Budweiserâs 2014 âPuppy Loveâ commercial didnât carve out its place in Super Bowl history by being flashy or witty. It endured because it embraced calm. In the middle of a broadcast designed to overwhelm the senses, it chose restraint. A small runaway puppy, a towering Clydesdale, and a quiet connection were all it needed. By saying less, the ad invited viewers to bring their own feelings into the story.
What truly set âPuppy Loveâ apart was its faith in stillness. There were no punchlines to chase, no celebrity distractions, no urgency to impress. The camera lingered on simple moments. Time was allowed to stretch. That pacing felt almost rebellious during a Super Bowl, and it reminded audiences that emotional impact doesnât come from noise, but from patience.
As years passed, âPuppy Loveâ evolved beyond a single commercial. It became a reference point. People stopped remembering just the plot and started remembering the feeling. When fans talk about the most meaningful Super Bowl ads, theyâre often describing the emotional tone this one introduced, even if they donât mention it by name.
More than a decade later, Budweiser returned to that same emotional vocabulary with its 2026 Super Bowl film, âAmerican Icons.â The new ad doesnât attempt to recreate âPuppy Love,â nor does it try to surpass it. Instead, it draws from the same instinct. Strip things back. Trust the imagery. Let emotion unfold naturally without explanation.
Where âPuppy Loveâ told a deeply personal story about loyalty and belonging, the 2026 spot widens the lens. A young Clydesdale foal and a bald eagle chick take the focus. The relationship isnât about finding the way home, but about preparing for what comes next. The narrative shifts from reunion to growth.
That thematic shift matters. The 2014 ad reassured viewers that bonds remain strong. The 2026 story suggests those bonds can also give us the courage to move forward. One looks back with warmth. The other looks ahead with quiet confidence. Both speak the same emotional language.
Once again, pacing carries much of the weight. The story unfolds slowly, season by season. Nothing is rushed. Growth is implied rather than spelled out. The ad trusts viewers to recognize the transformation without being guided step by step.
Music plays a crucial role in shaping that transformation. Lynyrd Skynyrdâs âFree Birdâ is an ambitious choice, but itâs used carefully. The song doesnât overwhelm the visuals. Instead, it gradually lifts them, mirroring the emotional arc taking shape on screen.
That slow rise echoes what audiences remember from âPuppy Love.â In both cases, music supports the feeling rather than dictating it. Emotion builds quietly, almost unnoticed, until it settles in. That subtlety is what allows it to linger long after the screen fades.
This is why viewers instinctively link the two commercials. Not because the stories are identical, but because the emotional imprint is. Different characters, different symbolism, the same respect for the audienceâs intelligence and sensitivity.
The 2026 ad also exists in a different cultural climate. Super Bowl viewers are more distracted, more skeptical, and more accustomed to spectacle than ever before. Choosing restraint in that environment is risky. But itâs also deliberate. It signals confidence in the story itself.
Some critics label this approach as âsafe,â pointing to familiar imagery and themes. But safe doesnât automatically mean shallow. In this case, it means grounded. It means telling a story that fits within everyday emotion instead of trying to overpower it.
That grounded quality is exactly why the ad travels so easily online. People donât share it because itâs clever or shocking. They share it because itâs hard to explain and easy to feel. A short message like âthis one stayed with meâ is enough.
Seen together, âPuppy Loveâ and âAmerican Iconsâ feel less like separate campaigns and more like a conversation across time. One reminds viewers why this style of storytelling resonated so deeply in the first place. The other confirms that it still does.
They donât compete with each other. They complement each other. Different eras, different symbols, the same emotional honesty. One focuses inward on loyalty. The other looks outward toward growth.
In a Super Bowl landscape crowded with rapid edits, jokes, and spectacle, that consistency stands out. Not because it demands attention, but because it earns trust.
And thatâs why both ads endure. They donât chase the moment. They allow the moment to arrive on its own. When itâs over, viewers arenât energized or amused. Theyâre quieter. And that quiet is exactly where the story lives.
