We live in a culture that tells us to strive—be premium, be luxury, be legacy. And yet, some of the loudest winners online are proudly… mid.
Down the street from my college campus was a diner of sorts called Big Ed’s. I loved this place. It was small, always crowded, loud, and full of a weird energy—a mix of hungover college kids just trying to get something in their bodies to survive class, and sorority girls on pledge duty whose task was to eat at Big Ed’s and keep the food down.
I loved this place. They had a menu item called The Gawd Awful, and it was. A culinary nightmare: double hash browns, leftovers from the night before, some breakfast meats, eggs, and a brown gravy-ish substance that slowly congealed as you ate. It was full of big brown flavor. And the dish had one of two effects: either it dropped through your system like a Dear John letter to your gut, or it staged an internal coup and exited in projectile bursts. Oddly, it tasted the same coming up as it did going down.
Big Ed’s was a rite of passage—a haven for students with little money and huge appetites. Most of us didn’t care what the food tasted like; it was familiar, convenient, and cheap. You could walk there from anywhere on campus in five minutes. It was open late, and, as I recall, the coffee was pretty good. But Big Ed’s was never going to win a Michelin star, nor appear on any “Top Ten Culinary Gems” list. It stood instead as a monument to mediocrity—one that had somehow survived since the pioneers showed up and said, “We need a mediocre place to eat.” And thus, Big Ed’s was born.
Big Ed’s was… fine. No one was excited about it. No one threw their birthday parties there or hosted their graduation dinners. But if you had five bucks and a break between classes, you got hot food, decent coffee, and change back. It wasn’t great, but it did the trick. And that, when you’re in college, is high praise.
We live in a culture that tells us to strive—be premium, be luxury, be legacy. And yet, some of the loudest winners online are proudly… mid. Crocs. Olive Garden. Spirit Airlines. Brands that don’t pretend to be anything they’re not. They’re aggressively average—and that’s their superpower.
This isn’t a fluke. It’s a strategy. In a landscape saturated with try-hard branding and perfectly curated aesthetics, “mid” is suddenly refreshing. It’s honest. It’s memeable. And it’s resonating loudly.
Big Ed’s, in case you’re wondering, is under new management now. They’ve got a patio, a liquor license, and they’ve worked hard to lose the old reputation. But the Gawd Awful is still on the menu. Sometimes, the body just wants a mediocre mound of “food” to get through abnormal psych. And you know what? That might not be a bad thing.
So let’s talk about the rise of the aggressively average—the brands that said, “We’re fine, actually,” and built empires on being just that.
The Power of Proudly Average
Not every brand gets to be a Rolex or a Ritz-Carlton. Some aren’t even trying. And that’s the magic.
Olive Garden doesn’t want to be your fine dining destination. It wants to be the place you end up when your group of seven can’t agree on anything else, and someone says, “Let’s just go to Olive Garden,” and nobody fights it. Because no one’s mad at Olive Garden, it’s warm breadsticks. It’s passable pasta. It’s faux-Tuscan decor and Diet Coke in a goblet. And that’s… fine.
Same goes for Crocs. A shoe so bulbous and rubbery that it was universally mocked for years—until it wasn’t. Crocs didn’t get sleeker. They didn’t rebrand to chase cool. They doubled down. More holes, brighter colors, celebrity collabs, and an entire line of “Jibbitz” charms that let you bedazzle your footwear like a third-grader who just discovered sticker packs. They didn’t run from “ugly.” They leaned into it until ugly became iconic.
And then there’s Spirit Airlines. Flying Spirit is like gambling with time, patience, and the structural integrity of your knees. But you know what? They’re upfront about it. They don’t pretend to be Delta. Their entire pitch is: “We’re cheap, we’ll get you there, and if you don’t like it… there’s the door. But it’ll cost you $35 to open it.” It’s the à la carte airline—and somehow, the transparency is refreshing.
These brands understand something crucial: the power of consistency. Of being dependable, recognizable, and absolutely average in a world where everyone is desperately trying to stand out.
Because when the world is one giant tryout for who can be the most artisanal, elevated, or aspirational, being proudly mid-tier is its own form of rebellion.
But it’s not just about branding bravado or savvy strategy. There’s something deeper at play here—something human. Because as much as we say we want excellence, luxury, and the best of the best, there’s a strange comfort in the familiar and the flawed. These mid-tier brands don’t just sell products; they tap into a psychological sweet spot that’s been overlooked by all the try-hards.
The Psychology of Embracing Mediocrity
There’s a reason we sometimes crave the middle of the road. It’s not that we don’t appreciate excellence—we just don’t always want it. Not every meal needs to be curated. Not every shoe needs to make a statement. Sometimes, we just want something that’s good enough, and we want it now.
