BrewDog — once the emblem of Britain’s craft‑beer insurgency — has been forced into a more defensive posture after industry data and recent company announcements showed a rapid contraction of its on‑trade presence and a wave of bar closures. Reports this month suggested the brewer’s beers have been removed from the taps of roughly 1,860 pubs around the UK, while a separate company review led to the immediate closure of ten BrewDog bars, including the group’s original Aberdeen site. The twin blows underline how quickly a brand built on provocation can find itself battling the practicalities of a squeezed hospitality market.

The company has sought to frame the tap losses and closures as the product of broad industry pressure rather than a unique failing. BrewDog executives told journalists that “every independent brewer has been affected” by rising costs and shifting pub buying patterns, and that the firm has intentionally pivoted to what it describes as “high‑impact channels” — festivals, stadiums and independent free‑trade outlets — where it says sales are growing. The brewery pointed to recent pitch‑side and event collaborations as evidence of that strategy, saying the move is designed to concentrate investment where it sees the most momentum.

That repositioning sits alongside a more conventional reshaping of BrewDog’s estate. The company said a strategic review found a number of venues were “no longer commercially viable”, prompting the closures and putting close to 100 roles at risk; executives said they would attempt to redeploy staff where possible. The approach, the company argued, is intended to create fewer but stronger destination sites and a more focused bar network rather than the previous, broader footprint.

The current squeeze is striking given BrewDog’s trajectory since it was founded in 2007 in Fraserburgh by James Watt and Martin Dickie. The business expanded from garage‑brewing into a global brand through a mixture of bold beers and attention‑grabbing stunts, building a reputation for provocative marketing as much as for hoppy IPAs. That unapologetic spirit carried BrewDog from its first bar in Aberdeen to international canning lines and an extensive branded pub estate.

But some of those publicity gambits have landed awkwardly. The brewer’s most notorious promotions — from packaging a limited beer in taxidermied animals to driving a tank down Camden High Street — have repeatedly attracted criticism as well as headlines. A later promotion promising “solid gold” cans proved legally problematic: the Advertising Standards Authority found the campaign misleading when winners discovered the cans were gold plated rather than solid gold, and the company subsequently made substantial payments to affected customers after complaints and an independent valuation. The episode marked a reputational cost that has lingered alongside other flashpoints.

Beyond publicity stunts, BrewDog has also been publicly forced to confront questions about its internal culture. In 2021 more than 60 former employees published an open letter alleging a “culture of fear”, accusing senior management of creating a cult‑of‑personality environment and describing widespread stress and mistreatment. The revelations prompted investigations, a public apology from one of the founders and commitments to change, but the episode intensified scrutiny of governance and workplace practices inside the rapidly scaled business.

Labour relations have been another source of friction. In 2024 BrewDog withdrew from the Real Living Wage scheme after nearly a decade in the voluntary programme, saying the move was necessary to restore profitability amid unprecedented hospitality pressures. The decision provoked staff unrest and rebuke from unions and former employees, even as the company sought to offset the measure with regional pay increases and an expanded benefits package it said remained “more generous than the industry average”. Critics argued the timing was insensitive during an acute cost‑of‑living squeeze and that reversing a public pledge risked long‑term damage to trust.

Retail buying practices and the changing priorities of pub groups have also worked against BrewDog. Industry contacts told reporters that many operator groups narrowed draught portfolios over the past two years and have favoured rival breweries, leaving BrewDog with fewer taps in some areas. Those commercial headwinds, combined with rising input and regulatory costs, have become a central part of the company’s public explanation for the recent withdrawals and site closures.

Taken together, the developments amount to a test of whether a brand built on rebellion can remake itself as a disciplined, resilient operator. BrewDog’s founders and successive leaders have repeatedly said the business is evolving — and the company insists it is finding growth in events and targeted venues — but the practical challenges of staff morale, reputation repair and a tougher on‑trade market paint a more complicated picture. The next phase for BrewDog will depend on whether the business can translate its marketing muscle into sustained, sober commercial performance while addressing the cultural and workplace criticisms that have dogged it in recent years.

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Source: Noah Wire Services