Last Updated on September 3, 2025 by Michael
Finally, someone had the ovaries to write this
You know what’s weird? Wine people pair wine with literally everything. Cheese. Chocolate. Your zodiac sign. That one time Jessica paired wines with her emotional breakdowns. (The Malbec won.)
But nobody—NOBODY—has tackled the obvious pairing: birth control and wine.
Until now.
The Pill: 28 Tiny Lies in a Plastic Case
Taking birth control pills is like having a needy Tamagotchi that prevents pregnancy. Miss one feeding and suddenly you’re googling “can you take three pills at once” at 2 AM.
Ortho Tri-Cyclen
The wine: Whatever Cabernet hurt you the most
Tri-phasic pills are proof that pharmaceutical companies have a sense of humor. Three different hormone levels per month because apparently regular PMS wasn’t confusing enough. Now your body gets to play hormone roulette every week! Fun!
Week one: You’re fine. Week two: You cried at a paper towel commercial. Week three: You just rage-ate an entire rotisserie chicken in your car.
Get yourself a Cab that tastes like it’s actively trying to fight you. The kind wine people describe as “challenging” which is code for “tastes like someone’s dad’s leather recliner.” You’re already voluntarily taking pills that make you retain water like a camel preparing for drought season. Might as well drink wine that also hates you.
Yaz
Obviously: Whatever Prosecco has the prettiest label
Yaz is the Instagram influencer of birth control. It promises everything—shorter periods! Weight loss! Clear skin! A better relationship with your mother! (Okay, not that last one, but at this point why not?)
It costs $80 a month and comes in packaging that looks like it should contain luxury mints. You’re not just preventing pregnancy; you’re making a lifestyle choice.
The Prosecco needs to match this energy. Get the one with the gold foil. Take photos of it next to your succulent. Caption it “Sunday vibes ✨” while you’re actually in yesterday’s sweatpants eating cereal for dinner. This is the Yaz girl way.
Lo Loestrin Fe
Pairing: The blandest Pinot Grigio at Target
They gave you this because you complained about the other pills. “Lower hormones!” they said. “Fewer side effects!” they promised.
What they meant was: Here’s birth control that barely exists. It’s the homeopathic version of contraception. One molecule of prevention diluted in an ocean of maybe.
Pair it with Barefoot Pinot Grigio. Nobody’s excited. Nobody’s upset. It just… is. Your mom drinks it. Your coworker who collects miniature lighthouses drinks it. It tastes like someone whispered “grape” in the general direction of water.
But hey, at least you’re not pregnant. Probably.
IUDs: Extreme Makeover, Uterus Edition
Let’s be clear about what happened here. You let someone put a foreign object through your cervix. On purpose. While sober.
Mirena
Wine required: The most expensive Bordeaux in the store
Five. Years.
This thing lives inside you for FIVE YEARS. That’s longer than most streaming service subscriptions. Longer than the lifespan of your houseplants. Longer than you’ve committed to literally anything else in your life including that gym membership you forgot to cancel.
You know what you’ve earned? The right to drink wine that costs more than your copay. Pop that $95 Bordeaux you’ve been “saving.” What the hell are you saving it for if not celebrating the fact that you turned your uterus into a no-baby zone for half a decade?
Paragard
You’re drinking: Orange wine and you’re going to explain it to everyone
Copper IUD people are a different breed. “No hormones!” you announce to anyone within earshot. “It’s just copper! Natural spermicide!” You’re the CrossFitter of birth control.
Orange wine is perfect because it’s equally insufferable. It’s wine that tastes like it has an opinion about gentrification. You’ll spend the entire party explaining how it’s made with “skin contact” while people slowly back away.
Ten years. Your copper coil lasts ten years. That’s a decade of explaining both your birth control and your wine preferences to people who were just trying to make small talk.
You chose violence. Embrace it.
Skyla/Kyleena
Your match: Those mini wine bottles they sell at checkout
Oh, you got the baby IUD for your “small uterus”? (Yes, that’s actually what they called it. To your face. In a medical setting.)
Those single-serving wine bottles are perfect. They’re adorable! They’re travel-sized! They’re vaguely embarrassing but you’re pretending they’re intentional!
Sure, everyone else has their big girl IUDs and their adult-sized wine bottles, but you’re over here with your compact uterus and your purse wine living your best life. Or something.
The Shot: Chaotic Neutral Birth Control
Depo-Provera
Wine pairing: Box wine, directly from the spigot
Look. You get stabbed in the ass with hormones every three months. This is not the time for wine snobbery.
Franzia Sunset Blush. From the box. While standing in your kitchen at 3 PM on a Tuesday. This is the energy Depo requires.
You know what’s beautiful about this pairing? Both last exactly three months. Both make you gain weight. Both make your mom ask if you’re “doing okay, sweetie?” at family dinners.
You’ve already committed to the path of least resistance. Lean into it. That spigot isn’t going to drink itself.
The Patch: A Bandaid That Prevents Babies
Required wine: Canned rosé, but call it “brosé” ironically
You’re wearing your birth control. Like a nicotine patch but for your ovaries.
