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Imagine paying over $1,000 for a bottle of wine, while its neighbor from the same vintage costs a mere $70. In fact, price disparities can be even more extreme—in 2024, some exceptional First Growth bottlings can command well over $1,000 per bottle. Welcome to the wild world of the 1855 Bordeaux Classification, a ranking system that has wine lovers cheering, winemakers fuming, and economists scratching their heads.
Picture this: It’s 1855, and Emperor Napoleon III wants to show off France’s best wines at the Paris Exposition Universelle. The mission is clear: present a glorious showcase of Bordeaux’s finest offerings to the world. He turns to the Bordeaux Chamber of Commerce and says, “Make me a list!”—little suspecting that he was about to ignite centuries of debate.
The Bordeaux Chamber of Commerce delegated the task to the local wine brokers, or courtiers, who were intimately familiar with the region’s châteaux, vineyard prices, and sales figures. Their method? Follow the money. They ranked the wines by market value, believing that the most expensive wines inherently reflected superior quality. This was the mid-19th century, after all—no wine scores, no glossy magazine reviews, and certainly no Instagram influencers. The brokers simply looked at who was fetching top dollar and assembled their hierarchy accordingly.
What emerged was the Bordeaux Classification of 1855, a formal list that instantly segregated the region’s châteaux into “haves” and “have-nots.” Some estates were vaulted into stardom overnight, while others found themselves stuck on the sidelines, despite potentially fantastic terroirs and winemaking skills. The list’s impact on Bordeaux’s reputation—and the global wine market—was nothing short of monumental.
From this fateful exercise came the now-famous categorization of Bordeaux’s Left Bank wines:
First Growths (Premiers Crus)
The crown jewels. This exalted group initially included Château Lafite Rothschild, Château Latour, Château Margaux, and Château Haut-Brion—the latter standing out as the only wine from the Graves region included in the original classification.
Second to Fifth Growths
A descending ladder of prestige, capturing 61 châteaux in total. Their value, reputation, and collectability tend to reflect their “Growth” status, forming a complex pecking order that wine aficionados still relish debating.
The classification also extended to the sweet wines of Sauternes and Barsac. At the summit was Château d’Yquem, deemed the only Premier Cru Supérieur, effectively the First Growth of sweet Bordeaux. Beneath it came the rest of the classed growth sweet wines, which continue to enjoy a devoted following among fans of luscious dessert wine.
For many, the classification was a badge of honor that instantly boosted their estate’s fame and financial prospects. Châteaux that made the cut enjoyed long-standing recognition, while those left out had to toil much harder to earn market share. Indeed, the 1855 list was akin to a royal decree, instantly anointing winners and losers in a game that had no formal replays.
For 118 years, the 1855 Classification was as unchanging as the stone walls of the Médoc châteaux themselves. Wine producers and collectors alike treated it almost like an edict from on high—immutable and absolute. Then, in 1973, one restless spirit rocked the boat: Baron Philippe de Rothschild, owner of Château Mouton Rothschild.
Armed with a sharp wit and boundless ambition, the baron campaigned tirelessly to elevate Mouton from Second Growth to First Growth status. After all, Mouton’s wine quality was already praised by critics and fetched a premium price on the market—so why shouldn’t it join the highest echelon? Baron Philippe’s cheeky motto, “Premier ne puis, Second ne daigne, Mouton suis” (“First I cannot be, Second I do not deign to be, Mouton I am”), perfectly captured his frustration.
When his lobbying finally succeeded, it was as if an earthquake had rattled the Left Bank. Château Mouton Rothschild was promoted to First Growth—a once-unthinkable shift in an otherwise rock-solid classification. Imagine someone storming Buckingham Palace and emerging a newly crowned monarch: scandalous, exciting, and a permanent reconfiguration of the power structure.
Here’s where things get juicy. For some, the 1855 Classification is the sacred foundation upon which Bordeaux has built its global fame. For others, it’s an antique that should be gathering dust in a museum rather than dictating 21st-century wine prices.
The Defenders argue:
The Critics fire back:
Despite the outcry and calls for reform, the 1855 Classification remains deeply ingrained in Bordeaux’s identity—and in global wine culture. First Growths still command astronomical prices, especially in blockbuster vintages. Some particularly coveted bottles are known to soar well above that $1,000 mark. Collectors routinely shell out four figures (or more) for a single bottle, buoyed by the promise of prestige and impeccable provenance.
