If you mention BrewDog online, the conversation usually goes the same way. Toxic workplace culture. Greenwashing. Misleading marketing. Overhyped beers. James Watt. None of those criticisms came from nowhere, and pretending otherwise helps nobody. There have been real issues, real mistakes, real errors of judgement, and real people affected along the way. Add in a catalogue that can feel wildly inconsistent at times, and it is easy to see why plenty of drinkers have switched off and no long rider the Brewdog train (this is one of the brewers that I know when do a beer review for them I'll get at least one comment like "Won't touch them")
Even as someone who broadly likes what BrewDog do, I would happily admit that a chunk of what they release misses the mark. Some of it feels rushed, some of it feels confused, and some of it should probably never have left the pilot kit (and don't get me started on the Brewdog Parma Violets NEIPA, I still have a bad tate in my mouth!). But stopping the conversation at BrewDog’s failures only tells half the story, and badly unsells their achievements, and yes ... legacy.
Because whether you like them or not, BrewDog changed British beer (and perhaps world beer!).
The BrewDog problem. They’re easy to criticise, and that’s partly their own doing
BrewDog built a brand that practically invites criticism. The whole point of "punk" marketing is that it pokes the bear. It dares people to react. It winds up the old guard, and it gives the new crowd something to rally behind. That approach can be brilliant when it is clever, honest, and backed up by a great beer. It looks a lot less clever when it turns into overpromising, corner-cutting, or playing fast and loose with the truth.
This is where it is worth being clear. I’m not going to pretend BrewDog have had a spotless run. The toxic culture allegations were not some tiny internet grumble, they were loud, public, and damaging. The green claims have been questioned more than once. Some of the marketing has felt like it was designed to win attention first and ask questions later. And from a drinker’s perspective, the quality control can feel a bit shaky at times, especially across the wider supermarket range.
So if you’re reading this as someone who cannot stand BrewDog, I get it. I really do. But I also think the internet has a habit of turning complex stories into one tidy opinion, and with BrewDog, that tidy opinion often becomes "they’re the villains, end of." I don’t think it’s that simple.
They mainstreamed craft beer in the UK, and that’s hard to argue with
Whatever anyone thinks of them now, BrewDog helped drag craft beer into the mainstream in the UK. Before Punk IPA was everywhere, most supermarket shelves were still dominated by the usual suspects. You could find "interesting" beer, but you had to look for it, and it often felt like a niche hobby rather than something normal people grabbed with their weekly shop.
BrewDog didn’t invent hoppy beer, and they didn’t invent modern craft styles. What they did do was make them visible. They made them loud, and proud. They made them feel current, and they made them available. Suddenly you could buy something with proper hop character without needing to hunt down a specialist shop or a random pub with a decent guest beer lineup.
For a lot of drinkers, BrewDog was the first step away from macro lager. Not the final destination, but the gateway. And if you love the UK craft scene today, with its ridiculous variety, its hop obsession, and its constant new releases, it is only fair to admit that BrewDog played a big part in warming the public up to all of it.
Equity for Punks wasn’t just fundraising. It was community-building
One of the biggest pieces of BrewDog’s story, and probably one of the most important parts of their legacy, is Equity for Punks. Long before crowdfunding became normal, BrewDog basically said, "Forget the usual routes, we have great beer, let’s let the drinkers buy in." ... they did have great beer, and we did buy in.
That was bold at the time, and it did more than raise money. It created a feeling of ownership. Not just financial ownership, but emotional ownership. People weren’t only customers anymore, they were part of the journey. They got perks, discounts, events, and that annual gathering that felt half AGM, half beer festival, and half rock gig. I know that’s three halves, but I was always crap at maths, but you get what I mean.
Plenty of breweries have tried to borrow the idea since, but BrewDog showed what happens when you turn drinkers into stakeholders. You don’t just build sales, you build loyalty, and you build an army of people who will talk about your beer even when you’re not in the room.
Branding and bars. They made craft beer feel like an "experience"
BrewDog also understood something early that many breweries didn’t. Beer isn’t just liquid. It’s a vibe, a setting, and a story. The bars mattered. The look mattered. The consistency mattered.
Walk into a BrewDog bar and you generally knew what you were getting. A big range of taps, plenty of options, and usually a lot of beers that genuinely felt on point. This is where my own opinion gets clearer, because while their packaged stuff can be hit and miss, the beers flowing through the bars are often strong. Freshness helps, and so does tighter control, but either way, I’ve had plenty of genuinely cracking pints in BrewDog venues.
They also helped normalise the idea that craft beer could be casual. You didn’t have to treat it like a sacred hobby or that special thing you partake in once a month - you could just go out, get a decent pint, and try something new without feeling like you needed a dictionary of beer terms to keep up.
Innovation, disruption, and yes, plenty of smashed windows
If you zoom out a bit, BrewDog’s impact isn’t only about specific beers or specific campaigns. It’s about what they represented. They were loud, ambitious, and totally uninterested in doing things the "proper" way. They broke a lot of old rules, and by doing that, they forced the rest of the industry to react.
Some breweries followed them. Some distanced themselves. Some benefited from the new market BrewDog helped create without wanting anything to do with the brand itself. But the ripple effect is real, and craft beer became a bigger conversation. Independent breweries found more drinkers willing to try new things. And bigger players had to acknowledge that people were no longer satisfied with bland, safe beer forever.
If you want a simple way to put it, BrewDog smashed a few windows in the old industry to let fresh air in. The only problem is, when you smash windows, you don’t get to choose where the glass lands (I heard this analogy somewhere and loved it.)
Let’s talk about the beer itself. Because it does matter
I’ve said it already, but it’s worth repeating. BrewDog’s beer can be wildly inconsistent. There are releases that feel spot on, and there are others that feel like a flavour experiment that should have stayed in a boardroom. Some of the range feels designed to win attention first, then hope the liquid catches up later.
That said, when BrewDog get it right, they really do get it right. Punk IPA, for all the eye-rolling it gets from some corners now, still has a place in the UK scene as a beer that changed what "normal" IPA tasted like to the average drinker. And plenty of their bar-only and fresher releases show they still have the ability to produce genuinely great pints when the focus is right.
While on the subject of BrewDog beers, they get a lot right with their Double and Triple Hazy and Grind (their Coffee Stout), amazing beers.
So for me, the beer isn’t the reason BrewDog’s legacy is complicated. The beer is part of the reason it’s worth talking about at all.
So what is BrewDog’s real legacy?
I think it comes down to this. BrewDog’s legacy is that of the flawed pioneer. They helped build the modern UK craft beer market as we know it, and they did it with energy, confidence, and a refusal to follow the old playbook. They brought craft beer to more people, they built a community around it, and they made breweries think bigger about branding and experience.
But they also left behind a trail of controversies that cannot be shrugged off (or shrugged off easily). They’ve been accused of treating people badly. They’ve been called out for claims that didn’t stack up. They’ve sometimes acted like the rules were for everyone else, even when those rules were there to protect customers, staff, and trust.
If you love BrewDog, you can hold all of that in your head at once. You can enjoy the good pints, respect what they’ve done for the scene, and still admit they’ve messed up in ways that matter. If you hate BrewDog, I think you can (and should) still recognise their influence without giving them a free pass.
That’s why the BrewDog debate never goes away. Because the story isn’t simple, and neither is their impact.
So yes, talking about "legacy" might be early. But the question still stands. BrewDog broke things, built things, and shifted the direction of UK beer for good. Whether you see that as progress or damage probably depends on how much you value disruption, and how much you value the people caught in the blast.
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