Mark Zuckerberg took a sip of Guinness the other day, and the internet immediately noticed. Specifically, a short clip from the Meta founder’s appearance on a podcast called The Cheeky Pint—which involves talking tech over a beer with host and Stripe cofounder John Collison—caught his notably unenthusiastic facial expression in response to the Irish stout. He looks, as one observer aptly put it, as if he has just "accidentally swallowed the little paper cup of fluoride at the dentist’s office."
It is a funny image, but it raises a broader question: What is the big deal? Zuckerberg is certainly not the first person to discover that a heavy, bitter stout like Guinness is simply not for everybody. Personal tastes vary wildly, and a grimace at an unfamiliar alcoholic beverage is a common, ordinary human reaction. Yet, the question remains: Why did the "Guinness Wince" quickly morph into a viral roasting across social media platforms and entertainment news sites?
The answer likely lies in who is holding the glass. As one of the most surreally rich and powerful figures on the planet, Zuckerberg remains effectively cloistered and largely out of reach from the routine frictions, minor discomforts, and mundane realities of everyday life. Like his billionaire peers, he largely inhabits spaces that he entirely controls—sprawling mansions, luxury yachts, and private jets—or environments where his public appearance is meticulously and carefully choreographed. Whether he is testifying before congressional hearings, revealing the latest tech products, or engaging in bizarrely viral recreational activities, his image is heavily managed. Meanwhile, other people literally make Hollywood movies speculating about various phases of his career, analyzing his rise to power and his cold corporate persona.
Seeing a master of the corporate universe do something as fundamentally human and unscripted as wince at an unfamiliar brew is just… weird to the viewing public. It shatters the carefully curated illusion of total control and omniscience that surrounds modern tech moguls.
In a way, these rare, unscripted incidents function as a litmus test for authenticity, and maybe even for basic normality. When ultra-wealthy executives are thrust into situations requiring them to consume ordinary consumer goods or engage in everyday cultural rituals, the public watches closely for signs of whether they actually belong to the same species as the rest of humanity.
The last similarly high-profile example of this phenomenon was a promotional video featuring McDonald’s CEO Chris Kempczinski gingerly biting into the fast-food chain’s then-new Big Arch burger. Once again, the internet noticed instantly and judged Kempczinski to be a man who clearly did not eat fast food, let alone regular burgers from the very empire he leads. Competitors like Burger King and Wendy’s noticed the gaffe as well, swiftly capitalizing on the moment by releasing their own videos of top executives taking ravenous, unapologetic burger bites. In doing so, they cleverly converted the physical, biological act of food consumption into a high-stakes brand-reputation performance.
These viral moments do not always read like the actions of confused aliens trying out Earth customs for the first time. Elon Musk has, not surprisingly, made his own distinct mark in this cultural genre with fully characteristic displays of excess. Rather than wincing at a single stout, Musk knocked back three beers during his own appearance on The Cheeky Pint, and he famously puffed a blunt during a sprawling conversation on Joe Rogan’s podcast, leaning heavily into his eccentric persona.
Other leaders have taken entirely different approaches to public consumption. NVIDIA chief Jensen Huang has successfully turned his public food moments into positive signals of accessibility and cultural curiosity. Huang has been widely recorded enjoying simple Beijing street noodles and Korean fried chicken, and he has even been filmed handing out traditional red bean buns to people in Tokyo. His public culinary forays are so well-documented that there is even a dedicated website tracking where and what he eats.
Yet, for most billionaires, such public scrutiny is more of an awkward adjustment than a natural PR strategy. Politicians, for whom performing artificial normality is a mandatory part of the grueling electoral process, learn the tricks of public consumption very early in their careers. They master the art of hoisting a beer with salt-of-the-earth gusto, all while carefully avoiding catastrophic gaffes such as eating a slice of pizza with a knife and fork, or having anything visibly awkward to do with a county fair corn dog. Corporate CEOs, in stark contrast, are almost never required to rub elbows with the hoi polloi or prove their everyday relatability to voters. For tech titans who spend their lives behind code and glass boardrooms, a simple pint of beer can suddenly become an unexpected public relations trap.
