Tequila is born of heat and dust in Jalisco’s volcanic soils where blue agave stands for a decade before being cut, roasted, pressed, and distilled into something which carries both struggle and joy.
The sight of Cincoro unveiled at Apollo’s Muse in Mayfair — a room of marble gods, gold leaf, and hedge-fund appetite — felt stark against that origin. Here is gloss and theatre, but also a spirit with roots deeper and rougher than the polished counter it was poured across. That clash is the reason to pay attention: because Emilia Fazzalari, who once moved at Bloomberg’s relentless pace and now works to tequila’s slower rhythm, insists it deserves to be taken seriously.
The story begins in July 2016, when five rival NBA owners — Fazzalari and her husband, Wyc Grousbeck of the Celtics, Jeanie Buss of the Lakers, Michael Jordan of the Hornets, and Wes Edens of the Bucks — met.
“It was at Soho House in New York,” she recalls. “Then we had dinner at Pasquale Jones. Michael was the true tequila connoisseur. He showed us how to savour it over one large rock with a slice of orange, never lime. We had so much fun that night, we met again at the Baccarat Hotel a month later. That’s when we said, wouldn’t it be amazing to create one ourselves? Michael looked at me and said: ‘Great, you’re CEO.’ That was the start of Cincoro.”
The name combines cinco for the five founders, and oro for gold, a declaration of intent to create the “gold standard” in tequila. Three years and 1,000 test blends later, they finally had their liquid. “Michael and I became the chief tasters,” Fazzalari says. “We worked with four distilleries, then three, then two, before finding the one that was really willing to push boundaries with us. When people taste Cincoro, the word they use most is ‘delicious’, and that’s exactly what we were chasing. You can taste the heart of Cincoro in the Blanco, and that spirit carries through the Reposado, Añejo, and Extra Añejo.”
She adds: “We drink Cincoro with everything — before dinner in a margarita, neat with seafood, over chocolate ice cream, and in an espresso martini after dinner.”
The dedication sometimes borders on the absurd. “A new Reposado sample had arrived the night before, and I had an early flight to Boston. At six o’clock, with my palate clean, I thought: why not taste it now? Wyc came downstairs and said, ‘Are you drinking tequila for breakfast?’ I told him: it’s my job. Later I called Michael and found he’d done exactly the same.”
Cincoro is built from fully ripe, Highland and Lowland blue agave, cut by hand, their piñas slow-cooked until caramelised, pressed with precision, and double-distilled to balance purity with character. The aged spirits then rest in Tennessee whiskey barrels, taking on depth and resonance. And then there is the bottle: a glass sculpture shaped after an agave leaf, five-sided for the founders, tilted 23 degrees in homage to Jordan’s jersey. Its stopper, hand-polished, carries the words Share Truth. “We wanted the bottle to look like a trophy,” says Fazzalari. “Instead of Champagne, you bring this to mark an occasion. It’s about sharing something you love.”
Cincoro
Calabria, covid, continuum
Fazzalari’s idea of sharing also runs beyond the bottle. As a trustee of The Wyc Grousbeck & Emilia Fazzalari foundation, she and her husband support projects in healthcare, education, community, and culture. Out of this came WE Dream, a scholarship programme for young women in Calabria, the region her parents came from. “It’s about giving girls an opportunity to dream,” she tells me. “If they don’t see someone like them at university, they can’t imagine themselves there. We chose Calabria, my family’s origin, where only 18 per cent of kids who qualify for university actually go. There seem to be roadblocks in place preventing young Calabrese girls from attending, and we want to identify and overcome them.”
She brokered partnerships with Università Bocconi in Milan and LUISS Guido Carli in Rome to cover tuition, board, and living costs. The target was 10 girls a year, though the first intake saw only four. Rather than accept that, she sent a scout into schools across Calabria to talk to 2,000 pupils, coaxing them to aim higher. “We’re also building a community where the girls support one another when they move from Calabria to Milan and Rome. It’s about belonging as much as opportunity.”
The highland fields farmed for Cincoro
Press handout
Calabria may be the starting point, though her influence trails further. She sits on the boards of Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, Boston Children’s Hospital, New York-Presbyterian Hospital, and Reform Alliance, while also serving on the President’s Advisory Council at Brigham and Women’s Hospital. Add to that a founding role in the Global Alliance of The Earthshot Prize, and the shape becomes clear: philanthropy for her is not a sideline, but an equal partner to business.
Her Bloomberg years steeled her under pressure. “Tequila is fun. It brings people together. But Bloomberg trained me in speed and precision — in how to build businesses and execute. Those skills translated directly to Cincoro.”
Fazzalari drew on that when Covid hit. “My brother is a heart surgeon in the US. He called me in February 2020, after speaking to a colleague in Italy, and said: ‘get ready.’ So, I immediately focused on supply. We pulled people off the streets, kept them safe, and we stayed in stock when most spirit companies didn’t. It was about quick decisions, rallying the team, and protecting everyone.”
As she approaches 60, Fazzalari dismisses age as limitation. “It’s a number, it’s how you feel, a continuum. It’s never too late — not oh gosh, I wish I could have done that, I’m too old to do this. Experiences and opportunities come at every stage of life. It’s about having heart, mind, and soul to embrace what comes your way, and turn it into magic, into positives.”
Fazzalari is candid about setbacks. “I got divorced, which some saw as failure, but I chose to see it differently and said to my ex, why does divorce have to be bad?”
That openness became the basis for the NBC Peacock sitcom, Extended Family, produced by Tom Werner, inspired by the unusual harmony between Fazzalari, her ex-husband George Geyer, and Grousbeck.
Cincoro
Fazzalari holds London close for its high energy and creative spirit. “I remember my first trip when I was 25, struck by the advertisements on billboards and in magazines — so forward-thinking, so witty. The diversity of cultures coming together, people doing imaginative work during the day and then relaxing and enjoying life late into the night — that’s what makes London magical to me.”
Her connection is also personal. “Years ago, Bloomberg LP asked me to accept a London posting even though I had just had my first child. Excited to be back, I brought my son, Jack, who was only three months old. I got the job done for Bloomberg with my newborn alongside, and in many ways our special lifelong bond was forged here, even though we are New Yorkers.”
Her approach to Cincoro in Britain is careful, tailored, and meticulous: place it only where the audience will notice the craft. “In America we’ve sold nearly two million bottles,” she tells me, “but here we’re just getting started. We are so glad to be in Annabel’s, and Hedonism — places whose atmosphere and energy sync with ours. We are building the brand one bottle at a time in a way.”
It is a refusal of scattergun marketing in favour of permanence. Better, she argues, to see one bottle opened in a room which understands it than a hundred drained and forgotten. For now, Cincoro’s presence in London is a handful of deliberate placements, more semaphore than saturation. And if Cincoro is to take root here, it will not be as a passing fad, but as it began — cut from ancient soils, shaped by patience and precision, and driven by a woman who has learned to turn rivalry and finance into something lasting.