Meanwhile, wine tourists flock to the region, eager to see the grand châteaux whose names adorn some of the world’s most celebrated labels. Strolling through the gravelly vineyards of the Médoc or wandering the cellars of a Saint-Julien estate offers a direct connection to a piece of living wine history. For many, that experience is worth every penny.
Yet modern wine markets have grown exponentially. Critics like Robert Parker and publications like Wine Spectator can skyrocket a wine’s popularity overnight, regardless of its classification status. Instagram influencers and YouTube sommeliers add yet another layer of noise to the market, proving that while the 1855 Classification remains hugely influential, it’s no longer the only game in town.
As much as I want to pretend it doesn’t, the 1855 Classification still influences my personal choices—sometimes even more than I’d care to admit. It’s annoying, especially since I know better! As someone who knows wine well, I’m fully aware that what’s on that ancient list doesn’t necessarily reflect modern quality. Still, there’s a psychological pull to these storied labels and a certain je ne sais quoi in owning or tasting a wine with such a historic pedigree.
It makes me face an uncomfortable truth: the overall wine experience is significantly shaped by psychology. Branding, stories, and centuries-old reputations add a layer of allure—much like buying a Hermès bag. You’re not just purchasing a functional item; you’re buying into a narrative, a legacy, and the special feeling that comes with being part of that tradition.
I’ve learned to accept and even appreciate this dynamic, but I also counterbalance it with one important practice: tasting wines blindly whenever possible. Blind tasting helps me make a cleaner call on the wine’s merits first, without the baggage of preconceived notions. Then, once I’ve formed my initial opinion, I let the history and storytelling add to the enjoyment, rather than define it from the start.
The idea of “reclassifying” Bordeaux has surfaced time and time again, typically leading to heated discussions in parlors, tasting rooms, and corporate boardrooms across the region. Some have suggested the creation of a modern classification system that accounts for evolving terroir practices, advanced technology, and shifts in consumer tastes.
But imagine the chaos: If a beloved First Growth was demoted, outraged collectors and loyal fans might riot in the streets of Pauillac. If an unranked château suddenly soared to the top tier, lawsuits and protests would inevitably follow. And what about the complicated synergy between wine scores, auction prices, and brand equity? In an era of en primeur campaigns and global investment, any sweeping change could send shockwaves through the entire industry.
For many, it’s easier—and safer—to leave the 1855 Classification as it is, preferring the devil they know to the devil they don’t. After all, there’s a certain romance in tradition, even if it’s occasionally at odds with reality. The mystique of Bordeaux relies heavily on these grand, immovable institutions that continue to enthrall wine lovers worldwide.
And so, we’re left with a paradox: an antiquated system that somehow remains one of the most potent forces in the modern wine world. The 1855 Bordeaux Classification is, without doubt, a testament to the enduring power of tradition, the human love for exclusivity, and the magic that a truly great bottle of red Bordeaux wine can inspire.
So the next time you find yourself swirling a glass of Margaux or Sauternes, remember: you’re not just tasting fermented grape juice. You’re tasting a slice of history, a hefty dose of controversy, and perhaps a pinch of delicious irony. Whether you’re firmly on team “Keep it for posterity!” or squad “Tear it down and start fresh!” one thing’s for sure—the 1855 Classification, like a well-cellared Bordeaux, only gets more complex and compelling with age.
Wine-searcher.com, 2024 average prices for select First Growths
Robinson, J. (2006). The Oxford Companion to Wine (Note on Château Haut-Brion’s unique status in the 1855 Classification)
Markham, D. (1998). 1855: A History of the Bordeaux Classification
Peppercorn, D. (1982). Bordeaux
Johnson, H. & Robinson, J. (2013). The World Atlas of Wine
Faith, N. (2004). The Winemasters of Bordeaux
Lichine, A. (1967). Wines of France
Broadbent, M. (2003). Wine Tasting
Liv-ex Fine Wine Market Report, 2024
Parker, R. (2003). Bordeaux: A Consumer’s Guide to the World’s Finest Wines
Anson, J. (2020). Inside Bordeaux
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