You thought rosé was soft?
Think again.
This ain’t your auntie’s poolside pink.
This is Pink Paradise, a Georgian rebel born in clay and raised on chaos.
Made by the mischief-makers at Chito’s Gvino, it’s a dark pink wine fermented on Saperavi skins for two months — not sparkling, not filtered, not tamed.
No bubbles.
No chill.
Just a wine with more trauma than your last situation ship.
🎨 Colour?
Like rosé joined a punk band.
Dark, moody, dramatic.
It walks in like it just got kicked out of a Renaissance painting for smoking behind the altar.
👅 Taste?
Peach skins. Dried herbs. Red berries with an existential crisis.
And a whisper of tannins that say:
“Hey, remember that one time you texted your ex at 3 am? This wine does.”
It’s layered, complex, earthy — like someone buried poetry in a qvevri and let it ferment with the ghosts of your past decisions.
No sugar. No sparkle. No safety net.
It goes down dry but leaves emotional damage.
⚠️ Side Effects:
- Sudden urge to start a zine
- Philosophical debates with your cat
- A spontaneous road trip to Tbilisi
- Instagram captions that make your therapist concerned
Pink Paradise doesn’t pop. It stares.
Quiet. Fermented. Judgy.
And then it ruins you, gently.
No corks flying.
Just your soul leaving the chat.
