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Forbes
24-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Forbes
NFL Draft 2025: Is The League Ready For Its Brand Makeover?
This year's highly anticipated NFL Draft 2025 isn't just about selecting talent—I'd say it's about redefining a brand. Hosted in Green Bay, Wisconsin, the NFL Draft should seize this opportunity to reshape its identity in front of millions. The Draft Theater, set at the heart of the Green Bay Packers' Lambeau Field legacy, is drawing fans from San Francisco to South Carolina. It's a moment of truth: what does the NFL want to stand for now? If you've followed my perspective on the NFL brand over the years, you know I've been saying the NFL needs a rebrand. From its initially lenient responses to high-profile domestic violence cases to its marginalization of Colin Kaepernick for his peaceful protests, the league has repeatedly chosen optics over authenticity. It was Nike—not the NFL—that stepped up, launching the 'Dream Crazy' campaign, which, as reported, was inspired by the branding rules of The Kim Kardashian Principle. Now, the NFL faces another critical inflection point. The 2025 draft class, led by star college football players Shedeur Sanders, Travis Hunter, and Cam Ward, amongst others, is the most media-savvy, brand-conscious generation the league has ever seen. These aren't just prospects—they're platforms. Here's how the NFL can get it right. As mock drafts from NFL Network to ESPN have debated, Cam Ward is widely expected to go first, his strong arm, poise under pressure, and record-setting season at Miami making him the most NFL-ready quarterback on paper, but with over two million followers and a jewel-encrusted football in hand at the NFL Combine—a key event where top prospects showcase their skills for NFL scouts—Shedeur Sanders isn't just vying for a spot, he's vying for the spotlight. There's no question: Sanders is part player appearance schedule, part prime-time event, and fully in charge of his draft profile. Modern college football players like Sanders and Travis Hunter aren't just athletes—they're content ecosystems driving conversation, shaping narratives, and delivering cultural currency. And the savviest teams—yes, even the Detroit Lions and Kansas City Chiefs—know that today, what happens off the field often drives the real ROI. The NFL would do well to recognize that players like Shedeur Sanders and Travis Hunter aren't just assets—they're built-in content ecosystems. According to PwC, 68% of sports industry executives now identify content creation as a key growth driver—proof that athletes who can build and distribute their own narratives are fast becoming the league's most valuable platforms. Gone are the days when a 40-yard dash and a clean stat sheet were enough to secure top draft picks. Today's most valuable athletes should be evaluated with an evolved NFL Draft Guide—one that prioritizes emotional resonance, cultural relevance, and storytelling power. Take Boise State's Ashton Jeanty, who turned down lucrative endorsement deals based on his growing social media influence and transfer opportunities to stay loyal to his team, after leading a record-breaking 2,600-yard season. Or Penn State's Abdul Carter, who transformed from an overlooked high school recruit during COVID into a unanimous All-American by sheer force of will and adaptability. These are stories of grit, loyalty, and purpose. And then there's Mason Graham, the breakout defensive tackle from Michigan—he didn't just dominate on the field, he connected off it. Known for his no-flash, raw, behind-the-scenes training videos, Graham has built a fanbase that sees him as more than a player—they see him as a symbol of work ethic and authenticity. If you're a defensive coordinator, you're watching tape but if you're a brand leader, you're watching influence—who's capturing attention, sparking connection, and turning plays into presence. Because today, I'd say, the smartest franchises—and the savviest marketers—shouldn't just be scouting for strength, they should scout for story. McKinsey would agree, reporting that the most successful brands are now shifting away from legacy metrics, focusing instead on platforms and people who spark community-driven engagement and cultural relevance. In the NFL—and in brand leadership in general—the instinct to protect the system often outweighs the courage to disrupt it. For decades, draft day decisions have revealed a clear preference: safe bets, sanitized narratives, and talent that can be molded quietly into existing frameworks. But as I've said before, in today's world and among a new Gen Z audience, safety is often more stagnation than strategy. Whether it's the Green Bay Packers opting for a well-behaved pass-rusher or the San Francisco 49ers prioritizing positional polish over public profile, the Draft has too often rewarded conformity. But charisma, individuality, and unpredictability aren't distractions amongst today's younger demographic that prize marching to their own drumbeat—they're increasingly necessary brand differentiators. Just look at Kayvon Thibodeaux, who entered the league not just as a top edge rusher but as an entrepreneur and cultural commentator—launching a crypto literacy initiative during his draft campaign and openly challenging narratives around Black athletes and intellectualism. Or Patrick Mahomes, whose natural ease with the media, sharp commercial instincts, and role in the Kansas City Chiefs' back-to-back Super Bowl runs made him one of the most bankable faces in sports. Mahomes didn't just lead a team—he built a transmedia brand presence that extended from the field to State Farm ads, gaming platforms, and international fan bases. What these players prove is this: when leaders bet on charisma, they can unlock compound value, not just in ratings, but in relevance. And as McKinsey research shows, brands that embrace bold, creative strategies significantly outperform their risk-averse competitors. And that's the lesson for the NFL: playing not to lose is exactly how you fall behind. What makes this generation opportunity different isn't just that athletes like Jaxson Dart, Matthew Golden and Derrick Harmon—whose bold style and NIL (name, image, likeness) endorsement deals are already resonating with Gen Z—and who show up with pre-built loyal fanbases. It's that they expect a seat at the table, and increasingly, so do the people who follow them. Fueled by entrepreneurial instinct, today's prospects aren't looking to be 'developed,' they're looking to collaborate. And yet too many legacy organizations still treat influence like it's a risk to be mitigated rather than an engine to be ignited. I believe, the winning brands—and leagues—of tomorrow will aim to co-create, not control. That means involving athletes in content, strategy, and even product innovation—from docuseries and branded merch drops to shared IP deals and social storytelling. It's not about slapping a logo on a jersey more about building the story with the jersey. As Deloitte notes, today's consumers expect to co-author brand narratives. When players are treated as creative partners, not just spokespeople, it's a signal: this brand doesn't just get culture. It trusts it. The NFL has tried to patch its image with everything from ceremonial football handoffs to nonprofit fundraising events. But today, amongst the savviest audience till date with highly tuned authenticity detectors, you can't rebrand with optics; You must rebuild with alignment. If the league wants to be seen as more than entertainment, it needs to stand behind its most resonant voices—players like Tetairoa McMillan, whose performance and off-field maturity make him as valuable in the locker room as in a content campaign, alongside Abdul Carter—not because they're safe, but because they're true to themselves. Because they represent not just talent, but values. Because relevance today isn't about airtime, it's about emotional resonance. Audiences no longer just watch—they judge. And they're judging whether your brand actually believes what it says. Interestingly, Accenture reports that 62% of consumers want brands to take a stand on issues that matter. And 42% will walk away if they sense a disconnect between message and action. In this era, authenticity isn't a nice-to-have. It's a non-negotiable. The NFL Draft Theater may be the center of the action, but what's really on display is the league's identity. With interactive exhibits, event site maps, and curated Draft Experience installations taking over Green Bay, this weekend isn't just a celebration of football—it's a broadcast of what the NFL wants the world to believe it stands for. And the world is watching closely. Because tomorrow's most valuable players won't just perform on Sundays, they'll own the moment and shape culture in real time—and expect the brands they represent to do the same. If the NFL wants to regain its relevance—it must stop trying to manage the culture and start backing the people who are shaping it. The old model of control is quickly collapsing and the new one demands collaboration, conviction, and clarity. So the real question isn't who goes first in the Draft. I believe it's this: Will the NFL finally pick itself? Named Esquire's Influencer of the Year, Jeetendr Sehdev is a media personality and leading voice in fashion, entertainment, and influence, and author of the New York Times bestselling phenomenon The Kim Kardashian Principle: Why Shameless Sells (and How to Do It Right).
