The Twist-Off Taboo

Wine is old. We’re talking ancient old. Older-than-the-Colosseum old. It has been with us for so long that it somehow feels eternal, like sunsets and bad poetry. And with age comes tradition. The wine world clings to tradition the way your uncle clings to his college hoodie from 1987.

This is part of the charm. It’s also part of the problem. Because with tradition comes a certain resistance to change.

A cork in a wine bottle doesn’t just seal the wine. It seals the image of wine. It feels official. Romantic. Worthy of swirling. Screw caps, on the other hand, feel like something you’d find on a bottle of cough syrup. Or worse…Trader Joe’s.

When I worked in a wine shop during college, back when I was deep into my sommelier studies and could recite every subregion of Burgundy before my morning coffee, I saw it all the time. Someone would ask for a great bottle to bring to a dinner party or give as a gift. I’d hand them a beautifully made, well-reviewed wine… and they’d wrinkle their nose the second they saw the screw cap. Never mind the vineyard’s reputation or the winemaker’s talent. The cap killed it.

That reaction stuck with me. It made me want to rid the world of this oddly persistent screw-cap shame. Because it’s not about how the bottle opens. It’s about what’s inside.

So let’s rewind for a second and look at where this all started.

I think your wine's bad

Cork wasn’t always the standard. Two thousand years ago, winemakers sealed their amphorae (a tall jar with two handles and a narrow neck) with (get this) leather. Yes, leather. The stuff that cracks when it gets too dry, shrinks when it gets too cold, and smells weird when it gets too wet. Basically, nature’s least reliable lid.

You can imagine the heartbreak. A family spends all year making wine, pours it lovingly into vessels, seals it with leather… and watches it spoil before the season even changes.

Eventually, cork took over and gave us a better seal. Better being relative. Cork works, yes, but it’s also flawed. It lets in oxygen (which wine hates, but also some needs) and it can vary bottle to bottle. Even with modern improvements, cork taint and random oxidation are still very much a thing.

And cork is unpredictable. It’s a natural material… meaning no two corks are exactly alike. One bottle might age beautifully. The next? Flat, dull, or worse, undrinkable. Winemakers and collectors call it “bottle variation,” but let’s be honest. It’s roulette with a $40 buy-in.

Roughly 1–3% of cork-sealed wines still suffer from TCA contamination, which is just the fancy term for “cork taint” (or “corked wine”), which gives the wine that musty, wet cardboard smell. It’s caused when natural fungi in cork interact with chlorinated cleaning agents, and it’s unavoidable. A single molecule of TCA in a trillion can spoil the wine's aroma. It won’t make you sick, but it’ll make you sad.

And yet… we’ve tolerated it. For centuries.

Because it’s traditional.

Enter: The Australians

In the 1980s, faced with a cork shortage, Australia could’ve followed tradition and just waited it out. Maybe scrambled for lower-quality cork. Maybe paid more. Maybe grumbled about how “this is just how wine is bottled” and moved on.

But instead, they did something outrageous.

They broke tradition.

Gasp.

They started using screw caps.

Cue global side-eye.

It was blasphemy at the time. Like putting ketchup on steak. Or microwaving tea. The rest of the wine world scoffed. Because in the eyes of tradition, this wasn’t innovation. This was heresy.

But guess what? It worked. Actually better than anyone expected.

Screw caps created a more consistent, tighter seal, virtually eliminated cork taint, and reduced oxidation, especially for wines meant to be consumed young (which, by the way, is most wine).

How? Because inside the cap sits an airtight liner, usually made of tin and polyethylene. It dramatically slows oxygen ingress and keeps the wine fresher, longer, unlike cork, which can vary in permeability from bottle to bottle.

Screw caps were cheaper, more reliable, and required zero special equipment. No broken corks. No mushy ends. No tools. And no embarrassing moments at dinner where someone says “I think it’s in the bottle now.”

Just twist and pour.

It worked so well that today, the majority of wines from Australia use screw caps, across all price points.

The Australians weren’t trying to be rebellious. They were trying to be practical. And in doing so, they sparked a quiet revolution. One twist-top bottle at a time.

But despite all this, screw caps still carry a stigma. Twist one open in certain circles and you’ll get a look. The kind of look that says “I thought you knew better.” Because for some, the act of pulling a cork is tied to the performance of wine drinking. It feels fancier. The pop. The ceremony. The ritual.

I get it. I love the ritual, too.

But let’s not confuse ritual with quality.

If you pour a $60 Sauvignon Blanc from a screw cap, it’s still a $60 Sauvignon Blanc. If the wine is well made, the closure method doesn’t make it better or worse. It just makes it more or less likely to show up in your glass the way the winemaker intended.

So what’s better?

If we’re talking chemistry, screw caps win. Especially for wines intended to be drunk within a year or two. The seal is tighter, the oxygen exposure is minimal, and the consistency across bottles is higher.

Winemakers can even tweak how much oxygen a screw cap lets in by adjusting the liner, giving them more control over how a wine evolves in the bottle.

If we’re talking aging high-end reds for 20 years in a cellar? That’s more nuanced. Cork still has a place for slow, controlled oxidation over time (which an aged wine needs). But for the other 95% of wine that’s consumed within a year of purchase, the screw cap is your friend.

It’s not a shortcut. It’s not a cost-cutting gimmick. It’s a smarter solution that just happens to lack romance.

The Bottom Line

Corks are lovely. So is tradition. But wine isn’t about appearances. It’s about what’s in the glass.

So if a screw cap delivers a better bottle, let it.

And if you still feel weird about it? Just remember: twist-off tops let you open wine with one hand. Try doing that with a corkscrew, a picnic blanket, and a toddler on your hip.

So swirl. Sip. Twist away.

Drink what you like, even if it doesn’t come with a “pop.”

And if anyone raises an eyebrow, just raise your glass higher.

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