Igor Samsonov

In February 2020, at Russia’s largest food and beverage trade show, Igor Samsonov (Игорь Самсонов) made a statement that defined his career. While competitors quietly bottled bulk wine from Taman under “Crimean” labels—an industry shortcut that commanded premium prices—Samsonov publicly refused. “I will not bottle bulk wine from Taman under the guise of Crimean wines,” he told Pro-Insider. “Once you step over your convictions, you can never wash it off.”

I will always defend the interests of our region, I will fight for Kacha and Crimea, and I will not bottle bulk wine from Taman under the guise of Crimean wines. I understand that once you step over your convictions, you can never wash it off.

Ten months later, Samsonov was dead at 46. The winery he’d built from Soviet ruins earned Russia’s prestigious “Winery of 2021” award the following year. The validation came posthumously—but the credibility that earned it was built on decades of principled choices like the one he made at Prodexpo.

The Shortcut Everyone Else Took #

The Russian wine industry in the 2000s-2010s operated on a simple arbitrage. Crimean terroir had reputation; Taman (Krasnodar region) had volume. Bulk wine from Taman cost less to produce but couldn’t command premium prices on its own. The solution was obvious to most producers: bottle Taman wine under Crimean labels. Consumers couldn’t tell the difference. Margins improved. Everyone did it.

The economics were compelling. Crimean wine commanded a 20-30% premium over comparable mainland Russian wines, yet Taman’s much larger-scale operations could produce at significantly lower costs. A producer who sourced grapes from Taman at bulk prices, bottled them under a Crimean label, and sold at Crimean premiums captured margin from both ends. The practice was widespread enough that industry insiders considered it standard operating procedure rather than fraud.

Samsonov knew this industry intimately. Born around 1974 in Simferopol, Crimea (Крым), he’d entered the alcohol business during Russia’s “turbulent nineties” while studying economics at Sevastopol (Севастополь) Technological University. The early operation was primitive—barter deals where fuel traded for cognac, wine traded for wheels—but it immersed him in the industry’s mechanics. He understood exactly how profitable the shortcut was.

The distribution business taught Samsonov lessons that would shape his later philosophy. He saw how quality claims eroded when no one verified them. He watched brands make promises their products couldn’t keep. He learned that in a market awash with deception, the rare producer who actually delivered what they promised would stand out—if they could survive long enough for the market to notice.

What drove him from distribution to production wasn’t money. It was insult. Russians viewed Crimean wine as cheap, low-quality swill—partly because producers kept cutting corners. “I knew grapes and vineyards since school—I was born in Crimea,” Samsonov later explained. His economics training helped him see winemaking “systemically, as a business,” but the motivation was emotional: proving that Crimean terroir deserved the respect producers kept undermining.

Building Authenticity When Shortcuts Paid Better #

In 2000, the 26-year-old Samsonov and three partners rented the decrepit facilities of kolkhoz “Pobeda,” a Soviet-era collective farm winery built in 1978 in Dolinnoe (Долинное) village. The facility was a wreck—Soviet-era equipment rusting, buildings crumbling, infrastructure neglected for years after the collective farm system collapsed. Most would have seen a cheap base for relabeling operations. Samsonov saw a test of principle.

They could have followed the industry playbook: source cheap grapes, bottle under a Crimean label, pocket the margin. Instead, they spent three years renovating the facility with Italian equipment, then purchased it outright in 2003. The investment made no short-term sense. Competitors were profitable within months; Samsonov’s team wouldn’t bottle their first vintage until 2005.

The ESSE brand launched in 2005—among Crimea’s first “new wave” wineries breaking from bulk production. The name derives from Latin esse (to be/essence), reflecting Samsonov’s philosophy: wine should express what it actually is, not what marketing claims. Every bottle would contain exactly what the label promised. In an industry built on ambiguity, this was radical.

This philosophy cost money. In 2009, when French specialists analyzed the Kacha Valley’s soils and recommended premium varietals, Samsonov didn’t just note the advice. He sourced seedlings from Guillaume nursery in Burgundy and planted 46 hectares in 2010—17 grape varieties including some never before grown in Russia. The first estate harvest didn’t arrive until 2013. Three years of investment before any return, when competitors were printing money with mislabeled bottles.

The choice to import French rootstock rather than source cheaper local alternatives exemplified Samsonov’s approach. Burgundy vines cost more. They required different cultivation techniques. They took longer to mature. But they produced grapes with documented provenance—the foundation of every terroir claim ESSE would later make. When a customer asked about the vineyard, Samsonov could trace each vine to its source.

The dual-brand strategy reflected commercial realism: Satera (commercial wines) funded operations while ESSE (premium) built reputation. But even the commercial tier met authentic standards. Every Satera bottle contained wine from grapes grown in their declared region. When asked why he wouldn’t take the Taman shortcut, Samsonov’s answer was moral, not financial: “I will always defend the interests of our region.”

When Conviction Faced Existential Threat #

The 2014 Russian annexation of Crimea tested whether Samsonov’s convictions were principles or just positioning.

Tourism collapsed. Ukrainian distribution channels severed overnight. The €50,000 annual wholesale license Samsonov had battled for suddenly became irrelevant—replaced by unknown Russian requirements. Most Crimean businesses fled or collapsed. Samsonov had just planted 46 hectares of premium varietals expecting the investment to pay off in 2013-2014. The timing was catastrophic.

