How top brands move into the future without losing touch with their past
Editor’s note: James Forr is head of insights at Olson Zaltman.
Let’s give Cracker Barrel a break.
Yes, the rebrand was ill-conceived and only succeeded in making millions of people unreasonably angry. But Cracker Barrel’s conundrum is one that every successful brand comes to eventually: How can we respect our heritage while remaining relevant to a new generation? Is that even possible?
Instructive success stories can appear where we least expect them. In November 1993, Newsweek put a snarling young Snoop Dogg on its cover beside the question, “When is Rap 2 Violent?” Fast forward to April 2025 and we find Snoop on a Time cover heralding him as one of the world’s most influential people.
There are critical lessons to be learned from Snoop’s metamorphosis if you look at him as not just an artist but also a marketer of his personal brand. In one sense, his image is quite different from what it was, but in other ways he has remained very much the same.
Let’s explore these branding implications by tracing the arc of Snoop’s career across three distinct eras.
The gangsta era (1992-1996)
Calvin Broadus grew up in Long Beach, California. He fell in with gangs and drugs as a teenager, but he also blossomed as a brilliant freestyle rapper.
His talent came to the attention of legendary producer Dr. Dre, who in 1992 featured the 20-year-old Broadus (then known as Snoop Doggy Dogg) on Dre’s debut solo album. A year later, Snoop dropped his own solo project, “Doggystyle,” and went quadruple platinum.
Snoop’s silly name and laid-back drawl belied lyrics that were rife with allusions to drugs, rape, murder and mayhem. And his storytelling mirrored the chaos of his life beyond the studio. While recording “Doggystyle,” Snoop was arrested on charges of killing a member of a rival gang. The media portrayed him as a genuinely bad guy – which was part of his appeal.
Following his acquittal, Snoop maintained his antihero persona, teaming up with Tupac Shakur on a hit called “2 of Amerikaz Most Wanted” and then on a 1996 ad for St. Ides malt liquor. It was his first significant endorsement opportunity. In one scene, a head-bopping track plays while two versions of Snoop strut and scowl outside a dimly lit liquor store – one Snoop in a suit and tie, the other in a Crip-blue bandana nodding to his gang ties.
However, Snoop also began to sand the rough edges of his image. His second album remained rooted in gang culture, but its lyrics were a touch less provocative. What was born was a second era of Snoop’s career, as he morphed into more of a rogue than a villain.
The era of irony (1997-2008)
Snoop didn’t try to become America’s sweetheart overnight. But public perception shifted as he began showing up in unexpected spots and in unpredictable ways.
In 1997, he headlined the alternative rock festival Lollapalooza, which exposed his music to a wider (and whiter) audience. He scored parts in a number of movies, often playing deadpan comedic roles. And with a new name, Snoop Dogg, and a new record label, his tracks grew even less inflammatory and more slickly produced. By the early 2000s, he was on mainstream Top 40 radio stations everywhere.
The nature of Snoop’s endorsement deals also transformed. He began this period aligned with brands that were deeply rooted in hip-hop, like Lugz and Stüssy. Then in 2004, Chrysler paired him in a series of ads with its 80-year-old former president, Lee Iacocca. In one spot, they are golf buddies. Iacocca plays the straight man, while Snoop, clearly enjoying himself, sports outlandish golf attire and spouts lines like, “Dodge trucks last as long as the D-O-Double-Gizzle!” The ad’s appeal lay in its irony: a young Black man with a distinctive way of expressing himself and a sketchy history looking right at home in a country club with a geriatric ex-CEO.
The Iacocca ads foreshadowed his unlikely friendship with Martha Stewart, which began when he whipped up a batch of cognac-infused mashed potatoes on her TV show. Snoop was undeniably himself there in Stewart’s kitchen, dressing and speaking as he always did, but both she and her audience of mostly middle-aged white women loved him. That was the springboard into Snoop’s next phase.
The cool uncle era (2009-present)
Today, Snoop is everywhere. His music, as always, has led the way. He has released a reggae album and two gospel albums, performed at a 2013 Kennedy Center Honors event celebrating jazz pianist Herbie Hancock and appeared at country legend Willie Nelson’s 90th birthday celebration at the Hollywood Bowl.
In 2024, he received the ultimate stamp of mainstream acceptance, carrying the torch for the Paris Olympics and offering witty commentary during NBC’s nightly coverage.
Hardly any endorsement deals are off-limits now. He has played the role of a chill, beachside philosopher for Corona, peddled Bic lighters and hawked cell plans for T-Mobile.
As omnipresent as Snoop is, though, few call him a sellout. Older consumers remember his rumble-tumble beginnings. And if they don’t, he occasionally reminds them: he still curses a lot and talks incessantly about weed. He even summoned memories of his gang days by Crip-walking during the Super Bowl halftime show. He doesn’t hide from who he once was, nor from how he has changed.
What is the key?
It’s a model I will call the D-O-Double-G:
- Deep. Snoop has an emotionally compelling backstory of which most people are at least dimly aware. That, plus his ability to laugh at himself, makes him a fascinating figure.
- Ongoing. Snoop’s background has always been part of his identity. Plus, his style is as fresh and unique as it was 30 years ago.
- Gutsy. While he has remained true to himself, he is also an innovator, both musically and in terms of his partnerships.
- Gradual. The Snoop of 1994 could not have endorsed T-Mobile or hung with Martha Stewart. He has built the scaffolding for these relationships step by step.
Many brands have followed this model in their own way.
- Since the 1950s, Mountain Dew has evolved from a “hillbilly” brand all the way to an extreme sports brand, and then a hard-core gamer brand. Still, its target has always been the same: edgy young people who crave intense physical and emotional experiences.
- LEGO began with piles of bricks. Then the company created sets designed for kids of various ages. Eventually, it branched into intricate, pricey sets aimed at adults. But through it all, LEGO has remained, fundamentally, a brand that appeals to our inner creator.
- Since its debut in 1969, “Sesame Street” has welcomed new characters, overhauled its storytelling style and embraced new media platforms. Yet, the brand has kept a steady focus on its founding mission of teaching children the ABCs and 123s and helping them make their way in an unfamiliar world.
Many of the leading brands from 20 or 30 years ago have lost relevance or disappeared altogether. Cracker Barrel probably had the right idea – just with the formula wrong. As Snoop Dogg shows, brands that stick with a consistent, emotionally compelling core story while also innovating carefully can master the deceptively difficult trick of moving into the future without losing touch with their past.