Unlike hard liquor and beer, which are associated with excess, red wine has enjoyed a special status in America in recent decades. A glass of wine with a meal is viewed in the same category as olive oil, simple cuisine and daily walks: part of a vaguely European prescription for vitality and longevity.
Despite an increase in awareness around the health risks associated with alcohol consumption, wine is still insulated, animating dinner tables, book clubs and nutrition columns long after the research that once propped it up began to buckle.
The red wine myth took hold with the best of intentions. Early observational studies indicated that wine might confer cardiovascular advantages, conflating correlation and causation. Many of us recall the notorious 1991 “60 Minutes” segment on the “French Paradox” that framed red wine as the missing link between buttery cuisine and surprisingly low heart disease rates. Red wine sales jumped 40% in response and endured for years.
Gradually, science has shaken these associations. Studies show that the cardiovascular benefits of moderate drinking disappear when compared to nondrinkers with similar health habits. Alcohol, including red wine, is a Group 1 carcinogen, like radiation and tobacco. Still, red wine has withstood these shifts in awareness, protected by decades of narrative momentum and an industry skilled at leveraging the value of inertia.
I encountered that inertia personally in 2023, when I was treated for breast cancer at UCSF, one of the leading breast cancer research and treatment facilities in the world. Throughout treatment, I was asked about nearly every aspect of my life: lifestyle, reproductive history, hormone therapy, family history, diet, toxin exposure, stress and more. Having paused drinking five years prior, I was waiting for someone to ask me about alcohol, yet not once over more than a dozen oncology visits did the inquiry arise. Alcohol has been mentioned once since then in the three years of biannual screens.
For years, I believed red wine was either harmless or beneficial. It was during my cancer treatment that I discovered clear guidance from the American Cancer Society, National Institutes of Health and World Health Organization, soon followed by U.S. Surgeon General Dr. Vivek Murthy’s 2025 advisory on alcohol and cancer risk. His message was bold and clear: Alcohol is a leading preventable cause of cancer, and alcoholic beverages should carry a warning label similar to cigarettes. Only 40% of Americans know about this link, showing a cultural disconnect with the data.
In the 1950s and 1960s, tobacco companies resisted regulation by casting doubt on health concerns. Similarly, alcohol companies use delay, ambiguity and personal choice to resist regulation. Alcohol companies use similar strategies to slow shifts in perception, advancing the argument that risk is individual, context-dependent and best left to consumers. The problem is that most consumers lack some of the most basic information to support genuine informed consent.
Labels illustrate this gap. U.S. alcohol warnings haven’t been meaningfully updated since 1988. They mention pregnancy, impaired driving and vaguely note “may cause health problems.” There is no reference to cancer, liver disease or other long-term health outcomes, despite decades of reputable scientific evidence connecting alcohol to those risks. Murthy recommended updates to reflect contemporary science, calling cancer warnings “straightforward and overdue,” yet nothing has changed.
Younger generations drink less, and Dry January is now mainstream. The alcohol-free beverage market is growing as people limit alcohol consumption like sugar or ultra-processed food. This is increasingly seen as a health consideration with trade-offs, not a moral issue tied to addiction or abstinence. A 2025 Gallup poll showed alcohol use at a historic low, with just over half of American adults drinking, the lowest in 90 years.
Advocates for clearer labels and information about the risks of drinking alcohol, including wine, are not advocating for abstinence; we argue that actual choice requires accurate information. The wine narrative highlighting cardiovascular health benefits stands out as particularly resistant to change, persistently outliving a growing body of evidence to the contrary.
My own work as an investor in health and behavior change companies, and as the author of “Undimmed: The Eight Awarenesses for Freedom from Unwanted Habits,” has turned my attention to how cultural habits persist long after the ground beneath them shifts. We observe it in technology, food, work and substances affecting health, mood or identity. In the U.S., alcohol consumption is socially accepted, shifting the burden of proof from industry to individuals, complicating norm changes.
The solution here is not prohibition or shame, it is meaningful informed consent. Physicians and other health advisers should be discussing alcohol’s cancer risks as plainly as dietary fats and cardiovascular risk. Labels should reflect what the WHO and American Cancer Society declare. Dietary guidelines must be guided by evidence rather than by the comfort of familiar phrasing. And clinical conversations, especially in the oncology and women’s health contexts, must treat alcohol as a relevant input rather than a lifestyle detail too awkward or marginal to mention. The red wine myth has had a good run, but it’s time to update the narrative.
Cecily Mak is the author of “Undimmed: The Eight Awarenesses for Freedom from Unwanted Habits,” a founding general partner at Wisdom Ventures, a venture firm investing in technologies that support human well-being, and serves on the board of the U.S. Alcohol Policy Alliance, working to advance evidence-based alcohol policy and public health awareness.
