The Bitter Glow of Aperol: A Love Letter, A Caution, and a History in Orange

There’s something suspiciously perfect about Aperol.

It arrives in the glass like a postcard from the Amalfi Coast. Orange like the sun setting behind cypress trees. Light enough to feel breezy, bitter enough to feel grown-up.
Aperol wears its brightness like a disguise, because beneath that cheerful hue is a long, strange history of war, artifice, family feuds, sugar, and smoke.

So let’s talk about it.

Let’s talk about how this little aperitivo, this bottle of orange dreams, became a global icon, a lightning rod for bartenders, a sensation and a scandal.
Let’s talk about what it’s hiding behind its perfect slice of orange and its cheerful bubbles.

Because Aperol isn’t just a drink.

It’s a mirror. A mood. A mythology.

And sometimes…it’s a trap.

The Birth of Bitter: Aperol’s Early Days in Padua

Aperol was born in 1919, in the sleepy-yet-scholarly city of Padua, Italy.
The world was still limping away from the Great War, and Italians were craving something gentler…something elegant, effervescent, and full of life again.

It was the Barbieri brothers, Luigi and Silvio, who first bottled the vision. They weren’t looking to shake the world.
They were trying to create something refreshing and modern.
Something you could sip before dinner without becoming a liability.
A low-ABV aperitivo for the new century.

They called it “Aperol,” a nod to the French word “apéro,” short for aperitif.
It was light. Bitter. Herbal.
The color of sunsets and sugar glass.

And in true Italian fashion, they never told anyone what was in it.

To this day, Aperol’s official recipe remains a secret.

We know it has bitter and sweet oranges.
We know there’s gentian, rhubarb, and a bouquet of herbs. But the exact alchemy?
Locked in a vault somewhere between Padua and Milan.

It stayed a local treasure for decades, enjoyed mostly in Northern Italy. Aperol was a whisper of sophistication.
A drink that told you someone read Camus on their balcony and flirted in dialect.

It wasn’t until much, much later that Aperol became a worldwide seduction.

The Spritz Revolution: How Aperol Took Over the World

Enter: the Aperol Spritz.

Three parts prosecco, two parts Aperol, one part soda water. A slice of orange. Ice cubes.
That’s it.
A whole culture distilled into a glass that clinks like laughter in a Venetian alley.

But here’s the thing: the Spritz didn’t originally belong to Aperol.

The “spritz” predates Aperol entirely. It was born in the 1800s when Austro-Hungarian soldiers in Northern Italy started adding a splash (or “spritzen”) of water to the local wine because it was too strong for them.
Over time, Italians began adding bitters and bubbles.
The modern spritz, as we know it, is more prosecco than wine, and more Aperol than water.

In the 1950s, Aperol began advertising its own version. But it wasn’t until Campari Group bought Aperol in 2003 that the marketing machine roared to life.

And my god, did it work.

By the mid-2010s, Aperol was everywhere.
Rooftops in Paris. Beach bars in Australia.
Michelin-starred restaurants. Backyard barbecues.
Millennials drank it like nectar. Gen Z swirled it in wine glasses on TikTok.
Aperol became more than a drink. It became an aesthetic.

It promised vacation. Romance. Warmth. Elegance with an edge.

But just like any fairy tale…it came with a twist (an orange twist of course!).

The Good: Why Aperol Has Our Hearts

Let’s not pretend we’re immune to her charms.
I certainly, am not.

There’s a reason people fall for Aperol. She’s light.
She’s low in alcohol (only 11% ABV), which makes her an ideal companion for long afternoons and slow conversations.
She’s bright, both in taste and color.
Sweet enough to be easy.
Bitter enough to be adult.

And she plays well with others.

Aperol is a team player in cocktails. You can toss it with gin and lemon for a summery take on a negroni. You can stir it with tequila and grapefruit for a Paloma riff.
You can even pour it into a beer and not offend the spirit gods too much.

It’s also relatively affordable. A bottle of Aperol won’t break the bank, even if the prosecco might.
It offers access to the high life, even when you’re perched on a fire escape instead of a yacht.

But most of all…it’s ritual.

The act of preparing a spritz is like opening a portal.
Ice. Aperol. Prosecco. Soda. A slice of orange.
You’ve made something that didn’t exist before.
You’ve declared, silently: I deserve a moment of leisure. You’ve chosen beauty.

And that matters.

Even if what’s in the glass is a little more complicated than it seems.

The Bad: What They Don’t Tell You About That Orange Glow

Ah yes. The color.

That eye-catching, Instagram-perfect hue?