Forbes
15-04-2025
- Business
- Forbes
How Brett Johnson Is Building The First Black Ultra-Luxury Brand
Brett Johnson Brett Johnson It's no secret that the world of luxury men's fashion reveres heritage above all else. For generations, that heritage has belonged almost exclusively to European houses with deep archives and deeper pockets. But designer Brett Johnson is looking to shake things up—not just through craftsmanship and design, but by rewriting the rules of luxury marketing. His approach doesn't lean on legacy—it builds it. For Johnson, luxury is not about nostalgia; it's about narrative, intention, and a seat at the table that was never set for him. Johnson aims to become the first Black designer to create an ultra-luxury fashion house that rivals the likes of Armani, Dior, and Brioni—not by following their path, but by carving his own. Uninterested in drawing from someone else's history, he's on a mission to build a new legacy rooted in personal story, cultural pride, and the belief that the luxury space should reflect more than just tradition. One built not on borrowed heritage, but on his lived experience. On quiet power. On generational purpose. It's a bold but much needed step in a luxury segment that has long resisted disruption—including luxury marketers who have abided by the status quo for too long. Luxury in Johnson's mind should reflect the people shaping it—and speak to the evolving expectations of affluent consumers who are redefining what the luxury industry stands for. There is no doubt that Brett Johnson's ambition remains both audacious and unapologetic—two qualities I often return to in The Kim Kardashian Principle, because as I've said before, these qualities will continue to define many of the world's most impactful brands. That question isn't just his brand's thesis; it's his calling. And it speaks to something much larger than fashion or the luxury audience. It's about representation, inheritance, and the power to see yourself reflected at the highest levels—not as an exception, but as the standard. In a category where branding often leans heavily on famous luxury brands with monogrammed status symbols and decades of consumer expectation built in, Brett Johnson offers something completely different: a luxury brand that centers culture without sacrificing quality Model wears Brett Johnson Brett Johnson While many European luxury brand houses, including those of French excellence, trace their lineage back to the 19th century—with legacy ateliers, and archives filled with sketches from eras past—Brett Johnson is building his house with no legacy ateliers. No iconic monograms. No inherited luxury business codes. Just a vision, a name, generational wisdom and a conviction that luxury products can be redefined on his own terms. Johnson is right. Despite some progress, Black designers remain significantly underrepresented in top creative roles within major luxury fashion houses. As of early 2023, Pharrell Williams was the only Black creative director among the major brands under conglomerates like LVMH, Kering, and Richemont. And whenever I'm seated front row at Milan, Paris, London or New York, I can attest to this absence. And the gap isn't just creative—it's structural. According to McKinsey, less than 5% of luxury brands globally are founder-led by people of color. The vast majority of power remains concentrated within legacy European families and corporate conglomerates. For decades, the idea of many aspects of luxury—especially in fashion—has remained tightly held within a narrow cultural frame: European heritage, white leadership, old money taste. Even as streetwear surged and diversity campaigns made headlines, few dared to challenge the unspoken hierarchy that places 'Black-owned' and 'luxury' in separate categories. But, Johnson is forcing that conversation forward—not with slogans, but with quiet, elegant conviction. And it's the fusion of his restrained elegance and relentless clarity that makes Johnson such a revolutionary and his vision so distinct—and so needed. The man and the mission are the same. His collections are intentionally restrained: precision tailoring, rarefied fabrics, soft color palettes, monogram-free silhouettes. Brett Johnson's creations don't shout for luxury buyers attention—they quietly command it. In doing so, it's safe to say that the Brett Johnson brand isn't built on an aspirational connection. It's foundational. And increasingly, that's what discerning consumers want. In Deloitte's 2023 luxury report, 63% of Gen Z luxury buyers said they prefer brands that reflect 'individual authenticity' over historical prestige. Johnson's definition of luxury is the amongst the most inclusive I've seen. Yes, he's reclaiming luxury for Black creatives and luxury consumers alike, but he's equally inviting others into a world they didn't even know was missing. There's enormous power in legacy-building when you've been historically excluded from legacy spaces. Power in creating a house that centers both craftsmanship and culture—without compromise. And that's precisely what I believe makes Brett Johnson's approach so disruptive. He's not mimicking luxury marketing strategies, he's mastering them on his own terms. More than designing clothes, Brett Johnson is building a mirror—one that reflects who he is, where he comes from, his personal experience with luxury brands as a Black man and the consumer landscape he wants to shape. And in that reflection, you'll find something rarely found in luxury brand marketing: authenticity without performance. Raised in a household where excellence wasn't optional—his parents were successful pioneers in media and entertainment—Johnson was exposed early on to the language of the luxury brands market. But while many children of privilege inherit brands, Johnson decided to build one from scratch, venturing out into the world of fashion in the hopes that he could carry forward his lineage while carving out his own path. In doing so, his luxury brand aesthetic is a distillation of everything that's shaped him: the clean precision of Italian tailoring, the meditative beauty of modernist architecture, and the confidence of understatement. His designs ooze elegance and sophistication, showcasing luxury products without flash. They possess a refined beauty that feels both ultra expensive and ultra chic. Those three words—modern, sophisticated, luxury brand—aren't just marketing copy for Brett Johnson, they're branding principles, and perhaps most importantly, a personal ethos. Brett Johnson is not a brand built to chase virality. There are no seasonal gimmicks and no hype drops and Johnson certainly doesn't design for Instagram; he designs for target audience legacy, for wardrobes that evolve over time, and for luxury consumers who value craft over clout. It's a relevant luxury brand marketing strategy for some, especially given the times of economic uncertainty, many consumers gravitate towards timeless, understated luxury over bold, ostentatious designs. This "quiet luxury" trend not only continues to indicate the future of consumer behavior but also emphasizes quality and subtlety, aligning with Johnson's minimalist aesthetic. That would be one of the