Erling Haaland scored twice to knock Brazil out of the World Cup. Within 24 hours, he posted five times in Chinese, a replica of his 69-yuan hair tie sold over 100,000 units, and his Douyin following surpassed the entire population of Norway. But if you think this is just a story about a great athlete, you’re missing the actual revolution.
The internet doesn’t want to worship untouchable gods; it wants to drag giants down to earth and dress them up in memes.
We’ve been told that celebrity is built from the top down. PR teams polish every edge, script every interview, and manufacture a flawless, distant deity. Think peak David Beckham or Cristiano Ronaldo. But in the modern internet ecosystem, that model is dead. The power has shifted. Users don’t want to be told who to admire; they want to create the thing they admire.
Haaland gave them the perfect raw material. But before we get to the memes, let’s get one thing straight: you cannot meme a fraud.
The internet is ruthless. If you lack substance, the same crowd that makes you a meme today will call you a grifter tomorrow. Haaland’s foundation is brutally simple: he is a 1.94-meter, 300-goal-scoring monster who violently obliterates defenses. Without the goals, the memes are just cringe. With the goals, the memes are a movement.
But raw power alone makes you a machine. The magic happens in the contrast. On the pitch, he’s the “Viking Beast.” Off the pitch? He’s an unpolished, slightly goofy giant who looks like he just wandered into the stadium by accident.
During a massive on-field brawl, where was Haaland? Sneaking over to the opponent’s goal to steal a sip from the goalkeeper’s water bottle. When offered a fight, he took a drink. The internet didn’t just laugh; they wrote it into his lore. He became the “habitual water thief.” This works because it perfectly fits the narrative the users built for him. He’s a terrifying cyborg on the field, and a golden retriever off it.
This is where traditional marketing fails and internet culture wins. Fans didn’t just call him “Haaland.” They called him “Haobao” (Baby Haa)—stripping the €200 million aura and turning him into a household pet. And Haaland’s team understood the assignment perfectly. Instead of getting offended by the demotion from god to meme, he leaned in. He learned to say his new nickname in Chinese. He filmed himself trying to eat a Chongqing light rail because a fan joked about it. He used a classic Chinese pop song as his background music.
He stopped being a distant European star and became a co-created character in the internet’s daily life. Brands realized this wasn’t about buying his face; it was about buying access to the community that owns him.
In the age of algorithms, you don’t own your image. Your fans do.
We are living through a massive shift in how celebrity works. The era of the polished, PR-managed idol is suffocating under its own perfection. What thrives now is the blank canvas—a figure strong enough to earn respect, but unpolished enough to be reshaped. Haaland didn’t conquer China by being a perfect star. He conquered it by letting us write the script.
FAQ
Q: Isn't this just good PR combined with a winning team?
A: No. Good PR is top-down management. Haaland's team actively surrendered control, allowing fans to rename him, mock him, and turn him into a meme. The PR didn't create the image; it just didn't get in the way of the fans creating it.
Q: How can brands apply this to their own marketing?
A: Stop trying to control the narrative. Brands need to provide a 'hardcore' foundation of actual value, but leave the edges unpolished. Give your audience the raw materials to remix your brand, and reward them when they do.
Q: Is letting fans 'own' your brand actually dangerous?
A: It's terrifying for traditional marketers, but necessary for survival. Yes, you lose absolute control, but you gain something far more valuable: a community that will defend, promote, and sustain your brand because they feel personally invested in its existence.