Is There Any Value Left in the Terms “Craft Beer” or “Craft Brewer”?

The argument–frequently my own argument–that the terms “craft beer” or “craft brewer” have outlived any form of legitimate usefulness or coherence is not exactly a new one at this point. For close to a decade, former craft beer evangelists have watched from the sidelines as the once seemingly concrete, advocacy-tinged terminology of the industry has eroded under the sheer, unrelenting force of outside entropy, seemingly infecting any label one could use to designate this brewery or that company as part of the fraternity of virtuous small business champions opposing international megacorps. A decade ago, we were already observing that the AB InBevs of the world intended to use the inconceivable vastness of their corporate structure to make informed choices a near impossibility for all but the most rabidly informed craft zealots, and they ultimately succeeded beyond even our expectations–obfuscation of ownership and process was the name of the game, and Big Beer played the game expertly, watering down the seeming importance of ownership in the process. What we couldn’t foresee at the time was the now seemingly obvious receding of the greater “better beer” wave itself, which would lead those same megacorps to increasingly abandon “craft” beer as a profitable venture. And with the likes of AB InBev and Molson Coors ditching their craft beer investments in the last couple years, what does that really mean for the status of those brewing companies now gobbled up by the next generation of would-be profiteers? Have these terms become even more antiquated in 2024, or is there any value left in calling someone a “craft brewer”?

This is the type of running conversation that is always simmering away in the back of my mind, every time I’m sitting in a local brewery taproom, wondering how much such terminology or labels mean to the customers patronizing the establishment. Do these drinkers care if their local brewer is “independent,” for instance? If polled, I imagine they would like the idea of supporting a small, independent business, but would they ever bother to do the research to determine if any given brewery they’re visiting meets that standard? Are those ideals worth any real effort to the consumer, in other words?

Or to put it another way: When Canadian cannabis giant Tilray announced yesterday that it was acquiring four more U.S. breweries from Molson Coors, does that change any consumer’s calculus of how they look at those brands? Devoted fans of those four brands (Terrapin Beer Co., Hop Valley Brewing Co., Revolver Brewing, and Atwater Brewery)–does it matter to you in any way that an organization like the Brewers Association will now once again technically view these companies as possessing the “craft brewer” title when they didn’t qualify for that term during their years under Molson Coors? Does anyone believe that a giant cannabis corporation gobbling up small breweries somehow will act as a better steward for those brands than a giant brewing corporation was? I find that rather hard to buy.

Honestly, I’m not sure the consumer who legitimately cares about these types of distinctions still exists, even in the margins–the exponential increase in complications of sussing out the significance of ownership in the last decade has made it so that it’s an unreasonable amount of work to expect any consumer to know who owns what, and whether that parent company is “someone who should be supported” or not, by whatever ethical metric you would choose to employ. And that’s coming from a consumer who once would have described himself as caring deeply about these exact distinctions. Today, I can’t help but acknowledge that the beer industry has effectively had The Good Place‘s titular problem play out, and it’s made a mess of anyone trying to be an informed consumer: There are too many variables at play to feel like you have any chance of employing a consistent ideology when you’re deciding which breweries to support. The easiest thing is to simply stop caring, so I can hardly blame any consumer who does exactly that. In my own life, I responded by largely just buying entirely local beer, from my own city, and letting the rest of the chips fall where they may.

Consider the way groups of breweries have amalgamated in the last few years under entities that no reasonable person would describe as “small” or “independent.” Tilray Brands Inc. is an American/Canadian cannabis and pharmaceutical company operating as far as Australia, New Zealand, Germany and Portugal, who first made a splash in the beer world with their acquisition of Atlanta’s SweetWater Brewing Co. in 2020. At the time, one probably would have expected the sale to be a one-off, a bit of savvy cross-marketing between a cannabis producer and one of the U.S. craft beer brands most associated with cannabis culture. But Tilray then went on an absolute acquisitions bender in the years since, raiding the AB InBev corporate portfolio to acquire brands like Shock Top, along with formerly independent craft brewers like Breckenridge Brewery, Blue Point Brewing Company, 10 Barrel Brewing Company, Redhook Brewery, and Widmer Brothers Brewing. They then scooped up some fallen West Coast icons in Green Flash Brewing and Alpine Beer Co., before now loading up even more with the Molson Coors acquisitions of Terrapin Beer Co., Hop Valley Brewing Co., Revolver Brewing, and Atwater Brewery. All of them–including longtime regional rivals like SweetWater and Terrapin–now under one big, corporate tent together. Last year, Tilray posted revenue of $627 million. Nothing about it feels very classically “craft beer.”

According to a now ossified document like the official Craft Brewer definition of the Brewers Association, though, this has the odd effect of adding all the production from the likes of Terrapin, Revolver, Atwater, etc. back into the bucket of craft beer statistics. In the eyes of the organization, they are now craft brewers again, because their parent company is not “a beverage alcohol industry member that is not itself a craft brewer.” Which is to say, because Tilray wasn’t already making beer at a huge, industrial scale (more than 6 million barrels per year), it can effectively buy as many small breweries as it wants and have them all retain that title. Does that not seem at least a little absurd? For those breweries, life seemingly goes on as usual–they just go from being no longer included in the yearly craft beer statistics one year, to suddenly back in the fray. Maybe it’s better for those breweries; I honestly can’t say. Molson Coors often seemed to have no idea what to do with them, but does Tilray have any really different insight in how to stabilize/grow these contracting regional legacy brands at a time when the entire segment is fighting a collective funk? And is there a single consumer out there who will now want to start buying something like Terrapin again, because it’s now a BA-recognized craft brewer? If there is, I don’t personally know that drinker.

It’s just particularly difficult for these terms to mean much, when a definition like “craft brewer” has historically been subject to change every few years in order to seemingly suit the changing business plans of specific (i.e. largest) members. Once upon a time, the definition of “small” was considerably different, until Boston Beer Co. outgrew it and the definition was changed. Once upon a time, brewers were required to use “traditional” ingredients for the definition, until that part of the definition was dropped, which allowed Yuengling (the largest on the entire list in terms of production) to enter. Once upon a time, a “craft brewer” was required by the definition to primarily make beer, but that part of the definition was dropped around the same time that Boston Beer Co.’s total production of non-beer products surpassed its actual beer brewing. Today, “beer” as we know it makes up less than 20% of Boston Beer Co.’s total output, as pick of the litter Twisted Tea dominates the marketplace and the likes of Sam Adams, Truly seltzer and Angry Orchard cider fight for table scraps. If they discontinued the Samuel Adams brand entirely, would the Brewers Association still find a way to edit the “craft brewer” definition to suit their latest evolution?

At the end of the day, is it any wonder if the consumer doesn’t view a term like “craft brewer” as having much cachet, when they by and large can’t tell the difference between those companies that do and don’t qualify, for reasons that are too arcane for them to even want to understand? It’s ironic that AB InBev is barely even involved in the craft beer world (comparatively) at this point, given how successfully their obfuscation strategy ended up being. If anything, maybe it worked too well–the beer world became such a confusing morass of acquired brands that a lot of us, myself included, retreated to the relative simplicity of primarily seeking out beer made by people we could recognize, in our own local communities. Are they “craft brewers”? Is it craft beer? Honestly, who knows. When most breweries are fighting just to keep the lights on, how many consumers are there out there who are still interested in enforcing such definitional purity tests?

I’ll let you know the next time I meet one, but you probably wouldn’t want to hold your breath waiting for it to happen.

Jim Vorel is a Paste staff writer and resident beer and liquor geek. You can follow him on Twitter for more drink writing.