That thing is going to get so linty. It’s going to leave the weirdest tan line. Someone at the beach is going to ask if you’re trying to quit smoking. Your Tinder date is going to try to peel it off thinking it’s a bandaid.
This calls for rosé in a can. Not because it’s good, but because you’ve already abandoned dignity by slapping a hormone sticker on your ass cheek every week. Might as well drink wine from aluminum while you’re at it.
The Ring: Surprise! There’s Something in There
NuvaRing
The pairing: Riesling, because everyone judges both choices
Once a month, you origami a plastic ring and shove it up there where it just… hangs out. Like a really boring vaginal piercing that prevents pregnancy.
Riesling gets the same reaction. “Oh, you drink Riesling?” they say, with that face. You know the face.
Your partner’s going to encounter that ring during activities and have to pretend it’s not weird. You’re going to order that Riesling and the bartender’s going to judge you. This is your life now. Own it.
At least both work better when chilled.
Plan B: The $50 Panic Purchase
Wine pairing: Literally anything with alcohol in it
You’re not getting a thoughtful pairing here. You just paid the price of a nice dinner for a single pill while the teenager at CVS avoided eye contact.
Drink whatever’s available:
- That wine you hid from your roommate
- Cooking sherry (desperate times)
- The weird fruity thing your aunt gave you
- Mouthwash (kidding, don’t do this)
- Actually, you know what? Do whatever you need to do
Nobody’s judging your wine choice right now. They’re too busy judging everything else.
The Implant: You’re Basically a Cyborg
Nexplanon
Only option: Port that costs more than your phone bill
There’s a STICK. IN. YOUR. ARM.
You’re basically birth control Wolverine. You let someone slide a matchstick under your skin like you’re in the world’s most boring X-Men origin story.
This deserves Port that comes with its own certificate of authenticity. The kind where the bottle has dust on it not because it’s old but because the store employees are afraid to touch it.
Everyone at parties: “Can I feel it?” You: “Only if you’re worthy of this $120 Port.”
You’re preventing pregnancy via arm stick. You’ve transcended normal human experiences. Your wine should reflect this.
Natural Family Planning: Spreadsheet Fetishists
Your wine: That $70 natural wine that tastes like a compost bin achieved sentience
You’re tracking your cervical mucus in a bullet journal.
Read that again.
You’ve turned your reproductive cycle into a data visualization project. You know more about your luteal phase than most people know about their own birthdays. You can spot ovulation signs like some kind of fertility detective.
Your wine needs to be equally extra. Biodynamic. Natural. Orange. Unfiltered. It should taste like disappointment and cost like hope. The person selling it to you should use words like “alive” and “breathing” while you nod like wine can actually respirate.
You’re already checking your vaginal discharge for texture changes. Drinking wine that tastes like basement water is honestly the least weird thing about your life.
Condoms: The Vintage Classic
Your wine: Whatever the hell you want
Bless you. While everyone else is out here turning their bodies into science experiments, you’re just… buying condoms. Like it’s 1995. Like a normal person.
Drink any wine. All wine. No wine. You’ve earned this freedom by not having to schedule doctor’s appointments to get someone to insert objects into your cervix.
The only challenge? The cashier at CVS watching you buy condoms and wine together at 10 PM, knowing exactly what your evening plans are. Make eye contact. Establish dominance. Maybe throw in a cucumber for maximum chaos.
The Pull-Out Method: Russian Roulette But Make It Sexy
Wine: None. You clearly can’t be trusted with decisions.
This isn’t birth control. This is birth suggestions. You’re one “wait wait wait” away from googling “pregnancy tests bulk discount.”
No wine for you. You’ve lost beverage privileges. Drink water and think about what you’re doing.
Let’s Get Real for a Second
Here’s the actual truth nobody wants to say out loud:
You’re spending hundreds of dollars a year to not get pregnant. You’re dealing with side effects that range from “mildly annoying” to “did I suddenly develop a new personality?” You’re letting medical professionals do unspeakable things to your cervix. You’re taking hormones that make you cry at dog adoption commercials.
Meanwhile, there’s someone out there right now asking if you’re “on something” like birth control is recreational. Like you’re taking it for fun. Like you woke up one day and thought “You know what would be cool? Scheduled mood swings!”
So yeah. Drink the wine.
Drink the expensive wine when your IUD insertion goes smoothly. Drink the cheap wine when your pill makes you bloated. Drink the medium wine for all the days in between when you’re just trying to exist as a person with a uterus who doesn’t want it occupied.
You’re navigating a world where preventing pregnancy costs money but having a baby costs more money and not preventing pregnancy also somehow costs money. It’s all ridiculous. Everything’s ridiculous.
At least wine makes sense. Grapes plus time equals temporary happiness.
Unlike your birth control, it’s that simple.
Disclaimer: This is satire. Don’t make reproductive choices based on wine preferences. Don’t make wine choices based on reproductive preferences. Don’t make any choices based on this article. Honestly, the fact that this disclaimer is necessary says everything about where we are as a society.
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