reasons his garments feel so intimate—like they were made for a life, not just a moment. It's a different kind of experience wearing Brett Johnson given these pieces are meant to outlast seasons and outlive trends. Johnson remembers his father's wardrobe—watches passed down, suits that carried stories. He's now creating the kind of garments that might one day do the same for others. In a move that would seem counterintuitive to most American designers, Brett Johnson didn't focus on his local consumer landscape and launch his namesake label in New York or Los Angeles. He launched it abroad—quietly, deliberately, and with intention. His focus? Europe, the Middle East, and Asia. In a way, it was a recognition of differing consumer behaviors in different geographies, digital strategies and cultural fluency. I can easily see how Brett Johnson's pieces—pared back, precision-cut, and rooted in artisan quality—speak to a sartorial sensibility that's ingrained in European life. In Milan, Paris, and Dubai, affluent consumers didn't just see fabric; they saw the work, level of experience, the heritage, and the restraint behind it. Model wears Brett Johnson Brett Johnson And his intuition is right. According to Bain & Company, over 95% of luxury industry growth in recent years has come from international markets—particularly China, the Middle East, and Europe—while the American mass market remains dominated by logo-led consumption and celebrity influence. And while evolving, the American mass market still has a complicated relationship with subtlety in luxury marketing. In a culture where logo-driven marketing strategies and celebrity hype often drive the luxury experience and associated attention, Johnson's quieter approach required a different kind of luxury brand strategy and a different type of listener. So, he sought out the ones already attuned to his frequency. That disruptive go-to-market decision was both a business strategy and a statement. And it's working. A 2024 McKinsey report shows that affluent European and Middle Eastern consumers are twice as likely to value discretion, heritage, and artisanal quality over branding or influencer affiliation—making them more receptive to Johnson's brand philosophy. Today, the majority of Brett Johnson's clientele is international—many of them white, many from generational wealth, and many who were previously loyal to famous luxury brands like Loro Piana, Zegna, or Brioni. On paper, that may seem paradoxical: a Black American designer, building a culturally rooted brand, embraced first by elite European audiences. But Johnson sees it differently. For him, this early global traction isn't the endgame. It's a foundation. A proof point that quality transcends race, that refinement speaks its own language, and that a Black-owned luxury brand doesn't have to exist solely for the Black community—it can be led by it and still belong to the world. Because Brett Johnson's ultimate ambition is not niche, but universal: to create a house that redefines who luxury is for—not by excluding others, but by including ourselves. In Brett Johnson's world, luxury is not a price point but a promise. And that promise begins with craftsmanship—the kind that takes years to find and a lifetime to master. Model wears Brett Johnson Brett Johnson Before a single garment ever bore his name, Johnson spent over two years quietly traversing the hills of Tuscany and Umbria, regions steeped in centuries of rich tradition and artisanal excellence. His mission? To seek out the best factories in the world—not just to manufacture his luxury products, but to help him build a luxury brand from the ground up, one meticulous stitch at a time. That search was more difficult than it sounds. These ateliers typically work with heritage houses—famous luxury brands like Hermès, Dior, and Loro Piana—whose business models guarantee scale and consistency. Johnson was offering neither. What he was offering instead was vision; a modern, refined point of view that valued restraint over spectacle and permanence over profit. Eventually, he found them—family-run workshops where fathers teach sons, where fabric is handled with reverence, and where time slows down in service of excellence. In some cases, one artisan handles a single detail: the slope of a shoulder, the roll of a collar, the precise placement of a buttonhole. It's not fast. It's not cheap. But its purpose is unforgettable. Today, every Brett Johnson piece is born from this ethos. From the weight of the wool to the grain of the leather, nothing is left to chance. Jackets are engineered to drape with architectural precision. Trousers whisper rather than shout. Even the linings are a study in detail—often dyed to match a specific emotion or seasonal mood. And that philosophy goes beyond materials. It's embedded in his idea of ownership. A Brett Johnson coat isn't something you toss when trends change. It's something you hand down, the way his own father passed on suits and watches that carried not just function, but meaning. That's why Johnson doesn't just talk about quality, he talks about inheritance. It's a critical role that many fashion executives have overlooked: legacy as strategy. And research backs it. A 2024 McKinsey study found that 76% of luxury buyers say craftsmanship is the top reason they remain loyal to a brand—outpacing even design or exclusivity. It's an increasingly rare idea in luxury marketing today—where many brands have traded artisans for algorithms and replaced legacy with manufactured hype. But Johnson isn't trying to compete in the attention economy, he's playing a different game altogether. In an industry that rewards immediacy, Brett Johnson is betting on permanence of the luxury experience. He's not building fashion for this moment but building fashion that outlives it. There are clear aesthetic and ideological parallels between Brett Johnson and Giorgio Armani—two designers who chose restraint over noise, craft over chaos, and vision over validation. Like Armani, Johnson has little interest in the performative theatrics that often dominate the fashion calendar. He doesn't chase seasonal reinvention or Instagrammable gimmicks, instead, he builds with intention—calm, assured, and exacting. His work echoes Armani's minimalist codes, but there's something different at play. Where Armani defined a generation's style, Brett Johnson is redefining who gets to lead that conversation. And like Giorgio Armani, Johnson's vision isn't just that of a stylized sanctuary. It's a luxury project. A cultural reclamation. A business role rooted in legacy, storytelling, and long-term competitive advantages. His ambition is to create a fully immersive Brett Johnson luxury brand world—not just fashion, but eyewear, homeware, even entering the luxury hospitality space with hotels—where the design language is consistent, elevated, and unmistakably his. But unlike most lifestyle brands that expand for market share, Johnson expands for representation, meaning and impact. That would be Brett Johnson's purpose. It's a smart move. According to Deloitte's Global Powers of Luxury Goods report, lifestyle expansion—into interiors, hospitality, and experiences—is now a key growth engine for