you can snaffle one of the trends that have fallen off the radar of speculators, like an Ardnamurchan early release or a Raasay single cask.
The other place we can look is to the alternative malts, the outliers, the anti-zeitgeisters. Folk like Deanston, Glencadam or Glen Scotia. However, even as I write this, the price of Glen Scotia is starting to skyrocket too, in particular, the 25 year old – perhaps a symptom of winning one of the biggest accolades around: Whisky of the year at the 2021 San Francisco World Spirits Competition.
When I first popped my Glen Scotia 15 and found some new flavour experiences, of course I looked at what else they had to offer. At that time, somewhere in late spring 2021, their 25 year old was a not-inexpensive £240. I had reasoned with myself that I could either ask my whisky drinking pals for a bottle split, or save up a bit more and justify it as a special occasion thing. Well I can forget about that now, because in April 2021, the month it won the accolade, it jumped to £360. Then up to £420 before the year’s end. Right now it’s available on a limited number of websites for £500. In almost a year since it won the award, off the back of quality, price and hard work, the opportunity to try it is likely outside of the average whisky drinker’s budget. Is it fair that Glen Scotia want to maximise the draw of their drams and that they perhaps under-priced their malts in the first place? Absolutely. Does it stem the flow of FOMO? Absolutely not.
Ok forget about that – boo-hoo you, so you can’t try a 25 year old, £500 whisky – big deal. Is there anything else the new drinkers can do to continue the smell and taste journey without either camping outside a shop, throwing our computers out the window as we get outbid yet again, or cry softly into our pillows as underdog distilleries cash in on long-awaited success? It seems a bit cliche, but supporting your local whisky shop is a great way to get yourself in front of a lot of things. When I first started buying whisky, I used Master Of Malt – a site most people probably use too, due to prices being good. But more recently I’ve found new shops opening that offer the same prices, if a little bit more expensive, but run by enthusiasts willing to engage with you and help whisky drinkers. Callander Drinks Co, Kinnaird Head Whisky and Dunkeld Whisky Box are all wonderful examples of local (to me) shops that put drinking a huge distance before speculating. I now try where possible to buy all of my whisky from one of these three retailers and sometimes you find a little sample of something special thrown in there for kicks. You never know.
Stop Chasing and Start Sipping
Speculation in the whisky world is never going to go away. I often see talk online of the whisky bubble bursting or a repeat of the whisky loch looming large. But the fact remains: if there’s a buck to be made, it will be made. Some distilleries have made this angle their sole purpose of existing; to make products for people to speculate with - Edition this, Folio that. Cacao infused auction fodder, and that’s ok. It’s more than ok. Let them be who they want to be. That the mentality applied to those bottles is now being applied to newer spirits like Daftmill, like Lochlea, Bimber and now Springbank is alarming but, that’s life. We shouldn’t worry about it as much as we are.
I’m grateful for those reviewing whisky that offer perspective. Those that can look beyond the confirmation biassed echo chamber of these totem whiskies – that the thrill of opening a unicorn unfairly improves the smell and taste because it was such hard work to acquire and thus it must only be good. I obtain most of my whisky info from places like Instagram and YouTube and if you’re checking in daily, there can be a very interesting “coming together”, a confluence if you will, of the same bottles, at the same time with the same reviews appearing in the feeds. I’ve noticed it happening a few times now, enough that I’ve wondered if there’s a collective agreement in place between them all, to release it at the same time. Regardless, the effect, if that was its intended purpose, worked: I immediately looked for where I could get it, how much it cost and what the tasting notes were. I was drawn into the FOMO without much effort, and only a moment of realisation about the seemingly constant flow of new whisky and the alignment of social media posts, stopped me from buying it. How long do I try and keep up with these influencers so that I too can be on the cutting edge of the whisky zeitgeist? Bankruptcy?
