Selling products is dead. You have to entertain them first.
Every four years, the World Cup becomes more than a football tournament — it becomes a mirror held up to the culture that surrounds it. In 2026, with the United States as host, the world's largest brands have decided that selling products is no longer enough; they must first earn attention by offering genuine entertainment. From Nike's six-minute cinematic spectacle to Irn-Bru's self-deprecating Scottish folk comedy, advertising has quietly crossed a threshold — becoming, in its own right, a form of popular art competing for the same emotional space as the sport itself.
- The advertising industry is treating the 2026 World Cup like its own Super Bowl — brands are deploying mini-movies, A-list celebrities, and Oscar-caliber directors to compete for cultural relevance, not just consumer attention.
- Young audiences have grown allergic to traditional marketing, forcing a fundamental inversion: entertainment must come first, and the product must earn its place within the story rather than lead it.
- The financial and creative stakes are enormous — securing celebrities with genuine cultural weight costs vast sums, and in a saturated landscape, only the most ambitious productions have any hope of cutting through.
- Smaller brands without blockbuster budgets are finding a different path — Irn-Bru chose humor, self-awareness, and deep fan empathy over spectacle, proving that cultural resonance doesn't always require a Hollywood budget.
- Both the giants and the underdogs have signaled that more content is coming, with campaigns designed to evolve alongside the tournament — meaning the advertising story, like the football itself, remains unwritten.
Six minutes into Nike's latest film, Erling Haaland finally appears — arriving in slow motion like a final boss, surrounded by a constellation of celebrities including Kim Kardashian, LeBron James, Travis Scott, Blackpink's Lisa, and even the fictional coach Ted Lasso. James and Cristiano Ronaldo appear together looking less like athletes than characters from a superhero franchise. This is not an outlier. It is the opening move in what one Nike creative director calls "a World Cup in itself, just in the world of advertising."
Adidas answered with a five-minute feature built around Timothée Chalamet, who assembles a backyard tournament featuring Lamine Yamal, Jude Bellingham, Bad Bunny, and a digitally rejuvenated young David Beckham. Brahma, Pepsi, Lay's, and Lego all followed with similarly ambitious productions. The logic driving this shift is philosophical as much as commercial: advertising journalist Gurjit Degun notes that brands have abandoned product promotion in favor of cultural engagement, while Nike's Blair Warren puts it simply — young people don't want to feel marketed to. They want to be entertained.
The mechanics are clever. Shorter cuts air during match breaks, directing viewers online for the full experience. Hydration breaks during summer matches create additional windows. Oscar-winning director Alejandro González Iñárritu arguably started the trend in 2010 with an epic Wayne Rooney spot, and now brands are actively recruiting directors from music videos and independent film — people with genuine creative credentials. One production company executive summarized the new orthodoxy plainly: "Selling products is dead."
Not every brand can afford this arms race. Scotland's Irn-Bru, marking the men's national team's first World Cup in 28 years, chose a different path entirely. Their campaign featured singer Susan Boyle belting a retro jingle atop the Forth Bridge, with Franz Ferdinand's Alex Kapranos on guitar by a loch — a tongue-in-cheek celebration of what Scottish fans actually live through: impossible odds, financial recklessness, and sleep deprivation. Chief creative officer Shelley Smoller explained the strategy as rooted in genuine fan research, offering depth of connection where bigger brands offer spectacle.
As the tournament unfolds, both Nike and Irn-Bru have hinted that more content is coming — shaped by how events on the pitch develop. The World Cup of advertising, it seems, will write itself alongside the football, chasing the same drama, the same heartbreak, and the same improbable glory.
Six minutes into Nike's latest football spectacle, Erling Haaland finally appears. The Manchester City striker had been sitting on set alongside actor Channing Tatum, waiting his moment. When it comes, he arrives in slow motion like a final boss—ruining a young player's shot at glory. But the real story isn't Haaland. It's the constellation of celebrities orbiting around him: Kim Kardashian and her son Saint West, rappers Travis Scott and Central Cee, Blackpink's Lisa, LeBron James, and even the fictional coach Ted Lasso. James and Cristiano Ronaldo appear together looking less like athletes and more like characters from a superhero film.
This six-minute film is not an outlier. It's the opening salvo in what amounts to a World Cup of advertising itself. Adidas released a five-minute feature directed around actor Timothée Chalamet, who assembled a "Backyard Legends" tournament featuring footballers Lamine Yamal, Jude Bellingham, and Trinity Rodman, alongside Bad Bunny and a digitally rejuvenated young David Beckham. Wayne Rooney delivered a Shakespearean rallying cry for a collaboration between Palace Skateboards, Nike, and England. Brahma, Budweiser, Pepsi, Lay's, and Lego all threw their weight behind similarly ambitious productions. The scale and ambition have shifted. These aren't commercials anymore—they're mini-movies, and they're spreading across social media like wildfire.
