How&How's Cat How digs into the latest wave of celeb-backed consumer brands, finding not just an enormous payday for the stars, but a rethinking of fame itself.
Celebrity D2C brands are changing the rules of fame itself, says Cat How (Cob Foods)
Remember when celebrity endorsements felt like magic?
When Keira swished through billows of perfume in Paris, and Charlize emerged from a golden lake? When David Beckham glid broodingly around in a Maserati and Daniel Craig smirked around the Champs Elysees (and, maybe, acted just a bit of a prat)?
All of them: Glossy, cinematic, high-ticket glamor. But now, the A-list are doing something very different: Flogging crisps, fizzy drinks, and… deodorant?
Ben Stiller grins toothily with a can of Stiller’s Soda. Novak Djokovic poses awkwardly with a packet of Cob Foods, his new sorghum-based snack brand.
Actors, athletes, musicians and models, all now attaching themselves to tiny D2C brands, selling everyday essentials that will sit in the back of your cupboard. From luxury to the everyday: Something has changed.
What the hell is going on? It’s not like these celebs the money.
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I wonder if it’s because fame isn’t enough anymore. In this strange cultural moment, fame kind of… leaks. It doesn’t hold its shape like it used to. Visibility evaporates the second you’re off-screen. So now actors compete with TikTok teens; athletes with podcasters; musicians with anyone armed with a ring light and a laptop.
The traditional fame ladder has collapsed. Everyone’s a creator. Attention is splintered. And celebrity status – that shiny, Hollywood-wattage, capital-C kind – decays faster than ever.
And what do you do when your core asset (visibility) is no longer guaranteed? You find new ways to stay ambient: You pivot your celebrity and become a brand. A consumer brand no less.
A film or album gives a celebrity a spike of relevance. A short burst of cultural presence. But a consumer brand builds drip exposure.
Take George Clooney. None of those films ever netted him a billion, but just 4 years after setting up Casamigos Tequila, he sells to Diageo for $1bn.
A soda in someone’s fridge, or a packet of popcorn, or a bottle of tequila is a micro-touchpoint. These tiny, repeatable, informal appearances create more consistent presence than a two-year film cycle ever could.
This isn’t endorsement; it’s consummate distribution of self.
Celebrities are embedding themselves into domestic life: lunch breaks, gym bags, office fridges. They’re not aiming for blockbuster moments, but constant, incidental relevance at scale.
They’re aiming for ambient fame, and D2C brands are the perfect vehicles.
That’s the theory. Then there are the eye-watering economics.
A celebrity can get a couple of million for a traditional ad campaign. Nice. But take a 5–10% stake in a fast-scaling consumer brand and (like Clooney) you’re laughing all the way to the bank.
Sponsors used to rent celebrities’ image. Now, celebrities want to own part of the platform.
Take Ryan Reynolds: Wrexham AFC, Mint Mobile, Aviation American Gin… Have I missed any? These are smaller, scrappier, cooler, brands, not megacorps. The little guys offer equity. Creative control. Founder fantasy. And, for the celeb, a sense that they’re building something, not just fronting it.
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Just look at the marketing language around these partnerships. It’s not ‘X endorses Y’. It’s ‘X believes in Y’; “X invests in Y’; ‘X is part of the mission’.
Yes, in 2026 you could even argue that ‘the founder’ has become a cultural archetype to rival ‘the celebrity’.
Endorsement: Out. Cosplaying as a founder: In – even if they’ve never written a business plan in their lives. This isn’t shade. The modern audience doesn’t want closeted, untouchable icons who hang out on Rodeo Drive. They want builders. Hustlers. People with taste and conviction.
So, celebrities are reinventing themselves as taste-makers, investors and co-builders of culture. Even if the culture in question… is a probiotic fizzy drink.
Pamela Anderson’s ‘Sonsie’ moisturisers. Patrick Schwarzenegger’s ‘Mosh’ protein bars. Kourtney Kardashian’s ‘Lemme’ gummies. It’s the absolute opposite of the old model, when celebrities only touched high-gloss, high-price, high-fantasy products.
Now, ordinary is the new aspirational. Celebrities want relatability. The new power move isn’t “I’m drinking Cristal on a fuckin’ yacht in Cannes.” It’s “I snack like you.”
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It’s the humbling of celebrity. And it’s working.
There’s a memetic quality to these products that luxury ads never could unlock.
Try meme-ing a fragrance ad shot in slow-mo Parisian light. Now try meme-ing a bag of crisps held by a retired tennis coach with a cult following. One of those travels.
D2C brands live natively on social. They’re playful, colorful, irreverent. They give celebrities something new: a format that thrives on humor and self-awareness. And humour is rocket fuel for relevance. Take Seth Rogen’s sardonic weed-related range ‘Houseplant’. It oozes nudge-and-wink humor, making for an extension of Rogen himself. That authenticity nets a cool 900k followers on Instagram and 1.3m likes on TikTok.
Everyday categories are now celebrity-friendly battlegrounds, so prepare for more competition, more noise, more money and more weirdness. Brand design isn’t just about packaging anymore; it’s a personality proxy. A soda can is a canvas for memetic identity.
In this world, narrative does a lot of heavy lifting. The story isn’t ‘why this product exists,’ but ‘why this celebrity cares’. And with founders (real or cosplaying) the new center of gravity, brands without a strong figurehead may find themselves eclipsed.
Cat How is the founder and executive creative director at How&How, a branding agency with offices in London and LA.