BrewDog looks simple — but there’s a catch most consumers miss

I’m in the supermarket craft-beer aisle, looking at bright cans that promise rebellion but read like a maths problem. BrewDog is designed to feel simple-pick a Punk IPA, take it home, crack it open-yet the real story is in the small print you don’t read when you’re just trying to buy a decent beer for Friday night. And then there’s the weirdest line that keeps popping into my head: “of course! please provide the text you would like me to translate.” It’s nonsense in this context, but it’s the right metaphor: you think you understand what you’re buying, until you realise you’ve skipped the translation layer.

Because the “catch” most consumers miss isn’t a hidden ingredient or a conspiracy. It’s how branding, strength, and format quietly steer what you think you’re drinking-and how much you end up drinking-while still feeling like you made a straightforward choice.

The can looks friendly. The numbers don’t.

BrewDog’s packaging is excellent at signalling ease: clean type, punchy names, a vibe that says you don’t need to be a beer nerd to join in. In a bar, you point; in a shop, you grab. The design does the work of reassurance.

But beer isn’t just taste. It’s strength (ABV), serving size, and context-and BrewDog plays across all three. A 330ml can at 5% and a 440ml can at 6.5% can both feel like “one beer” in the hand, even though they’re not the same drink in effect.

That’s the translation most people never do at the shelf.

The catch isn’t that BrewDog is “strong”. It’s that strength plus a larger format can hide in plain sight when your brain is counting cans, not units.

What changes the moment you stop counting “drinks” and start counting units

If you’re in the UK, alcohol guidance is expressed in units, but shoppers rarely calculate them. Units are simple in theory:
units = (ABV × ml) ÷ 1000

In practice, nobody stands by the fridge doing long division. You do what humans do: you estimate based on shape, brand familiarity, and what “a can” usually means.

Here’s the quiet shift: many modern craft beers-including plenty of BrewDog options-are sold in 440ml cans. That extra volume is not morally bad. It’s just extra alcohol if the ABV is also higher than you assume.

A rough mental shortcut that works well enough: - 330ml at ~5% feels like a “standard” beer. - 440ml at 6–7% is closer to “a beer and a bit”, even if it looks like one unit of evening.

This matters if you’re driving later, watching calories, managing anxiety, taking medication, or simply trying not to lose the next day to a vague fog.

Three places the “simple” choice gets slippery

• Bigger cans: 440ml normalises a larger pour without feeling like it.
• Higher ABV with the same vibe: a playful label doesn’t warn your body.
• Mixed packs: variety encourages “one more taste” rather than “one more drink”.

The brand story makes it feel lighter than it is

BrewDog sells a feeling as much as a liquid: irreverent, modern, uncomplicated. That’s why it’s everywhere-supermarkets, pubs, airports, train stations. The accessibility is part of the point.

But the more “everywhere” a strong craft beer becomes, the easier it is to treat it like ordinary lager: same cadence, same pace, same assumptions. Your night doesn’t adjust when the drink does.

Let’s be honest: most people don’t want to be on patrol in their own leisure time. They want a beer that behaves predictably. The catch is that predictability comes from knowing what’s in the can, not from recognising the logo.

How to buy BrewDog like an insider (without killing the fun)

Start with one habit: before you buy, glance at two numbers-can size and ABV. That’s it. Not a lecture, not a spreadsheet.

Then use one of these simple rules depending on what you want from the evening:

• If you want a steady pace: choose lower ABV options or smaller cans.
• If you want flavour without the hit: look for session-strength beers (often around 3–4.5%).
• If you want stronger beer: treat a 6–7% 440ml can as its own category-sip slower, alternate with water, or cap the count earlier.

A practical shopping move that helps more than it should: don’t buy “whatever’s coldest”. Buy what you’d still choose if it were warm, because that’s usually the choice you actually meant.

What this catch is really about: friction

The best consumer protection isn’t paranoia-it’s friction in the right place. One pause at the shelf. One glance at ABV. One moment where you translate marketing into maths.

BrewDog can be genuinely enjoyable beer, and it can be a perfectly normal part of a normal night. The point is simply that the modern craft format makes it easy to underestimate what you’re taking on, especially when the branding tells you everything is easy.

Add a tiny bit of translation, and you’re back in control.

What looks “simple”	What to check	Why it matters
“Just a can”	ml + ABV	Alcohol units can jump fast
“It’s only craft beer”	Strength range	Some styles run high by default
“Mixed pack = variety”	Total units per pack	“Tasting” can add up

FAQ:

• Are BrewDog beers stronger than normal beer? Some are, some aren’t. The key is that higher-ABV beers are often sold in larger 440ml cans, so the total alcohol can be more than you expect.
• What’s the simplest way to estimate units quickly? Use: units ≈ (ABV × ml) ÷ 1000. If that’s too much, just note that 440ml at 6–7% is meaningfully more than a “standard” 330ml beer.
• Is the “catch” about hidden ingredients? Not really. It’s about format and strength being easy to ignore when branding makes everything feel casual and familiar.
• Do I need to avoid stronger craft beers? No. Just treat them as stronger: slower pace, fewer cans, and don’t assume one can equals one “drink” in effect.