Caleb Jensen, one of Nike's executive creative directors, frames it plainly: "It does feel like it's a World Cup in itself, just in the world of advertising." The shift reflects something deeper about how brands now think about reaching audiences. Advertising journalist Gurjit Degun notes that companies have moved away from selling products—football boots, fizzy drinks—toward what she calls "cultural engagement and lifestyle." Young people, as Jensen's creative partner Blair Warren observes, don't want to feel marketed to. They want to be entertained. With the United States hosting the World Cup, brands are approaching the tournament the way they've long approached the Super Bowl: go big, go long, and make it impossible to ignore.
The mechanics are clever. Shorter versions of these films air during match breaks, directing viewers online for the full experience. Hydration breaks during summer matches—turning the game into four quarters instead of two halves—create additional advertising windows. But the real innovation is philosophical. One production company executive puts it bluntly: "Selling products is dead." Brands have realized that to make anyone care, you have to entertain them first. This has drawn the attention of serious filmmakers. Oscar-winning director Alejandro González Iñárritu (The Revenant, Birdman) arguably started the trend in 2010 with an epic ad showing a bearded Wayne Rooney living in a caravan park, dreaming of success. Now brands are hunting for directors who make music videos, short films, and features—people with real creative credentials.
But there's a cost. "Big brand ambassadors" command enormous fees. The only way to cut through the noise of a saturated advertising landscape is to bring in people with genuine cultural significance—people audiences actually respect. One production company is now working on a short sitcom and a series of sketches that subtly endorse a new drink. The old formula—product first, advertising second—has inverted. Now you create entertainment that happens to sell a product.
Not every brand has the budget of Nike or Adidas. Scotland's Irn-Bru, preparing for the men's national team's first World Cup appearance in 28 years, took a different approach. They released a tongue-in-cheek music video featuring singer Susan Boyle belting out a balladic version of a retro jingle atop the Forth Bridge, with Franz Ferdinand's Alex Kapranos shredding a guitar by a loch. The campaign, overseen by creative agency Lucky Generals, deliberately avoided the cinematic heroism and athletic aspiration of bigger brands. Instead, it celebrated what Scottish fans actually experience: ridiculous travel plans, impossible odds, financial irresponsibility, sleep deprivation. It tapped into Scottish culture itself—the human, relatable side of being a fan during a genuinely global moment.
Shelley Smoller, the campaign's chief creative officer, explains the strategy: "We did loads of research to actually find out what the fans are feeling, what the Tartan Army is going through during this time." Smaller brands have to punch above their weight by offering something different—not the biggest stars, but deeper connection to what fans actually feel. As competitive as football is, so too is the advertising space. Everyone's chasing the same celebrities, so you have to give more than that. Nike and Irn-Bru have both suggested more content is coming throughout the tournament. What that content looks like may depend on how events unfold—on whether teams advance, whether dreams survive, whether the narrative shifts. The World Cup of advertising, it seems, will write itself as the summer unfolds.
Notable Quotes
It does feel like it's a World Cup in itself, just in the world of advertising.— Caleb Jensen, Nike executive creative director
Young people don't want to feel like they're being marketed to.— Blair Warren, Nike creative director
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why did brands suddenly decide to make five-minute films instead of thirty-second spots?
Because younger audiences have built up an immunity to being sold to. They scroll past ads automatically now. But if you make something entertaining—something they'd actually want to watch—they stop and share it.
So it's not really about the product anymore?
The product is still there, but it's almost incidental. You're watching Timothée Chalamet play a backyard football tournament with David Beckham's digital ghost. The Adidas logo is in the corner. But what you're actually consuming is entertainment.
That sounds expensive.
Enormously. You need Oscar-winning directors, A-list celebrities, production budgets that rival actual films. Only the biggest brands can afford it.
So what do smaller brands do?
They find a different angle. Irn-Bru didn't chase the biggest stars. They researched what Scottish fans actually feel—the chaos, the financial irresponsibility, the sleep deprivation—and made something that felt true to that experience instead of aspirational.
Is this sustainable? Can brands keep doing this?
Probably not at this scale forever. But right now, during a World Cup, when everyone's attention is on football, it works. The question is what happens when the tournament ends and the algorithm moves on.