The Cristal Clash

The gilded era of Trump's casinos in the 1980s was a spectacle of excess. He envisioned his establishments as the epitome of luxury, where high-rollers would bask in opulence, marked by the oversized electric signs of 'Trump Plaza,' 'Trump Marina,' and 'Trump Taj Mahal,' (I really feel like I am omitting a property.  Trump Outlets?  No, that's the Tanger Outlets.)  which lit the Atlantic City skyline during the President's heyday along the New Jersey coast. And what better symbol of that opulence than Cristal champagne?

However, when Trump's team approached Louis Roederer, the makers of Cristal, they were met with a polite but firm "no." The brand, synonymous with exclusivity, deemed the Trump aesthetic… incompatible. This stung. It wasn't just a business rejection; it was a personal affront to the man who believed his name should open any door.

Fast forward to 2025. President Trump, a man who largely abstains from alcohol due to the tragic loss of his brother to alcoholism, finds himself reflecting on old slights. He stares at a news report about French wine exports, a flicker of a long-dormant grudge igniting in his eyes.

"Cristal," he mutters, the name echoing in the Oval Office. "They thought they were too good for me."

Despite his personal aversion to alcohol, he sees this as a matter of principle. It's about respect, about making America—and himself—feel valued. And so, with a presidential flourish, he announces a massive tariff on all French champagne, with a particular emphasis on Cristal.

"They'll learn," he declares to his advisors, his voice tight. "They'll learn what happens when you disrespect the Trump name.  You see, Louie Reindeer, I always win."

The French, predictably, are aghast. The EU threatens trade retaliation. News outlets, both domestic and international, run headlines highlighting the irony of a teetotaling president waging a war on champagne.

Late-night comedians have a field day. "So," one quips, "He's punishing them for not letting him have something he doesn't even want?"

Meanwhile, somewhere in the cellars of Louis Roederer, a sommelier raises an eyebrow. "Quelle surprise," they murmur, before taking a delicate sip of vintage Cristal. "It seems some people never forget a snub."

The American public, facing inflated champagne prices, shrugs. Some switch to domestic sparkling wine, others simply forgo the bubbly altogether.  (Yes, there is such a thing as American champagne. Check out J. Roget.)   The whole affair becomes another surreal chapter in the Trump saga, a blend of personal vendetta and trade policy, all fueled by a decades-old rejection.

Disclaimer: This is a satirical piece and should not be taken as an accurate or serious analysis of trade policy or the President’s personal views.