I’m surely not the only one to have chased, won and proclaimed the whisky as the best thing ever, only to revisit it after a while and realise that it actually doesn’t hold up like I remembered. For someone like me, in such a freshly acquired passion position for whisky, there’s a very potent drive to gather all of the whisky up and try it and, I guess in some version of vanity, to be seen to be doing so. It’s a product of the social media age. I didn’t think when I first realised whisky was awesome that I’d try to inadvertently become some sort of authoritative influence on others. As soon as I realised I was getting a bit miffed at the lack of interest in my posts, I stopped. I’ve learned my lesson: to be more patient and not worry about missing out. I’ve learned that a chased dram is usually appraised in haste, for fear of missing out on the Instagram trend tidal wave of the here and now; the feeling of relevance.
The Fife Whisky Festival kicked off a few weeks ago and I was due to attend, thanks to the generosity of someone I met through Instagram. I was geared up and gunning, excited but nervous to insert myself for the first time into a well established world of drinking whisky with strangers in a big room. I looked forward to trying things I might not otherwise get a chance to, like special bottlings or older age statements, maybe even one or two expensive whiskies. More for the experience of what a whisky that commands that cost is really like compared to what I am able to afford. Frustratingly I was a close contact of someone that contracted Covid on the Wednesday before the event, so I backed out reluctantly. In the week since the festival closed to unanimous rapture, I’ve read in astonishment that people who queued for many extra hours so that they could be first in the door, were angry that they couldn’t immediately purchase the whisky available in the shop. That a new raft of Springbank was released just prior to the event is neither here, nor there. I’ve read there were people who changed outfits between the afternoon and evening sessions to have a shot at acquiring multiple festival bottles – completely counter to the spirit of the event and something that was already highlighted in the festival rules. I’ve read there were husband and wife tag-teams attending for the same reason: to snaffle the “good stuff” for auction. It’s madness.
A Human Experience
Cynicism is rife when people are abusing something you genuinely love. It isn’t limited to people grabbing all the latest releases with no intent to open them, but also drinkers who proudly display their home whisky shelves stocked with so many multiples of these popular, limited availability bottles, that they could easily open a shop and do really well. But that’s their right as earning and buying consumers. They can do whatever they like – the reality is that they’ve probably gone to huge amounts of effort to gather those up. That we find it distasteful or unfair only reflects our own laziness to do the same. We want it all, at a click of a button and delivered to our door, please. It’s hard to know where to fall on this. The constant, cyclical emotional rollercoaster that I feel when I see these burgeoning whisky collections and think how much I’d like to try just one of them, or these new whisky releases disappearing before I’ve managed to open the link in the email to buy it, or another failed ballot attempt, or even just knowing that I probably won’t have a chance at something exciting. It’s damned exhausting, I tell you.
This is whisky. It’s a product of the marriage of water, grain, yeast, wood and time, encased in glass and beautifully adorned with colourful labels. It’s consumed and it’s gone, literally down the toilet. That we didn’t get to try Lochlea but see 85 bottles available at auction …so what? That Daftmill chasing is now approaching Walmart on Black-Friday levels of aggression coupled with tents pitched on the pavement outside Luvians on a Tuesday…so what? That some buy these liquid-filled bottles to place on a shelf and never open them, never experience the scintillating flavour or the memory-releasing scents that whisky is so tremendously good at offering, instead waiting patiently for the perfect time to offload them all for maximum financial gain? If there’s a buck to be made…
To butcher a phrase used by one prominent YouTube host: Whisky isn’t whisky, until it’s shared. Until that point, it’s a blown glass bottle filled with some nondescript orangey liquid, of unknown flavour or smell, and a nice paper sticky label. It’s inert. It’s nothing but an artefact, an object of some chosen monetary value, but nothing more. It’s not an experience. It’s not a conduit for memory or a vehicle for friendship. It’s a sloshy paperweight. It only becomes whisky when it passes the lips and burns the living shit out of your mouth, because it’s cask strength and you thought you could handle it without water, you silly billy. This is what whisky is all about – the human experience of it all.
Get on with doing that, I say, and stop worrying about everything else.
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