Consumed: Michelob Ultra
By ROB WALKER, NY Times
Published: February 1, 2004
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It has been decades since the Atkins diet first appeared and tagged carbohydrates as a prime villain in the cosmic struggle against weight gain. But only in the past year or two has a renewed interest in Atkins's ideas, along with the popularity of fellow carb-demonizers the South Beach diet and the Zone, snowballed into something larger than a typical diet craze. Ten million or more Americans are now engaged in a war on carbs, and the American food industry is all too happy to provide the ammo: low-carb Hershey bars, low-carb Doritos and (topping this list of the near-parodic) Burger King's new bunless Whopper. As questionable as these offerings sound, they are nowhere near as counterintuitive as one of the bona fide market hits of American carbophobia: low-carb beer.
A newish brew called Michelob Ultra brags that it is weighed down by just 2.6 grams of carbohydrates. (A regular beer has 11 grams or so.) After a rollout in 2002, when it sold 400,000 barrels, the brand exploded in 2003 to about 2.5 million barrels -- in a year when overall beer sales were basically flat. ''It's the hottest thing in the beer business,'' says Benj Steinman, editor of Beer Marketer's Insights. ''It's absolutely been a phenomenon.''
It has certainly done better than Michelob's parent company, Anheuser-Busch, expected, says Rick Leininger, director of Michelob brands. The story, as he tells it, is that the company wanted to develop a beer for the health-conscious ''50-plus consumer.'' The brand first appeared in early 2002 in test markets where ''snowbirds'' congregate -- ''the Floridas, the Phoenixes.'' It's so unusual for an advertiser, let alone a beer company, to bother with this crowd that what happened next is almost sad: younger people, ages 28 to 49, started buying the beer. Thus a current TV ad shows a lithe young woman whose bare-midriff jog through downtown is rewarded with a bottle of Ultra from a scruffy young stud. (About 37 percent of Ultra drinkers are women, compared with 21 percent of beer drinkers generally.)
Leininger claims that the Michelob brand has a kind of prestige, high-end image, and that the low-carb aspect offers ''a health benefit.'' He adds: ''We market to that lifestyle-, fitness-oriented consumer. You can really work out, and you can have an Ultra, and it's not a problem.'' The bit about prestige is debatable. Michelob has been about as hot as Buick in recent years, and Ultra gets mediocre ratings at Web sites where beer fans offer taste rankings. (''Can beer get any lighter than this?'' one reviewer wrote. ''It is seltzer with a twist of corn.'') And of course the idea of a health benefit is debatable, too -- Atkins more or less frowns on beer, period -- but that's clearly what's resonating. The proof is in the competition: brewers like Rolling Rock and Coors are responding with their own low-carb options.
Most striking is Miller's low-carb response. Unlike Michelob, Miller did not even bother to create a new product to attract those health-conscious drinkers. Instead it simply started running ads that promoted the low carb count (3.2 grams) of its Lite brand. Miller Lite, you may recall, took the whole notion of a beer for the weight-conscious to the masses a generation ago. There was no change in the Lite formula. The only change was in the packaging of its image: not low-cal, but low-carb. Sales took off immediately.
Leininger is careful to note that Michelob Ultra is not an official Atkins-endorsed product, and surely no one who is buying the stuff could really believe it offers a ''benefit'' so much as a less-problematic alternative for dieters who simply must drink beer. What they might believe, though, is that Ultra sends a message: I may be throwing back a cold one, but I care about my health; it's even possible that I just finished a refreshing urban jog. As it happens, Ultra sells more through outlets like grocery stores than it does in public-drinking locations like bars. But that doesn't necessarily undercut the signal-sending motivation, for the simple reason that there is always one audience we most anxiously hope to convince that we care about our health: ourselves.