The easy path was obvious: abandon the authentic Crimean project, relocate operations to mainland Russia, source cheap grapes from wherever, bottle under whatever label sold. Many producers made exactly this calculation. Some kept Crimean branding while quietly shifting production elsewhere. The arbitrage that Samsonov had always refused became more tempting than ever.

In a March 2014 interview with Decanter’s Andrew Jefford, Samsonov acknowledged the threat: “Wine, like money, likes silence. Any big political or economic upheavals are not good for business.” Then came the decision that proved his integrity wasn’t contingent on circumstances: “But our business is connected with the land. So whatever happens we are going to stay and to make wine here in Crimea.”

This wasn’t naive optimism. Estate vineyards are physical assets tied to specific terroir—they can’t be moved, only abandoned or defended. Samsonov chose defense. The vines he’d planted from Burgundy rootstock were still maturing. Abandoning them meant writing off years of investment. Staying meant betting that authenticity would eventually matter more than short-term survival.

The months that followed tested that bet. International sanctions complicated equipment imports. Payment processing became unreliable. Export markets closed. Yet Samsonov continued operating under the same principles: every bottle labeled Crimean contained Crimean grapes, every terroir claim reflected actual vineyard location.

By 2020, he reflected on survival: “I survived the 2014-2015 crisis and understand we must rely only on our own forces.”

The crisis actually simplified one challenge: under Ukrainian governance, he’d battled “high corruption and bribes.” Post-annexation, licensing requirements decreased. In 2017, Satera planted a second vineyard—42 additional hectares. By 2020, the operation controlled 164 hectares producing 1 million bottles annually.

The Credibility That Conviction Built #

When Samsonov stood at Prodexpo 2020 and publicly refused the mislabeling shortcut, he wasn’t making an abstract ethical point. He was leveraging two decades of consistency into market differentiation.

ESSE’s terroir claims carried weight precisely because Samsonov had never faked them. When the label said “Kacha Valley,” customers knew it meant grapes from the specific 300-430 meter elevation vineyards above the Kacha River—not bulk wine relabeled for margin. When ESSE described French consultation and Guillaume nursery vines, customers knew this wasn’t marketing fiction. The documentation existed. The provenance was traceable. The claims were verifiable.

This verifiability became ESSE’s competitive advantage. Wine critics could visit the vineyards and confirm the terroir claims. Distributors could audit the supply chain and find no discrepancies. Customers who cared about authenticity—and increasingly, Russian wine consumers did—knew that ESSE meant what it said.

The same principle applied to the 2014 crisis. When Samsonov said “our business is connected with the land,” industry peers remembered the 46 hectares he’d just planted. They watched him stay when others fled. The statement matched observable action. Credibility compounds over time, and Samsonov had been building his for fifteen years.

By 2020, ESSE wines appeared in the Russian Wine Guide’s top ratings year after year. Not because Samsonov had the best marketing—because the wines matched their claims. Authenticity created a competitive moat that shortcuts would have destroyed.

What Conviction Creates After Death #

Igor Samsonov died December 26, 2020, in Sevastopol from prolonged illness. He was 46 years old—far too young, with decades of winemaking ahead of him. Two months earlier, in October 2020, he had transferred leadership to Andrey Sinitsin—planned succession, not emergency.

The ESSE website tribute captures his essence: “A person of amazing charisma and charm, with a subtle sense of humor and style. Thanks to his idea, ESSE wines were created… The frontman we lost.”

On December 14, 2021—almost exactly one year after his death—Satera received the “Winery of 2021” award at the inaugural Forbes Wine Assembly in Moscow (Москва). The timing was poignant: validation arrived when the founder could no longer accept it. Yet the award confirmed what Samsonov had built: a reputation for authenticity that outlived the founder who created it.

Production continues expanding under the team he trained. Natalya Dynnikova, who spent three years learning from winemaker Oleg Repin, now serves as Chief Winemaker. Original co-founders remain shareholders. His widow Inna inherited his 16.35% ownership stake, maintaining the family presence in the company. The culture of integrity—the refusal to take shortcuts that Samsonov modeled for 20 years—persists in how the team makes decisions today.

What This Proves About Founder Integrity #

Igor Samsonov built ESSE on a principle that cost money in the short term: authentic terroir claims require authentic terroir. The shortcuts his competitors took—mislabeling bulk wine, faking origin claims, prioritizing margin over truth—generated immediate profit but eroded long-term credibility.

Samsonov’s approach was the opposite. Every choice reinforced authenticity: French consultants who actually analyzed soil, Burgundy seedlings that actually came from Guillaume nursery, terroir claims that actually matched vineyard locations. When he stood at Prodexpo and refused the Taman shortcut, he was speaking from two decades of consistent decisions—not making a new commitment, but publicly affirming an existing one.

The lesson for founders facing industry pressure to cut corners: your personal integrity becomes your brand’s credibility over time. Samsonov’s refusal to mislabel wine wasn’t separate from ESSE’s market position—it was the very foundation of that position. Customers trusted ESSE’s claims because Samsonov had earned that trust through observable consistency.

“Once you step over your convictions, you can never wash it off.” The statement applies both ways. Samsonov never stepped over his convictions—and the credibility he built through two decades of consistent choices couldn’t be washed off either. Five years after his death, ESSE still trades on the authenticity he refused to compromise.

Last updated: January 15, 2026