top-performing brands, fueling both deeper customer loyalty and higher margins. And in then process, he's not just designing what elegance looks like. He's pushing back on who gets to define it. That's why his mission is inherently political—not in the partisan sense, but in the historical one. To imagine a Black-owned luxury brand, that creates a luxury universe, that competes at the highest level is, in itself, a radical act. Especially in an industry where Blackness has often been commodified but not empowered. Where Black creatives are celebrated for influence, but not always entrusted with legacy. In that way, Brett Johnson is not just following in Armani's footsteps—he's extending them into spaces they've never been. While Armani drew from Japanese architecture and Italian sensuality, Johnson draws from generational memory, American modernism, and a lived Black experience. His expression of luxury is global, yes—but also deeply personal. And when future generations step into a Brett Johnson boutique, or check into a Brett Johnson hotel, or wear a Brett Johnson jacket handed down from a father to a son, they won't just be stepping into a brand. They'll be stepping into a world. For leaders navigating a rapidly shifting luxury space, I believe Brett Johnson offers more than just a newer label to watch—he offers a blueprint for what leaders in luxury marketing can look like when it's rooted in both purpose and profit. His luxury brand marketing strategy is a case study in building with depth over noise, with emotional connection over algorithmic reach, and with cultural integrity over performative inclusion. He's not entering the luxury sectors to check a box or 'diversify' it, he's entering to redefine it. Where many fashion brands seek to align themselves with legacy institutions or French excellence, Brett Johnson is building a legacy of his own—one that proves you don't need centuries of history to create something timeless. In this new era, point of view is power. Vision is value. And your identity isn't just part of the product—it is the product. And in doing so, I'd say Brett Johnson challenges the luxury industry and by extension those who focus on marketing luxury brands to evolve. To grow up. To slow down. To make space not just for a new kind of creative director, but for a new kind of target audience—one who sees themselves in the story being told. Because the new era of luxury brand marketing or marketing luxury products isn't about logos, spectacle, or scarcity games. It's about soul, story, and substance. And that matters—not just for luxury projects or fashion, but for culture. Not just for markets, but for people. Because when you expand who gets to be seen at the top, you expand what's possible for everyone else watching. Brett Johnson's pieces don't scream for attention—they command it, through content creation, precision, purpose, and presence. In an ultra competitive market saturated with competitive pricing, high end events, limited edition products and general noise, Brett Johnson's quiet confidence might be the boldest move of all. And in an industry still reckoning with how to reconcile exclusivity with inclusion, heritage with innovation, and prestige with progress—his presence isn't just refreshing. I'd say it's a turning point. Named Esquire's Influencer of the Year, Jeetendr Sehdev is a media personality and leading voice in fashion, entertainment, and influence, and author of the New York Times bestselling phenomenon The Kim Kardashian Principle: Why Shameless Sells (and How to Do It Right).
Forbes
02-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Forbes
Val Kilmer Dies At 65: Lessons From A Top Gun Brand Maverick
American actor Val Kilmer poses for a portrait with a jean jacket in these twelve images on one ... More proof sheet in Los Angeles, California, April 2, 1986. (Photo by) Actor Val Kilmer, who headlined some of the most iconic and commercially impactful films of the 1980s and 90s—including Top Gun and Batman Forever—has died at the age of 65 in Los Angeles, his daughter Mercedes Kilmer confirmed in a statement to the Associated Press. In the world of Hollywood, Kilmer wasn't just a gifted performer—he was a case study in brand evolution. A master of transformation, he built a career not on repetition, but on reinvention. From Juilliard-trained stage actor to global box office draw, Kilmer understood what I believe today's leaders must consistently be reminded of: visibility is fleeting, but resonance is everything. The 1980s catapulted him into pop culture with feature film roles that highlighted not just his talent, but his ability to embody wildly diverse personas—from comedic genius in Real Genius to the commanding and unforgettable naval aviator in Top Gun. But Kilmer wasn't simply acting—he was constructing a brand built on range, mystique, and emotional power. By the 1990s, Val Kilmer's brand resonance deepened signicantly with his role in Batman Forever placing him alongside the Hollywood's elite, proving he could not only wear the cape but carry the franchise. Yet it wasn't just his star power that endured—it was his refusal to be formulaic. Kilmer's brand was fluid, fearless, and defiantly individual—lessons I emphasize in The Kim Kardashian Principle. And for leaders and marketers navigating an increasingly volatile consumer landscape, his career offers an enduring lesson: the most compelling brands don't play it safe. They play it true. Val Kilmer's life story mirrors the classic arc of a Hollywood star—yet, even in its earliest chapters, it reads like the evolution of a brand with purpose, edge, and emotional intelligence. Born on December 31, 1959, to Gladys Swanette(Ekstadt) and Eugene Dorris Kilmer, a real estate developer and aerospace equipment distributor, Kilmer came of age in Los Angeles, the very heart of America's entertainment engine. At Chatsworth High School, he shared the stage with future icons like Kevin Spacey and Mare Winningham, but Kilmer's trajectory was singular and his early stage work revealed a performer willing to experiment with form and emotion—establishing a pattern of brilliant variability that would later define his film career. He wasn't interested in staying in one lane. He was building a portfolio. And like any great brand architect, he knew that longevity comes not from repetition, but reinvention. By the mid-1980s, he'd achieved breakout status through performances in his film debut, the spy spoof Top Secret! and the comedy cult classic Real Genius. In doing so, he quickly started building a versatile brand and showed how he could pivot genres while still maintaining a distinct and magnetic identity. Then came Top Gun (1986), the military action film that would define a generation—and redefine Kilmer's brand entirely. Who can forget 'the need for speed?' And as Iceman, he didn't just play a naval aviator—he projected a model of cool detachment and confidence that still resonates in pop culture and advertising. His aura became an asset, one that marketers could learn from. Actor Val Kilmer poses for the Tri Star Pictures movie "Real Genius" in 1985. (Photo by Michael ... More) Val Kilmer's ascent to Hollywood stardom in the 1980s