BrewDog has always been more than a beer brand. When it first crashed onto the scene in 2007, it was a manifesto in a bottle: an anti-establishment riposte to the stale larger market. Its loud brand tone and unapologetic attitude resonated with Millennials who were tired of corporate sameness. It stood out because it stood against.

Today, you’d be hard-pressed to find a pub without a craft tap. BrewDog, once radical in its aesthetic, with black and blue cans, stripped-back industrial bars, and playful ‘punk’ voice, has now been widely imitated, absorbed, and normalised. The anti-establishment brand has become the establishment, and without something to rail against, its identity has begun to lose its way.

The tension isn’t just theoretical; it’s showing up in the business. The news that it’s being axed from 2,000 pubs, coupled with an advertising ban for irresponsibly implying alcohol can solve emotion problems, reinforces a brand in crisis. What was once seen as disruptive now feels performative, and what was once aesthetic now risks coming across as hollow.

Off tap with the community comeback

This latest news comes on the back of the brand’s recent announcement of 10 pub closures across the country, including its flagship in Aberdeen. The core of the issue is that BrewDog no longer feels aligned with what younger consumers want from drinking spaces. Where the brand was once rebelliously innovative, its oversized logos, industrial interiors and theatrical ‘experience hubs’ lack the authenticity that resonates with this new generation. Walk into a BrewDog today and you’re met with a theme park version of craft, neon signage, branded walls, and even slides in some flagship locations. It’s bold, yes, but it’s also calculated, designed for Instagram more than a community.

Contrast this with the resurgence of the community pub, the Devonshire in Soho, for example. This pub thrives not because it’s a spectacle, but because it feels real, warm, familiar and rooted in place. Fuller’s has seen a record profit in the past year, driven in part by creating an environment that instils a sense of authenticity through real community spaces.

This shift exposes BrewDog’s vulnerability. Its brand aesthetic, so tightly bound to rebellion, hasn’t evolved with the times. The louder it shouts, the less it connects, and the controversies that have dodged its leadership and workplace culture only add to the perception of a brand out of step with what consumers value now: inclusivity, responsibility and sincerity. BrewDog’s current strategy straddles two extremes. On one end, doubling down on giant hubs like Waterloo or Las Vegas, where the experience is so large-scale that it becomes the product. On the other hand, holding onto smaller sites that attempt to serve as genuine community hubs, an area the brand will likely need to increase its focus on in the near future.

At a crossroads

The real question for BrewDog today isn’t how to shout louder, but what it can genuinely stand for in today’s culture. A new generation of drinkers are looking for brands and spaces where they feel a sense of belonging, which calls for an evolution of BrewDog’s identity beyond its original anti-establishment stance. There’s a lesson here for brands beyond beer. Identity isn’t static; the thing that once made you distinctive can over time, become constraints if they aren’t reinterpreted for a new era. Authenticity isn’t about staying the same, it’s about evolving without losing sight of your core purpose.

BrewDog is at a crossroads; it can neither continue to chase scale at the cost of authenticity or rediscover its rebellious spirit in a way that matters to punters today. If it fails, it risks being forgotten as the punk of the beer industry, lost in a haze of its own making.

First published in Marketing Beat.