the thing is, is




Dear San Diego Brewers,

You may know me by my mouth.

My mouth has a serious knack for finding its way to the glorious liquid you make. It loves San Diego craft beer. It’s tasted pretty much every brew at every single tasting room and pub in the county, and beyond. (Shout out, O.C. and Inland Empire!)

Speaking of my mouth: it’s also known for yammering on and on about beer. To friends, family, beertenders, bartenders, and a fair amount of brewers. It just won’t shut up.

Which is why I’m writing to You, Brewers.

My mouth comes bearing news — news that is ultimately good, but might be tough to swallow at first (kind of like that virgin taste of a San Diego-style IPA). Anyway, here goes:

You, dear Brewers, aren’t special.

At all. Not a one of you.

Now, before you dismiss me (or my mouth), please hear me out.

Ten or 20 years ago, you would have been special. You would have had rock-star potential. Chiefly because decades ago almost no one was brewing craft beer. When pioneers like Karl and Stone and Coronado and Pizza Port and Green Flash were starting their fledgling operations, there weren’t 160+ competitors chasing the same finite group of gullets.

Hell, even five or six years ago when there were a “paltry” 60 or 70 breweries in San Diego, it was almost sinfully easy to lure thirsty mouths like mine to your brewery. All you needed was a cool brewery moniker, some clever puns for your beer names, maybe a sexual innuendo or two (cough-cough, Belching Beaver) and of course the requisite biker gang-esque imagery on your labels and tap handles (cough-cough, at least half of you brewers).


Ten or 20 years ago, you would have been special. Chiefly because decades ago almost no one was brewing craft beer.



That landscape has changed considerably. File that under “No Shit, Sherlock.”

Also, you may have noticed that I haven’t said the first thing about the role of “great beer” in getting people, and dollars, into your brewery.

Great beer might have been the No. 1 thing once. But not anymore.

Apologies for my big mouth, but great beer these days is a distant second. Behind one thing:

A story that’s worth a damn.

A brand.

How much thought have you given to this?

More importantly, do you know how indispensable this is?

I’m not talking about a logo, a label, typeface or packaging. That’s all important, but the true prize doesn’t inform all of that… but is way, way beyond it.

A great brand is simple. You tell a great story.

Not a mere theme. Savvy brewers lucky enough to be considered not just good, but “special,” all figured out long ago that themes are easy.

So let’s talk brand vs. theme.




A great brand is simple. You tell a great story.



We’ve all looked at a label on a bottle of Stone beer and said to ourselves, man, those guys are operating on another level.

We’ve all looked at a can of Modern Times (pick a can, any can) and had a moment of realization… that whoever created that label is very smart, very tasteful and very tuned into art and beer culture — and culture in general.

Speaking of Modern Times: we’ve all read those emails and Instagram/Facebook posts that Jacob and Co. push out. They’re original. They grab you because what you’re reading is always fresh. They’re at least as fresh as the frothy creations they brew, bottle and pour in Point Loma and elsewhere.

Because mouths may love great beer… but it’s hearts and minds that love great brands. And hearts and minds are what’s connected to wallets. Not mouths.

Beer drinkers don’t enjoy a cold brew so much as a cool idea that comes with that perfect hop profile.

I’m talking about a thought with a POV that I want to put on my t-shirt or my baseball cap and wear around town every day.




It’s hearts and minds that love great brands. And it’s hearts and minds that are connected to wallets.

Fizzy beer is for wussies. That’s a goddamn idea, right there. And a Stone gargoyle is the perfect visual delivery vehicle. It not only differentiates, it’s true. Every beer these guys have ever made, and continue to make, ladders back to their uncompromising approach to making something special. And guard it like a hawk from Hell. Something that stands out.

And Stone Brewing religiously communicate that brand idea through every touchpoint.

So, what isn’t a great story? A theme.

“I really like hiking in the great outdoors!”

“I really like sexual innuendo!”

“I really like music!” “I like the legal system!” “I like my cool gentrified neighborhood!” “I really like my last name!”

“I really like surfer/biker-gang tattoo art!”

No ideas to be found here. These are themes (and not even good ones). Surface thoughts. Not special or unique or interesting. They’re something people in marketing and advertising call category cliche.

More importantly, there’s no brand loyalty to be found in any of this either. Or at least little beyond the people who conveniently live near your brewery. Because there’s no compelling story, and no brand.

Stone Brewing could have easily named their beers Sandstone IPA, Sedimentary Pale Ale and Flint Stout. Catchy, right?

Um. Nope.

Greg and Steve could have gone with rock tap handles, rock pint glasses, real-rock keychain things and bad names like “Granite Red Ale” or “Igneous IRL.” That’s a theme.

It’s also a huge snore.

So thank god they didn’t. When you think of Stone today, you don’t think of agate or granite or geodes or quartz. No, you think of a fucking badass stone gargoyle speaking truth to you. You think of a very specific point of view about how beer should be made.

You know what that brewer actually gives a shit about. And you like it.




Brewers, you’ve got to be different. Lean into whatever special and head-nodding notion you bring to brewing beer. Because in a market that’s getting more and more crowded, you’ll need a whole other thing. Not only to thrive, but survive.

A brand. A story.

Please, for the love of God, tell me a good story. Let me know why I should like you. Long before I taste your beer.

Make that story — that driving idea behind your brand — instant and ownable, and you’ve really got something special.

If not, all you’re left with is water, yeast, grain, and hops.

And every other brewer in San Diego — and everywhere else — already has that.


Please, brewers, tell me a good story.
Tell me why I should like you.



So. What’s it going to be, dear brewers? Will you will go after my mouth with weak, eye-rolling, theme-y bullshit with no real idea at its core?

If you do, no matter how excellent your beer is, just know that my mouth has a finite capacity.

It can only taste so much. And appreciate only so much. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s getting pretty crowded up there on the beer boards.

Like I said at the beginning of this letter: It’s getting harder than ever to be special.

But if you want to know where the real opportunity is for growth and brand success in the new craft-brewing reality, go after my heart and mind.

And my big mouth will follow.