I’m going to say something that is potentially sacrilegious in the whiskey world, but this spirit hasn’t always been fun to be surrounded by, to me anyway. Before you turn the page and tut in judgement, that isn’t how I feel now, but I’d imagine a lot of people new to the drink might be able to relate to me here. It’s not always simple to appreciate something that you don’t think is for you.
Blame whoever you want, really, because it’s probably down to a mix of everyone that has ever been involved in the whiskey making, drinking and selling process. From my personal experience, I entered the whiskey world as a young woman of 24 years old, and it’s safe to say that I didn’t exactly feel like it was made for me. I remember the immense pressure I felt while I was trying to learn all I could about the spirit — I was perpetually worried about looking stupid, or pulling a face when I tasted a whiskey that wasn’t to my taste, or had an outrageously high ABV.
When looking back now, I feel saddened that so much of my first few years in the whiskey space was marred by this feeling. Now, nearly a decade later, to be perfectly honest, I couldn’t care less how my interaction with whiskey looks to others. I very much care about promoting accessibility and enjoyment of the spirit, but what I no longer have time for is external pressure ruining my experience.
A couple of years into my whiskey experience, I took a head-first dive into the world of American whiskey when I became editor of this very magazine. Safe to say it did feel intimidating at first, but by then it was a feeling I was used to. I quickly fell in love with the industry and its creations during my first trip over to the US and meeting the extraordinary community behind it.
What truly shifted everything for me wasn’t just the liquid in the glass, but the people who filled the room around it. Up until then, I had felt like an outsider looking in, trying to decode an exclusive club with unwritten, gatekept rules. But as I traveled, shared drams, and sat around tables with industry professionals, I realized something vital: the people who truly love whiskey aren’t trying to test or trick you. Those people want to share the thing they love so much with you. I began finding myself surrounded by the people who didn’t care whether I could pick out subtle notes of leather or aged tobacco, but who simply cared about passion, storytelling, and human connection. Finding people I could relate to changed my entire trajectory; suddenly, whiskey was no longer an exam to pass, but a conversation to join.
Through those relationships, I unlocked the most liberating lesson of my career: whiskey appreciation is not about always agreeing with the person next to you. It isn’t about training your palate until you force yourself to love the ultra-rare, high-proof cask-strength bottle that everyone on the internet is raving about. It’s about discovering what you like, on your own terms, and being unapologetic about it. If your preference leans toward an easy-drinking rye, a finished bourbon, or an approachable cocktail, that is every bit as valid as sipping a 15-year-old single barrel neat. The moment you stop drinking for other people’s approval is the moment whiskey becomes genuinely fun, and is why whiskey is fun to me.
That lesson has guided my time spent as editor of this magazine, and it’s a mindset I hope stays with you every time you pick up a glass.That lesson has guided my time spent as editor of this magazine, and it’s a mindset I hope stays with you every time you pick up a glass.
Which brings me to a bit of personal news. This will be my last Editor’s Word for a little while, as I’m stepping away on maternity leave to welcome my second baby into the world.
During my time away, the magazine is returning to the brilliant and entertaining mind of interim editor Bradley Weir. Bradley brings an incredible depth of knowledge, warmth, and dedication to the craft.
Pour yourself something that you genuinely love, whatever that may be, and remember who you are as an individual is perfect, no matter what you drink.
