Post-Pandemic Bottle Addiction
Andrea Chang published a chilling article in the Los Angeles Times this morning about the addiction issues that have plagued crypto investors since diving head first into the fray during the pandemic. Stories of young, bright-eyed capitalists, empowered perhaps by celebrity-backed advertisements, putting huge sums of cash into Bitcoin and other e-currencies, and checking their phone every five minutes to monitor the results. Soon they found themselves unable able to sleep, the FOMO so intense they couldn’t concentrate on anything else.
Say what you want about the legitimacy of crypto amid the recent crash, it’s that addiction to dopamine that draws a direct line to American whiskey hoarders in my mind. As one gambling addiction expert stated when referencing the crypto rush: “It’s like a bar without a bartender, and there’s all this new alcohol and people are pouring it themselves.”
All this new alcohol indeed. Chang describes the scene quite succinctly: “Investors boast on social media about being degens — degenerates — attached to their screens 24/7 as they follow every minuscule update in the cryptosphere and rush to buy the latest coins and NFTs.”
Replace the word “investors” with “collectors” and change “cryptosphere” to “booze industry.” Then swap out “coins and NFTs” for “Bourbons and rye whiskies” and you’ve got a pretty good summation of the last few years in the retail alcohol business. Groups of guys going so far as to create bots that scrape the code of a retail website and send instant alerts when new products are added. Each of them addicted to their phones, checking obsessively to get the jump on new bottles before other collectors. That’s been the state of whiskey since the pandemic dialed up the intensity on a market already short of availability.
“Many struggle with the emotional swings they feel from trading in the highly volatile market,” Chang continues; “the thrill when prices skyrocket and then the sudden despair when things go south.” Have you ever seen a fifty year old man throw a temper tantrum when he doesn’t get his bottle of Old Forester Birthday Bourbon? I have. Two days before that, he was my best friend, thanking me profusely for helping him land a whiskey on his checklist. Forty-eight hours later, he cut off all contact with me.
Talk about emotional swings!
Many people I know (including myself) saw their alcohol consumption levels rise during the onset of COVID-19. With nothing to do and nowhere to go, drinking at home for most of the day became far too normal. Now that we’re slowly getting back to some sense of reality, most of us are cutting back and working to regain our physical health. But if you ask me about the mental health drawbacks of whiskey collecting, that’s a completely different story. The OCD that comes with securing allocations, comparing oneself to others on social media, and the general anger that surrounds the Bourbon hunt is a subject that still needs great examination.
The link between crypto and social media is a big reason addiction issues have worsened over time. “Addictions happen far more in bull cycles,” one former addict said. “Right now, we’re kind of in a bear cycle, a dip. I haven’t checked my portfolio in days; I don’t have a desire to; I don’t care. But when we’re in a bull cycle, I’m checking it 30 times a day because the price action is going up so much, the dopamine hits, you see these numbers on a screen and it feels real. You start fantasizing. When you’re in it, it’s like a drug.”
When the drug of scoring a rare Bourbon becomes an all-encompassing desire, everyone stands to lose—including retailers who have grown weary and resentful of crazed customers who go through uncomfortable lengths to get their fix. Stalking distribution trucks, hassling delivery drivers, and then bragging about those actions on social media have turned some collectors into fucked-up, manic versions of Gordon Gekko where the ends always justify the means. As soon as one collector posts a photo of his latest score, others follow. Like locusts, they will descend on an unknowing liquor store and devour anything even remotely rare.
But with the market pulling back, volume now starting to catch up, and demand slightly decreasing, what will happen to the mental state of these consumers? What good is a store room full of Weller and Pappy when the collector’s market crashes and these guys find themselves with empty wallets, unsettled minds, and more booze than they’ll ever be able to drink in a lifetime? We’re all about to find out.
Because like any drug, the highs are followed by incredible lows. I’ve long believed that most of the guys buying up all the Bourbon don’t really even like to drink all that much. It’s the thrill of the hunt that has motivated them throughout the last few years. When the thrill is finally gone, where will those thrill seekers turn? Like many recovering crpyto addicts, hopefully to a more peaceful existence.
-David Driscoll