And not only is that okay—it’s deeply human.
In a culture built on performance and aspiration, “mid” is a kind of relief. A refuge from the pressure to optimize every purchase, track every macro, and curate a life worth broadcasting. When everything else is pushing us to be more and more productive, more polished, more perfect, brands that say, “You’re fine as you are” feel almost radical.
This isn’t about settling. It’s about sanctuary. Mid-tier brands offer something quietly powerful: a place to not strive. Olive Garden doesn’t judge you for ordering too much pasta. Crocs don’t expect you to look cool. Spirit Airlines knows you didn’t book the flight for the legroom. There’s an honesty in that exchange, and it’s emotionally liberating.
These brands operate in what psychologists might call a “low cognitive load” space—they don't demand overthinking. They remove the pressure to choose between artisanal and aspirational. They're the mental equivalent of sweatpants: a soft place to land after too many decisions and too much effort.
They also feed a growing cultural rebellion against pretension. As influencer culture, luxury aesthetics, and “best-of” lists saturate the feed, many consumers are growing weary. Perfection is exhausting. Curation is performative. There’s something refreshing—maybe even trustworthy—about a brand that shrugs and says, “We’re just doing our thing.”
Mid-tier loyalty often grows not out of passion, but out of pattern. We return to these brands not because they wow us, but because they don’t get in the way. They become part of the background noise of our lives—in the best way. Think about it: How many people love Olive Garden? Maybe a few. But how many have relied on it? A lot more.
That reliability becomes its own kind of intimacy. It’s not flashy, but it’s familiar. And in a world that’s increasingly unstable—from climate anxiety to political gridlock to endless news cycles—familiarity has become a kind of emotional gold.
And ironically, that relatability becomes a differentiator. While luxury brands rely on exclusivity, mid-tier brands thrive on inclusion. Everyone’s been there. Everyone’s flown Spirit and sworn “never again.” Everyone’s worn Crocs while gardening, walking the dog, or just giving up for the day. Everyone’s sat at an Olive Garden table and thought, “I shouldn’t enjoy this as much as I do.”
These brands become memes because they’re woven into the fabric of our very average lives. And in the algorithm-driven chaos of digital spaces, that shared, unpretentious experience becomes currency.
But none of this emotional resonance would matter if these brands didn’t know exactly how to play the digital game. Because, what truly separates the mid-tier success stories from the forgettable ones is how they’ve embraced the internet, not in spite of their mediocrity, but because of it.
Mid as Identity—Class, Rebellion, and the Politics of “Fine”
There was a time when brands were badges. What you wore, what you drove, where you ate—it all said something about your place in the world. Premium branding wasn’t just about taste; it was about status. A way to quietly say, “I’ve made it.”
But the ground has shifted. In a culture where inequality is unavoidable, where inflation eats away at grocery bills and student loans feel like generational punishment, aspiring to luxury often rings hollow, or worse, out of touch. For a growing number of consumers, “premium” isn’t aspirational. It’s annoying.
Enter the age of “mid”—not just as a product tier, but as an identity. A quiet refusal to play the game.
Crocs don’t care if you have a designer closet. Olive Garden doesn’t care if you can pronounce “cacio e pepe.” Spirit Airlines doesn’t care if you’re TSA PreCheck. And their consumers? They don’t care either. Because choosing these brands is no longer just about price—it’s about opting out of the exhausting churn of upward mobility marketing.
There’s something class-conscious happening here. When you proudly wear Crocs or post an ironic Olive Garden pic, you’re signaling something: I know this isn’t elite. That’s the point. It’s a cultural shrug. A rejection of try-hard capitalism. A declaration that you don’t need a blue-check lifestyle to enjoy lunch, shoes, or air travel.
Even the language tells you something. “Mid” used to be an insult. Now it’s part of the vernacular, repurposed by younger generations to signal taste, irony, or even affection. Gen Z and younger millennials don’t just tolerate mid—they remix it. They meme it. They embrace it as a cultural inside joke. Being a little cringe is in. Caring too much is out.
What’s interesting is that this isn't laziness or apathy—it’s intentional. In a world where everything is performative, embracing mediocrity is oddly intimate. It says, “I don’t need to perform for you. I’m choosing this not because it’s the best, but because it’s mine.”
And that choice—when multiplied across millions of consumers—shifts the landscape. It tells brands that status isn’t the only story worth telling. That value doesn’t have to come wrapped in prestige. And that sometimes, people just want a never-ending salad bowl, clogs with personality, or a $49 flight they’ll regret in the morning.
But knowing your identity is one thing—owning it online is another. What makes these proudly average brands thrive today isn't just what they stand for—it's how they show up. Because if there's one place where being mid has become a superpower, it's the internet.