was in a decade dominated by larger-than-life personalities and blockbuster formulas, Kilmer managed to carve out a lane that was uniquely his own. While the industry teemed with emerging talent, Kilmer stood out by doing what successful brands do best: pivoting across categories without diluting identity. Rather than leaning into one archetype, he built a repertoire of roles that showcased his brilliant variability—proving that range, when aligned with authenticity, can become a defining brand asset. From comedies to fantasies to big-budget action films, Kilmer's movie career choices were more than creative—they were category expansions, strategically broadening his cultural equity. His performances in some of the biggest movies didn't just entertain; they established a brand promise: whatever the genre, Kilmer would bring presence, intelligence, and unpredictability to the screen. For CMOs looking to future-proof their brands, Kilmer's early and highly varied career is a reminder that diversification doesn't necessarily mean dilution—it can sometimes mean dominance. NEW YORK, NY JUN 09: Cher and Val Kilmer attends the Grease II Premiere Party at The Red Parrot ... More on June 9, 1982 in New York City. (Photo by Sonia Moskowitz/IMAGES/Getty Images) Val Kilmer's breakthrough in 1984 with Top Secret!, a fast-paced spy spoof that instantly positioned him as a talent capable of blending comedy chops with movie-star charisma. It was an unexpected debut—bold, offbeat, and different. In branding terms, it was a challenger launch: a product introduction that subverted genre norms while delivering mass appeal. But 1986's Top Gun changed everything. His role as Iceman—the cool, competitive naval aviator—didn't just elevate his career; it cemented his brand. With minimal dialogue and maximum screen command, Kilmer captured the essence of controlled charisma. He wasn't just acting—he was setting a new standard for what restrained power looks like on screen. Top Gun was the right move for Kilmer's brand: a role that perfectly matched Kilmer's growing image as enigmatic, emotionally contained, and impossible to ignore. And from that point on, I'd say every appearance became an extension of the Iceman effect: a masterclass in brand aura. He followed that with Willow in 1988, a fantasy film that further expanded his genre portfolio. Rather than consolidating around a single character type, Kilmer kept his brand elastic—able to stretch into action comedy, high fantasy, and stylized drama without breaking. The strategy? Surprise the market, but stay recognizably distinct. By the end of the decade, Kilmer wasn't just a movie star—he was a cinematic brand with broad appeal, deep emotional recognition, and the rare ability to cross verticals without losing credibility. American actors Val Kilmer and Tom Cruise on the set of Top Gun, directed by Tony Scott. (Photo by ... More Paramount Pictures/Sunset Boulevard/Corbis via Getty Images) Val Kilmer's career was defined by an uncanny ability to embody a myriad of characters, a trait that set him apart from his contemporaries and positioned him as one of Hollywood's most enigmatic talents. His intense dedication to each role became a hallmark—an artistic signature or brand promise of sorts that brought unexpected depth and nuance to even the most challenging performances. His portrayal of Jim Morrison in The Doors remains one of his most celebrated, a performance that blurred the line between actor and icon. Kilmer didn't just impersonate Morrison—he channeled him and the result was a raw, immersive portrayal that captured both the reverence and volatility of a complex, real-life persona. But Kilmer's versatility came at a cost. Known for pushing boundaries, he often found himself in creative conflict with directors—most famously Michael Mann, John Frankenheimer, and during the chaotic production of The Island of Dr. Moreau, Richard Stanley, who accused Kilmer of bullying behavior on what became a famously cursed set. A hurricane, clashing egos, and a collapsing production became the stuff of legend—yet through it all, Kilmer's pursuit of artistic precision never wavered. Even when projects earned mixed reviews from film critics or flew under the radar, Kilmer's performances still drew commendations and cultivated a fervent fan following. He wasn't chasing comfort—he was chasing truth. And in doing so, he continue to establish credibility with his fanbase and in doing so redefined what brilliance could look like in cinema: not polished or predictable, but bold, volatile, and wholly committed. For brand leaders, the takeaway is clear—versatility and audacity, when driven by principle, may polarize in the short term, but over time, they build something far more powerful: an enduring brand rooted in integrity. UNITED STATES - JUNE 21: Val Kilmer stars as Jim Morrison in the movie "The Doors" being filmed in ... More New York City. (Photo by Richard Corkery/NY Daily News Archive via Getty Images) The 1990s marked a period of peak visibility for Val Kilmer—a decade when his personal brand expanded across genres, platforms, and emotional registers. He didn't just play characters. He embodied archetypes. From rock legends and Western gunslingers to action heroes and noir detectives, Kilmer's brand was built on brilliant variability. Critics, including Roger Ebert, praised Kilmer's ability to morph effortlessly between personas while maintaining a throughline of intensity and control. He wasn't predictable—but he was always compelling and its a distinction that really matters in branding: consistency of essence, not repetition of form, is what creates lasting emotional equity. During this stretch, Kilmer was frequently mentioned in the same breath as Marlon Brando and Robert De Niro—not just for his talent, but for his magnetic presence and refusal to conform. He wasn't trying to be the most likable or marketable but he was focused on being unforgettable. And in a marketplace saturated with safe bets, that made him indispensable. Taking over as the Caped Crusader in Batman Forever (1995), Kilmer stepped into one of the most high-profile brand franchises in Hollywood. Following Michael Keaton's acclaimed turn in Batman Returns, the role came with enormous cultural and commercial expectations. But Kilmer didn't try to replicate what came before—he reinterpreted it. His version of Batman brought a more psychological, introspective energy to the character—a bold repositioning of the film character in a landscape craving spectacle. While the performance received mixed reviews, with critics like Janet Maslin divided over its emotional depth versus its physical constraints, Kilmer's presence helped drive Batman Forever to major box office success. It was a reminder that star power—like brand equity—can sometimes transcend the product experience. In the documentary Val, Kilmer reflects on the emotional toll of acting through the restrictive suit, which he described as inhibiting interaction and expression. The inability to connect—literally and figuratively—led him to walk away from the franchise, passing the mantle to George Clooney. It was a bold move, one not rooted in fear, but in brand alignment. Sometimes, the