What Being a Wine Rep Has Taught Me About Rejection

If you’ve ever sent an email and heard nothing back, this is for you.

I’ve been a wine rep for a while now, and if there’s one thing this job will teach you quickly, it’s how to be rejected.

My first rep job came out of a restaurant that was supposed to be a no-brainer success.

It was a prominent name from the Bay Area, known for making some of the best bread, and for this morning pastry that felt like a cinnamon roll and a croissant had a baby, with just a little citrus. They expanded into a sun-drenched café, doing sandwiches on that bread, California-fresh food, avocado toast, citrusy tuna sandwiches.

When they came to LA, they decided to supersize the concept.

During the day, it was a café. At night, they dimmed the lights and transitioned into a dinner service that still relied heavily on bread. They brought in a big name in coffee and roasted the beans on site. There was also a famous pizza guy involved who wanted to expand into pasta and other classic Italian dishes.

On paper, it worked.

In reality, it didn’t.

I was hired as a floor sommelier, part of a two-person wine team. And from the beginning, it was hard not to notice the slow days. There were moments when the room felt like it had a rhythm, like something was building—and then the faucet would just shut off. No one would walk in for the rest of the night.

There was something about the lighting that never quite worked. At night, it still felt like you were in a mall food court.

The location didn’t help. It wasn’t a place you stumbled into. You had to want to be there. And this is LA, the place where carb-free was practically invented.

Eventually, my shifts got cut. My tip-outs got smaller.

In an attempt to keep me around, my boss suggested I meet some friends of his. They needed a wine rep in LA.

So I met them. Said the right things. Got the job.

What I didn’t say was that I had no idea how to do it.

I knew the basic outline. You take wines into restaurants, bars, and shops. You find the wine director. You pour. You hope—really hope—they buy something.

What I didn’t know was:

• how to find those people

• how to build a territory

• how to read a commission sheet

• how to afford samples

• how to keep going when no one emails you back

There was no one there to teach me how to do the job I had been hired for.

So I did what I thought was right.

I Googled. I asked people I’d met along the way. I showed up places and hoped I wasn’t interrupting someone’s worst day.

The company I worked for was no help at all, and I did myself no favors by staying quiet because I was scared I’d get fired.

Being a wine rep for a small company is a job no one really tells you how to do. The companies I’ve worked for have been much more like running your own business.

It is your job to find the clients, build the relationships, and email every day, forever.

And most of the time, the answer is no.

Or nothing at all.

What rejection actually taught me

I never made that first job work for me.

The battle was always an uphill slog. I always had another job while I was trying to make it work—selling wine during the day and managing a restaurant at night. Which, for the record, is dumb. Almost impossible. Never ever do it.

But that first job taught me a lot that I’ve carried into my current position.

The biggest lesson—and something I still have to remind myself of constantly, as a sensitive Taurus, an only child, a person who loves being liked—is this:

Don’t take anything personally.

Someone not emailing you back is not a rejection of you. It actually has nothing to do with you.

We are all in our own little worlds, dealing with so many things. An email is often the last thing someone is trying to respond to.

The silence is part of the job.

It doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means you followed up once, maybe twice, and now it’s time to back away before you start to fixate.

The point of this job is building relationships. Getting to know a buyer and what they are looking for.

That takes time.

You might taste with someone a few times without them buying anything, and that’s part of the job. One day, that relationship will shift. You’ll get an order. You’ll feel like you can rely on that account.

Even the dreaded “we’re not interested right now”—that’s ok.

“Right now” is doing a lot of work in that sentence.

The most important thing is that you keep showing up. Not in a desperate way. Not in a way that makes you feel small. But in a steady, consistent, I’m still here kind of way.

Rejection, I’ve learned, isn’t really rejection.

It’s timing. It’s budgets and bad days and inboxes that are too full.

It’s part of the rhythm.

Some days the faucet is on. Some days it shuts off completely.

My job is to keep showing up with the bottle anyway.

This Week’s Tiny Pleasures, Vol. 9

A few things that are making the cost of gas not feel so bad

I had Ruby Blanca Wines at the Sediment Wine Fair. I was impressed by how complete the wines felt . They were all so easy drinking and confident.

I found myself in Vegas…again.

But I’ve figured out how to do LV in my own way: see a show (this time it was The Atomic Rodeo, a circus-style performance set in an old west brothel) and have a great meal.

This time, dinner was at Cantina Contramar. The Mexico City staple was just as perfect as the first time I had it. We ordered ceviche, wagyu beef tacos, tuna and shrimp tostadas, and a really special sweet potato dish—all capped off with a strawberry meringue cake. Three-ingredient perfection.

The Drama really killed me. I loved it.