Digital Strategy in the Mid Lane
In the world of digital branding, perception is everything, and mid-tier brands have figured out how to own theirs. Not by polishing it. Not by disguising it. But by turning mediocrity into a fully weaponized vibe.
Let’s be clear: these brands are not coasting. They’re strategic. The difference is that they’re playing a different game—a game where self-awareness, relatability, and memeability win over polish and prestige.
Take Crocs. They didn’t reinvent their product to chase cool. They went full tilt in the other direction—partnering with Post Malone, Bad Bunny, and Justin Bieber. Not exactly fashion week royalty, but they are culture-shapers. Crocs leaned into the absurdity of their product, and then passed the mic to celebrities and creators who could make them ironically cool. And that irony turned into loyalty.
Or Spirit Airlines. Their customer experience may be a stress test in patience, but their social media presence is sharp, scrappy, and brutally honest. They’ll make jokes about charging for air, and then pivot to a flash sale. They’re not trying to win hearts—they’re trying to stay in the feed. And they’re succeeding. Their chaos is on brand, and they know it.
Even Olive Garden, once the butt of every suburban food joke, has seen a nostalgic revival online. TikTokers recreate the menu at home, influencers ironically toast with a goblet of house wine, and Gen Z treats it like kitsch Americana. Instead of resisting the joke, Olive Garden lets it happen. The joke is the branding. And sometimes, that joke comes with free breadsticks.
In each case, these brands are leaning on three pillars of modern digital strategy:
- Radical self-awareness – They know exactly how they’re perceived, and they don’t flinch.
- Embrace of cringe – They’re not afraid to be uncool. In fact, that’s often the point.
- Platform-native content – They speak the language of the internet: chaos, irony, nostalgia, and speed.
This is the era of personality-driven brands, and ironically, the “mid” brands are showing more personality than many premium ones. Because premium often plays it safe. Mid, on the other hand, has nothing to lose—and that makes them more agile, more responsive, and often, more fun.
So maybe “mid” was never a weakness. Maybe it was a blank canvas—a place to build loyalty, honesty, and identity. And in today’s overstimulated, over-strategized brandscape, being a little unremarkable might just be the most remarkable thing of all.
The Quiet Power of Not Trying to Be More
There’s something almost rebellious about doing just enough—and knowing it’s enough.
In a marketplace obsessed with disruption, innovation, reinvention, and "delighting" the customer at every touchpoint, mid-tier brands represent a kind of anti-ambition. They’re not chasing the high of being the next big thing. They’re not over-promising. They’re not exhausting us with a constant stream of aspirational messaging. They just… show up.
That quiet consistency has value, especially in a time when most consumers are burnt out, over-marketed to, and suspicious of big claims. The “mid” brand doesn’t ask you to upgrade your lifestyle or identity. It simply offers a transaction: decent product, decent price, minimal fuss.
In that way, these brands act almost like emotional infrastructure. They’re not destinations. They’re through-lines. You don’t dream about them, but you depend on them. They become rituals. Default choices. The reliable background to more chaotic parts of life.
And maybe that’s the whole point. Not every brand needs to inspire, disrupt, or elevate. Some can simply exist—honestly, reliably, and unremarkably—in a way that makes them surprisingly indispensable.
Because when a brand embraces its limits and still delivers value, what it’s really delivering is trust. And trust, once earned, is far stickier than hype.
So let the luxury brands chase perfection. The mids have something else—staying power. And in a digital culture that burns through trends faster than ever, that might be the ultimate flex.
Summing Up: Mid, Memes, and the New Kind of Brand Loyalty
There’s a strange kind of poetry in the rise of mediocre brands. They’re not trying to be the best. They’re not romanticizing the customer journey. They’re not even promising to make your life better. They’re just… there. Affordable. Familiar. Slightly unhinged. And still standing.
Crocs, Olive Garden, Spirit Airlines—they’ve each found a way to thrive not in spite of their averageness, but because of it. In doing so, they’ve tapped into something real: a cultural moment where people are tired of pretending, tired of chasing, and maybe—just maybe—ready to appreciate the comfort of something fine.
That doesn’t mean we should all strive for mediocrity. At ThoughtLab, we aim higher. We help brands articulate their purpose, sharpen their message, and elevate their position—not to chase perfection, but to create clarity and resonance. We don’t condone the mediocre, but we do understand why it connects. There’s value in being accessible, honest, and self-aware—and when combined with strategic intent, that can be powerful.
So if your brand is proudly premium, beautifully bizarre, or somewhere in between, the question isn’t whether you’re mid. It’s whether you’re authentic. Because in today’s market, authenticity wins—whether it’s wrapped in a leather briefcase or served with brown gravy and hash browns.