greatest loyalty to your brand comes from knowing when to exit a stage that no longer fits your story. Val Kilmer and Nicole Kidman (Photo by Warner Bros. Pictures/Sunset Boulevard/Corbis via Getty ... More Images) Outside the bat suit, Kilmer's 1990s catalog was a clinic in brand range and risk-taking. His portrayal of Jim Morrison in The Doors (1991) was perhaps his most transformational—an immersive role that required him to perform concert scenes using his own voice. It wasn't mimicry; it was a creative merger between Kilmer and the rock legend he portrayed. That authenticity helped him connect with a new wave of fans and critics alike, reinforcing his brand as both fearless and emotionally precise. In Tombstone (1993), Kilmer delivered one of the most celebrated performances of his career as Doc Holliday—a blend of wit, darkness, and tragic cool that has become canon in Western cinema. It wasn't just a great role. It was a brand-defining moment. Holliday became part of Kilmer's iconography—a powerful current that still shapes how audiences remember his legacy. Val Kilmer at the microphone in a scene from the film 'The Doors', 1991. (Photo by Carolco/Getty ... More Images) Kilmer continued to surprise and take risks, taking on roles that subverted expectations. In Kiss Kiss Bang Bang (2005), he played a gay private detective with razor-sharp comedic timing alongside Robert Downey Jr. The role was unconventional, offbeat, and perfectly on-brand for someone committed to staying culturally unpredictable. He also stretched his reach through voice acting, providing both God and Moses in The Prince of Egypt (1998)—a dual role that highlighted his capacity to connect emotionally even through animation. For a brand built on presence, his vocal performance proved just as potent as his physical one. Throughout the decade, Kilmer's brand defied category and demanded attention. Whether in crime dramas, drama films, or comedy spoofs, he made choices that built a personal brand rooted in complexity, contradiction, and charisma. For CMOs navigating the tension between broad appeal and brand authenticity, Kilmer's 1990s output is more than film history—it's a branding masterclass in staying unforgettable while staying true. DEAUVILLE, FRANCE - SEPTEMBER 04: (L-R) Actor Val Kilmer, Michelle Monaghan, and Robert Downey Jr. ... More pose at the photocall for "Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang" at the 31st Deauville Festival Of American Film on September 4, 2005 in Deauville, France. (Photo by) The 2000s marked a compelling evolution in Val Kilmer's brand story—a decade defined less by blockbuster dominance and more by adaptive reinvention. Long known for his intense dedication to the craft and his reputation as a Hollywood maverick, Kilmer used this era to embrace change, experiment with form, and deepen the emotional resonance of his work. This didn't seem like a calculated pivot—but an organic evolution of brand identity. Even as he confronted personal challenges, including a life-altering throat cancer diagnosis, Kilmer's refusal to retreat mirrored what modern brand leaders know well: when crisis hits, resilience isn't just admirable—it's strategic. Whether appearing in independent film projects or voicing characters in animated features, Kilmer sustained his presence across formats. His brand, no longer dependent on traditional leading-man roles, became more multifaceted and culturally agile. For CMOs navigating disruptive eras, Kilmer's 2000s-era choices underscore a key lesson: reinvention doesn't mean losing relevance—it can mean expanding it. Kilmer's work in the 2000s further amplified the unpredictability that had always been a hallmark of his brand. Often referred to as a Hollywood enfant terrible for his challenging working style and nonlinear career path, Kilmer leaned into that mystique—turning it into a form of differentiation. In a market where actors often chase likability, Kilmer built equity through creative risk and refusal to conform. Unlike contemporaries such as Michael Keaton or George Clooney, Kilmer didn't build a neat portfolio. He built one full of tension, texture, and surprise. From portraying high-stakes characters in gritty dramas to revisiting roles like Doc Holliday with added emotional nuance, Kilmer made clear he wasn't afraid of veering off the beaten path. That willingness to break category rules—and still remain culturally relevant—is something most brands aspire to but few execute with credibility. His work spanned genres and tone, proving that brand elasticity, when rooted in authenticity, doesn't confuse audiences—it deepens their connection. As a result, Kilmer cultivated not just a fanbase, but a devoted audience who appreciated the integrity of his choices and the unpredictability of his next move. For marketers and brand stewards, Kilmer's 2000s chapter is more than a résumé of roles—it's a case study in how audacity, adaptability, and staying true to your narrative can keep a brand emotionally resonant, even in a rapidly shifting cultural landscape. THE TONIGHT SHOW WITH JAY LENO — Episode 1933 — Pictured: (l-r) Actor Val Kilmer, TV host Nigel ... More Marven and a blood-sucking animal on November 1, 2000 — (Photo by: Paul Drinkwater/NBCU Photo Bank/NBCUniversal via Getty Images via Getty Images) In the 2000s, Val Kilmer's brand evolution entered a new phase—one defined by platform agility and cross-medium storytelling. For an actor long known for cinematic risk-taking, Kilmer's seamless transition into theater and video game voice acting was more than career diversification—it was brand expansion in motion. His move into live theater wasn't simply a return to roots; it was a recommitment to craftsmanship and emotional depth, values that had always underpinned his brand. On stage, Kilmer found new ways to dissect intricate charactersin real time, engaging audiences without filters or edits. In brand terms, it was the equivalent of experiential marketing: unmediated, visceral, and deeply personal. At the same time, Kilmer ventured into the world of interactive storytelling through video games—lending his distinctive voice to narratives that reached younger, digitally native audiences. This was less a celebrity cameo and more a strategic bridge between his classic fame and contemporary culture. As brands increasingly seek relevance across generational lines and mediums, Kilmer's work in gaming anticipated what many marketers now recognize: attention is fragmented, but influence is portable. These efforts—though divergent from his film work—reflected a brand that was both legacy-driven and future-facing. Kilmer wasn't just keeping up with entertainment trends; he was adapting his storytelling across channels without compromising authenticity. That's the move. That's the lesson. For brand leaders navigating omnichannel ecosystems, Kilmer's foray into theater and gaming proves a vital point: great brands don't just survive across platforms—they can transform across them while staying true to their DNA. Charlotte Emmerson and Val Kilmer during "The Postman Always Rings Twice" London Photocall at ... More Playhouse Theatre in London, Great Britain. (Photo by Goffredo di