It’s not from oranges.

Aperol gets its neon-orange tint from artificial colorants…namely Red 40 and Yellow 6 in the U.S.
These dyes are banned or restricted in parts of Europe due to potential health concerns, especially in children.
Red 40 has been linked in some studies to hyperactivity and allergic reactions.
It’s not unique to Aperol (many commercial liqueurs use synthetic dyes) but it’s something that takes a bit of the romance out of the glass.

Also: sugar.

Aperol contains a hefty amount of sugar: about 11 grams per 1.5 oz.
That’s the same as some sodas. And while it doesn’t taste sickly sweet, it certainly leans more syrupy than its more bitter cousins like Campari or Select.

Then there’s the price inflation.
In many cities, what used to be a $9 happy hour spritz is now a $17 lifestyle tax. You’re not just paying for the drink. You’re paying for the vibe.
The brand. The curated illusion of Italian ease.

And sometimes…that illusion gets a little too curated.

The Ugly: The Backlash, The Bartenders, and the Bitter Truth

You may have noticed: some bartenders roll their eyes when you order a spritz.

Not because it’s uncool, but because it's too cool.

Aperol Spritz has become shorthand for "basic." For trendy.
For superficial elegance. And while that's not entirely fair…it’s also not entirely false.

In 2019, the New York Times even published an infamous takedown titled “The Aperol Spritz Is Not Good.” It caused uproar.
Italy protested. Instagram boiled over.
But the piece had a point: when made carelessly, the Aperol Spritz can taste like “a Capri Sun after soccer practice.” Weak, watery, cloying.

The real crime wasn’t Aperol…it was laziness.

Pre-batched spritzes. Flat prosecco. No balance. Too much soda. Too much ice.
Too much image, not enough craft.

And then came the copycats.

Brands scrambled to release their own bitter aperitifs. Suddenly the shelves were full of pink and orange bottles. Spritz culture had become so big that it devoured itself.

What was once elegant now felt…algorithmic.

But here’s the catch:

That doesn’t mean it’s over
It just means we have to remember what made it magic in the first place.

The Family Strife

But even Aperol’s origins were not without friction.

The Barbieri brothers (Luigi and Silvio remember?) shared a name, a vision, and a bottle.
But beneath the polished surface of their brand were quiet tensions that echoed the complexities of family-run businesses across Italy.
Luigi was the elder, more traditional and measured.
Silvio, younger and more inventive, wanted to push boundaries.
As the business grew, so did their differences: in marketing, in vision, in control. Though never exploding into public scandal, whispers suggest the two often clashed over how Aperol should evolve, particularly as it tried to move beyond Padua and appeal to a wider, more modern audience.

Some say that’s why the original Barbieri family quietly faded from the brand narrative in later years, when Campari Group acquired the rights and stripped away the personal in favor of the global.
The faces of the founders were replaced with mood boards.
The story became less about family legacy, and more about lifestyle.
Aperol ceased to be a family liqueur. It became an empire.

And like many empires, it left its old architects behind.

A Return to Ritual: Reclaiming Aperol’s Spirit

The truth is, Aperol is neither good nor bad.

It’s a product. A piece of culture. A vessel.

And like any vessel, it depends on how you use it.

Make your spritz with care. Chill your prosecco. Choose a good soda water. Use less ice if it’s hot. Add a splash of gin or a twist of lemon. Taste and tweak. Reclaim the ritual.

And more importantly: don’t let the marketing drink it for you.

Aperol doesn't have to be about yachts and infinity pools. It can be about pausing. Watching the light change. Feeling your feet in the grass. Saying “yes” to small beauty on a weekday afternoon.

It can be rebellion.

It can be softness.

It can be poetry in a glass.

Bittersweet Epilogue

Where does Aperol go from here?

It’s not disappearing anytime soon. Spritz culture is too embedded now. Too delicious. Too photogenic. But it may evolve.

We’re already seeing bartenders reclaim bitter aperitifs like Select, Cappelletti, and Luxardo Bitter Rosso.
We’re seeing house-made spritz bases, natural colorants, low-sugar versions.
The pendulum is swinging…away from artificial, toward artisanal.

And that’s good news.

Because at its heart, the aperitivo hour was never meant to be mass-produced.
It was meant to be savored. Shared. Whispered over. Laughed through.

Aperol, for all its flaws, reminds us of that.

That before dinner, before stress, before screens and to-do lists, there can be pause. There can be orange light and slow bubbles.

There can be a moment that says: “I’m still here. And I’m still allowed to enjoy this life.”