In recent months, many brands have grown quieter about diversity, equity, and inclusion. Some have stripped the language from policies. Others have chosen not to lean into values at all. In theory, that shift doesn’t have to signal retreat. Inclusion doesn’t require a press release. If the learning has truly taken hold, it should still show up in the work. 

That’s what made this year’s Super Bowl such a revealing test. 

If there was ever a Big Game that lowered the barrier for culturally confident, diverse storytelling, it was this one. By announcing Bad Bunny as the half-time talent in September, the NFL itself had already set the tone well in advance -- demonstrating that bold, inclusive choices could be made and stood by without apology. The permission structure was unusually clear. 

And Bad Bunny more than delivered, as we knew he would.  

This year’s Super Bowl didn’t require brands to guess who would be watching. Latino audiences were not a secondary consideration; they were baked into the event. Just as significant, so were viewers for whom culturally specific choices no longer read as niche. If, for example, you haven’t been following the Bad Bunny fan relationship of Mad Men’s John Hamm, you should.  

With a World Cup on the horizon and global sports culture increasingly intersecting with American fandom, the moment offered marketers a rare alignment of scale, comfort, and cultural permission. 

And yet, when the commercials aired, many brands appeared not to take the invitation. 

What surfaced wasn’t backlash avoidance so much as a reversion to default. Across much of the advertising slate, familiar archetypes and well-worn celebrity shortcuts dominated, while culturally fluent storytelling remained limited. This wasn’t a matter of overt exclusion. It was something quieter—and perhaps more telling. 

When brands believe they are safest, they tend to reveal what they consider universal. And here, “universal” still looked remarkably narrow. 

That distinction matters. There is a difference between not talking about inclusion and not practicing it. The former can be strategic restraint. The latter is erosion. 

Over the last decade, the industry has invested heavily in learning -- about representation, about cultural nuance, about the difference between presence and authenticity. Those lessons were meant to inform casting decisions, narrative choices, and creative instincts, especially in moments that no longer require explanation. If inclusion has truly become muscle memory, it should be most visible when brands feel least compelled to justify themselves. 

Instead, the work suggested hesitation. 

To be clear, this isn’t an argument that every Super Bowl ad needs to center multicultural stories, or that brands owe the audience a values statement disguised as entertainment. It’s an observation about pattern and posture. When even the most permissive cultural moments still produce a narrowing of representation, it raises a legitimate question: was inclusion ever embedded deeply enough to survive silence? 

Some will argue that brands are navigating an unusually volatile environment, and that caution is simply good business. But caution is not the same as retreat. And this particular moment offered cover, not risk. The cultural groundwork had already been laid. If anything, the Super Bowl reduced the cost of boldness rather than increased it. 

That’s what makes the absence more revealing than any single creative decision. 

There were, of course, exceptions—brands that demonstrated cultural fluency without turning it into a headline. I particularly liked the NFL “Belief is a Superhero” spot, with the little African American child speaking to his toys. And the Levi’s ad, “Backstory,” because talk about a shared universal idea brought to life with cultural nuance. Those moments mattered precisely because they didn’t announce themselves. They showed what it looks like when learning travels from the strategy deck into the work. But exceptions, by definition, don’t define the pattern. 

The larger signal suggested that for many marketers, inclusion remains context-dependent. It appears when it is loudly rewarded and recedes when it is no longer required. That’s not a political position. It’s a maturity gap. 

The Super Bowl has always functioned as more than a media event. It’s a mirror of what brands believe America looks like when everyone is watching. This year’s reflection suggested that even after years of conversation, many advertisers still equate broad appeal with familiar faces, and safety with sameness. 

The irony is that this was precisely the moment when those assumptions were least necessary. 

You don’t need a manifesto to cast differently. You don’t need to broadcast your politics—or even your values—to tell broader stories. But when a moment arrives that removes the usual constraints -- when the door is already open and the room is already full -- choosing not to walk through becomes its own form of signaling. Silence can be strategic. Absence is something else. And in moments like this, it’s the choices not taken that reveal what brands are still holding back.