Crollalanza/FilmMagic) Val Kilmer's trajectory in the 2010s and 2020s serves as a compelling blueprint for legacy brands navigating reinvention in real time. This era of his career wasn't about scale—it was about substance. It was about resilience, reinvention, and the kind of intimate storytelling that today's most successful brands are learning to embrace. In 2021, Kilmer released Val, a self-produced documentary that offered an unflinching, behind-the-scenes film interpretation of his life and career. Spanning four decades of personal footage, Val wasn't just a retrospective—it was a masterclass in brand transparency. The documentary earned both critical acclaim and audience admiration for its raw honesty and emotional resonance. Rather than hiding from hardship, Kilmer confronted it—and by doing so, rewrote the rules of legacy management. He understood that today's audiences—and consumers—no longer reward perfection. They reward truth. In a world increasingly driven by authenticity, Kilmer's later work positioned him not just as a survivor, but as a storyteller in total control of his own narrative. Ali Alborzi, Mercedes Kilmer, Jack Kilmer, Ting Poo, and Leo Scott attends the premiere of Val at ... More the Directors Guild of America on August 3, 2021 in Los Angeles, California. (Photo by Michael Buckner/Penske Media via Getty Images) The most pivotal chapter in Kilmer's brand evolution came through his battle with throat cancer—a diagnosis that would permanently alter his voice and threaten his ability to perform. For any other actor, this might have signaled a forced retreat. For Kilmer, it was a moment of brand transformation. Rather than stepping back, he channeled his challenges into creation, turning illness into insight. He embraced new modes of expression, including visual art, poetry, and digital storytelling, using his journey not just as material—but as message. His post-diagnosis work, including inspired paintings of his past film roles, wasn't just an exercise in resilience. It was strategic repositioning: shifting from performer to multidisciplinary creator, and expanding his brand into visual arts, memoir, and multimedia. For brand leaders, it's a sharp reminder that when your core offering is disrupted, your values—and your voice—can still lead. Kilmer's story of vulnerability and creative reinvention reinforces one of today's most powerful brand truths: what breaks you can also define you—if you own the narrative. Actor Val Kilmer visits the United Nations headquarters in New York City, New York to promote the 17 ... More Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) initiative, July 20, 2019. (Photo by EuropaNewswire/Gado/Getty Images) Even as his health limited his speech, Kilmer's influence never faded—it simply took new form. His appearance in Top Gun: Maverick was brief but powerful. Without flashy dialogue or screen time, he delivered a poetic and emotionally calibrated return that spoke volumes. It wasn't just nostalgia—it was legacy marketing done right: authentic, understated, and deeply moving. Whether as the unforgettable Iceman, the possessed genius of Jim Morrison, or the tragic hero Doc Holliday, Kilmer's portrayals remain etched into cinematic memory. His master of disguise approach to roles made him more than a star—he became a film character archetype in himself. And for a brand, that's the holy grail: becoming the symbol, not just the service. Beyond film, Kilmer's expansion into the contemporary art world further cemented his multidimensional brand. His paintings, often reflecting themes from his acting career, became a new language for emotional expression and cultural commentary. Like the best heritage brands, Kilmer used the past not to look backward—but to create forward. His legacy now lives at the intersection of performance, vulnerability, visual storytelling, and reinvention. For CMOs, it's a powerful case study: a brand can survive disruption, transcend platforms, and evolve—if it stays emotionally true. Val Kilmer's personal life was as vibrant as his career, enriched by relationships and philanthropy. He married actress Joanne Whalley in 1988. Despite their divorce in 1996, they had two children: Mercedes and Jack Kilmer. Val's relationship with his children was profound, especially as Jack lent his voice to Val in the autobiographical film "Val" due to his father's throat cancer diagnosis that impaired his speech. Beyond the spotlight, Kilmer had a passion for giving back. He was involved in several philanthropic efforts, often supporting causes related to cancer research and children's charities. Val's battle with throat cancer, publicly acknowledged in 2015, elevated his focus on cancer-related initiatives, utilizing his influence to highlight the importance of cancer awareness and research funding. His blend of personal tenacity and philanthropy left a legacy that resonates beyond his cinematic contributions. Actor Val Kilmer with his wife Jacy Gossett arrive for the sixth annual Cinema Against AIDS gala ... More dinner and auction at Roger Verge's famed "Le Moulin de Mougins" restaurant, during the 52nd Annual International Cannes Film Festival. (Photo by Neil Munns - PA Images/PA Images via Getty Images) Kilmer's career offers lessons far beyond Hollywood, especially for anyone navigating influence, reinvention, and authenticity in the public eye. Here are four lessons every brand can learn from Val Kilmer: Val Kilmer never played to the middle. He wasn't engineered for mass-market palatability—and that's exactly why his influence lasted. The same holds true for brands today: relevance doesn't come from being liked by everyone, it comes from being loved by the right ones. Cult brands create emotional stakes that are built as much on reach as they are on resonance. As I've emphasized before, brands don't need ten million passive fans; you need one million obsessed ones. Kilmer didn't chase consensus but instead he chose intensity. Smart brands do the same. Research underscores the power of emotional branding in fostering deep consumer connections and trust. A study published in The Open Psychology Journal found that emotional brand attachment significantly influences customer behavior, leading to increased brand commitment and trustworthiness. This emotional bond transforms transactional relationships into devoted followings with remarkable staying power. Kilmer was unpredictable—on screen and off. He zigged when Hollywood wanted him to zag. One minute he was Batman in Batman Forever (a role later passed to George Clooney in Batman & Robin), the next he was playing Doc Holliday in Tombstone, and then a stage version of Mark Twain in Citizen Twain and Cinema Twain. You couldn't pin him down. And that unpredictability? It's what made him watchable. Brands that follow formula fade fast. The ones that stay in the conversation are the ones willing to surprise us. Reinvention isn't a risk—it's a relevance strategy and research would agree. The Hinge Research Institute's High Growth Study 2024 revealed that firms prioritizing adaptability and responsiveness to market changes experienced higher growth rates. This suggests that a willingness to pivot and innovate, even in uncertain