Why the story behind the drink mattered as much as the drink itself
In late 2024, Tom Holland wasn’t just hanging out on another film set or red carpet. He was thinking about what people reach for when they still want the ritual of a drink without the alcohol.
What began as a personal shift quietly grew into an idea worth sharing: a beer that felt social and celebratory (minus the buzz, of course).
With the right collaborators and a surge of curiosity around mindful drinking, that idea took shape as BERO. Holland’s $100 million premium non-alcoholic brew now moving from kitchen-table conversations toward store shelves faster than anyone expected.
The moment the idea became personal
Holland has spoken candidly about choosing sobriety, including all the small surprises that come with missing the simple comfort of a good beer. It’s not necessarily about the alcohol, but it is about the taste, the ritual, and the feeling of being part of the moment.
Around him, the culture was shifting too. More people were cutting back or opting out altogether, and the non-alcoholic aisle was growing quickly. It was shaped by the desire to wake up clear-headed and social lives that no longer revolved around the buzz.
Ultimately, it started to feel like more than a personal gap. There was room for something with a new point of view, like a brand that didn’t feel like just another substitute.
Turning that instinct into something real, though, meant bringing in people who knew how to build and brew at scale.
Behind the scenes, experienced operators and industry veterans were noticing the same change in habits. And they were ready to turn a private idea into a brand that could stand on its own.
Finding people who knew how to build it
As the idea began to take shape, Holland found a founding partner in John Herman. He was a longtime consumer packaged goods executive who had spent years building beverage brands from the ground up.
Stepping in as CEO, Herman brought the practical roadmap. One that was needed for moving the concept from something people talk about to a product people can actually pick up off a shelf.
From there, the circle widened. They brought on Grant Wood, their chief brewmaster with more than four decades of experience, including time at Boston Beer and Revolver Brewing.
After rounds of tasting and refinement, the first lineup emerged, including Kingston Golden Pils, Edge Hill Hazy IPA, and Noon Wheat. It was later followed by a West Coast-style IPA called Double Tasty and a range of variety packs.
Getting it into people’s hands, however, quickly mattered just as much as brewing it well.
Target signed on as an early retail partner, putting the brand in front of national shoppers from the start. Soon it appeared on Amazon, in on-premise locations like Soho House clubs, and through direct orders on the company’s own site.
With Holland’s recognisable face drawing curiosity, awareness spread at a pace most young beverage brands rarely see so early.
Recognition opened the door – honesty kept it open
When the first year’s numbers came in at roughly $10 million in sales, it was the moment the idea stopped feeling personal and started feeling real.
Soon after, outside investors took notice. By early 2026, a funding round led by Paine Schwartz’s BetterCo valued BERO at around $100 million, with groups like WME and Imaginary Ventures also backing the company.
For Holland, acting success had always come from stepping into other people’s stories. But this was the first time he was responsible for building something that had to stand on its own.
The investment wasn’t just a headline, either. It meant the brand could widen its reach, add new styles, and show up in more places where people actually live their daily routines.
The project also changed what “career security” looked like. Instead of relying solely on film roles or endorsement deals, he was now tied to a business connected directly to his own life.
Attention gets trial, but a good story gets return
Holland’s personal link that gave the brand credibility, of course, but it also came with pressure. If the product doesn’t hold up, often times, the story doesn’t either.
That’s where structure mattered. While experienced operators handled the mechanics, Holland’s role was left to anchoring it with a human (and relatable) reason for existing.
In a way, it also highlighted a shift in celebrity businesses. Audiences can tell the difference between a name printed on a label and a product shaped by someone’s daily habits. And that means investors can too.
At the end of the day, recognition may open doors, but repeat purchases and retail performance keep them open.
For Holland, perhaps BERO became less about branching out and more about building something durable. A company where personal motivation, experienced partners, and careful funding all had to work together – or none of it would have lasted beyond the novelty.