environments, can position brands ahead of more predictable competitors. Kilmer's return in Top Gun: Maverick was a comeback built on emotional truth and cultural timing. And it worked, precisely because it wasn't trying to recreate the past. It honored it, then moved it forward embracing the future. Comebacks aren't about correction. They're about evolution. Smart leaders know this and they don't hide from missteps—they own them, learn, and show up transformed. If you're plotting a return, don't aim for recovery. Aim for reinvention. The transformation of legacy fashion label Coach into a modern luxury brand is a case study in comeback culture done right—rooted in authenticity, executed with vision. Successful brand revitalizations highlight the importance of strategic comebacks. For instance, Coach's transformation involved rebranding efforts that resonated with both legacy customers and new demographics, leading to a significant resurgence in market presence. This case study exemplifies how brands can effectively orchestrate comebacks by aligning with contemporary consumer values and preferences. After throat cancer diagnosis, Kilmer lost his voice—but not his impact. He adapted. He shifted. He reemerged with Val, an independent film stitched together from decades of personal footage. It wasn't just a documentary—it was a film interpretation of a life lived on the edge of brilliance and burnout. That's the move. When culture shifts, when the story breaks, when your old narrative no longer serves—you evolve. Most legacy brands cling to a voice that no longer connects. The smart ones write a new script before they're forced to. Adaptation isn't a weakness. It's what keeps you legendary. Adapting a brand's voice to align with evolving cultural contexts is crucial for maintaining relevance. An article from Forbes emphasizes the importance of balancing brand consistency with adaptability across markets, suggesting that thorough research and cultural sensitivity are key to building global recognition. Brands that proactively adjust their messaging to reflect cultural shifts can enhance their global presence and consumer engagement. Val Kilmer's brand legacy is not confined to film; he has also made a significant impact through art and personal documentation. In 2021, he released a documentary titled "Val," offering an intimate glimpse into his life and career using over 40 years of home recordings. This documentary serves as a poignant narrative of his challenges and triumphs, including his post-throat cancer journey with the help of a voice box. His anticipated portrayal of Iceman in "Top Gun: Maverick" added emotional depth to his return to acting, engaging old and new fans alike. Kilmer's passion also extended to visual arts; he was a prolific painter whose works often drew inspiration from his roles. It was his brand extension of sorts. His art has been showcased in exhibitions, including a notable gallery show in New York, cementing his status as a multifaceted artist. Through art and memorabilia, Val Kilmer continues to immortalize his legacy and inspire admiration across generations, exemplifying the enduring nature of the cultural impact of his brand. Val Kilmer, the California-born, Julliard-trained actor, rarely played by the rules. Not in Hollywood, not on set, and certainly not in the way he shaped his own narrative. As the world mourns the loss of one of cinema's most enigmatic talents, I'm not just thinking about his performances but his choices. His defiance. His unapologetic refusal to be convenient or conventional. LAS VEGAS, NV - FEBRUARY 12: Val Kilmer films Kill Me Again in a casino in Las Vegas February 12, ... More 1989 Las Vegas, Nevada .( Photo by) In a culture drunk on likability and addicted to mass approval, Kilmer was something else entirely—unpredictable, uncompromising, unforgettable. And if you're building a brand today? I believe that's the blueprint. The brands that break through aren't the ones playing it safe but they're ones that make people feel something. The ones that polarize. The ones that know attention is a currency—and controversy, when born out of believe and conviction, and used with integrity, is a multiplier. Kilmer's breakout as Iceman in Top Gun wasn't just a foil to Cruise's Maverick. It was a study in emotional control. Cool detachment wrapped in raw presence. He barely said a word—and still stole scenes. That's not acting. I believe you call that aura. And savvy audiences—today more than ever before—know the real thing when they see it. Too many brands chase universal approval and end up beige. Forgettable. Hollow. I describe this as 'disappearing into a sea of sameness' in The Kim Kardashian Principle. Kilmer didn't care about being liked. He cared about being interesting. He cared about being real. That's what made him cult and commercial. And in this economy, cult brands with strong cultural currencies will win, every time. His turn as Jim Morrison in The Doors wasn't a portrayal—it was a possession. You couldn't look away because it was so dark and disruptive. A little dangerous. But that's the point. Great brands, like great art, are rarely clean or easy. They're messy. They provoke. They don't play to the algorithm—they reshape it. He was the ultimate master of disguise—slipping between genres like few could. From indie horror films to action comedies and offbeat spy spoofs, from the intensity of Tombstone to the surrealism of The Island of Dr. Moreau with co-star Marlon Brando, Kilmer defied pigeonholing. He didn't just act in films—he interpreted them. That's why even his so-called 'failures' became cult classics. Because they were different and unapologetically so. There is no doubt that Kilmer had his misfires. Projects that tanked and Directors who called him a 'bullying director's nightmare.' His spats with directors like John Frankenheimer were the stuff of Hollywood legend. But on the other hand Val Kilmer edge and a defiance? That's what made him electric. He swung big, and he swung hard. And those are the campaigns that grab audience's attention today and keep them engaged. Then came his return in Top Gun: Maverick. Just a few minutes on screen. No flashy lines. No big gestures. But it floored me. It was intimate, and poetic and more powerful than any loud comeback could've been. Because it reminded us that legacy isn't about staying the same—it's about showing up differently when it matters most. Brands should take notes. You don't need to be loud to be heard. You need to be human. You need to come back with context, humility, and depth. Kilmer didn't stop performing when he lost his voice to throat cancer. He kept creating—through independent film, visual art, poetry, and the stunning documentary Val, co-produced by Grolsch Film Works. He transformed his silence into a signal. A new form of presence. A new film version of himself. That's not just resilience. That's brand genius. Rest in peace. Named Esquire's Influencer of the Year, Jeetendr Sehdev is a media personality and leading voice in fashion, entertainment, and influence, and author of the New York Times bestselling phenomenon The Kim Kardashian Principle: Why Shameless Sells (and How to Do It Right).
