When Columbia Sportswear CEO Tim Boyle stared into the camera and calmly told flat-Earth believers they could have “everything owned by the company” if they proved the planet has an edge, it sounded like the kind of unhinged billionaire dare that only the internet could produce. The stunt, part of Columbia’s new “Expedition Impossible” campaign, exploded across social media and news feeds, with headlines framing it as a billionaire putting his $3 billion empire on the line for a single photo, echoing coverage like a viral world-desk breakdown that framed the challenge as both genius marketing and meticulous trolling.
The premise is simple and deliberately absurd: if a flat-Earth believer can physically reach the “edge of the Earth,” snap a verifiable photograph, and send it in, Boyle says they’ll walk away with everything Columbia owns. In an open letter placed in The New York Times and dissected in a marketing-industry deep dive, he describes the challenge as an invitation for conspiracy theorists to “put your map where your mouth is,” while Columbia’s gear supposedly carries them toward the world’s imaginary cliff.
The brand has packaged the stunt as a cinematic quest, complete with dramatic visuals and deadpan humor analyzed in a creative-industry feature that details how agency adam&eveDDB built the “Expedition Impossible” concept. In the hero video, Boyle walks through Columbia’s headquarters, casually pointing to mannequins, snowshoes, copy machines, office plants, and even a taxidermy beaver as part of the supposed prize, while a harried company lawyer tries to rein him in on camera.
Columbia’s CEO basically told flat earthers: “Find the edge of the Earth and you can have our whole company.” This is peak 2025 marketing. — Alex R. (@BrandWatcherAR) Dec 9, 2025
On the surface, it sounds reckless — a billionaire casually dangling control of a multibillion-dollar business to bait a fringe conspiracy community. But as reporters and ad-industry insiders quickly pointed out, the reality is far more calculated. Trade press coverage, including a detailed campaign brief and a media-strategy column, notes that the “company” on offer is actually a special-purpose entity, “The Company, LLC,” stocked with assets worth about $100,000 — not the entire Columbia Sportswear Corporation.
Moneycontrol’s world desk spelled out the discrepancy clearly, explaining how Boyle frames the prize as “everything owned by the company,” a phrase that sounds like a $3 billion bet but in reality describes a curated pile of gear and office oddities valued at a fraction of Columbia’s global business, as outlined in their campaign explainer. It’s a classic big-print-promise, small-print-clarification maneuver — one built for maximum meme potential and minimum legal exposure.
Still, the fine print doesn’t dull the spectacle. In fact, the legal details arguably make the whole stunt even more pointed. The official contest rules define the “edge of the Earth” not as a cliff, a canyon, or any dramatic overlook, but as a literal cosmic edge — a sheer drop into an abyssal void where the planet simply ends, the kind of thing Columbia’s own team jokingly clarifies in internal talking points summarized by campaign coverage that emphasizes the joke only works because that edge does not exist.
My favorite part of the Columbia stunt is the legal definition of “Edge of the Earth” as an actual physical end of the planet. The lawyer in that video deserves a raise. — Priya M. (@LegalZoomerPM) Dec 9, 2025
The campaign leans heavily on the fact that the science is settled. For decades, satellite imagery, orbital missions, and basic physics have confirmed a round Earth, points NASA and countless educators reiterate through resources like a global-imaging explainer and educational FAQ pages. But Columbia is not trying to win a science debate; it’s using the flat-Earth movement as an exaggerated foil to show that its gear is “engineered for whatever,” even an expedition that can never succeed.
The stunt is part of a broader repositioning. In August, Columbia rolled out its “Engineered for Whatever” platform with edgy, sometimes dark humor — moves chronicled in a brand-platform report that described a deliberate pivot away from pristine, postcard-style outdoor advertising. Recent spots have featured a one-armed mountaineer joking about losing his limb to the elements and the Grim Reaper hired as a tongue-in-cheek influencer, details recapped in a campaign write-up that underlines just how far Columbia is willing to push the gag.
By inviting flat-Earthers to join “Expedition Impossible,” the brand is stepping directly into one of the internet’s strangest subcultures, a space whose resurgence has been tracked in a science-communication feature and a sociological study on conspiratorial belief. Columbia’s team has made clear in interviews summarized by creative-trade coverage that they intend to wade into Reddit threads, YouTube comment sections, and fringe forums to tease believers directly.
Some brands tiptoe around conspiracy culture. Columbia just walked in, slammed a $3B “come at me” sign on the table, and hit post. Wild strategy. — Devon K. (@AdWorldDevon) Dec 9, 2025
Reactions have been mixed but intense. Ad professionals praise the stunt as a perfectly tuned piece of trolling tailored for the holiday shopping season, echoing the enthusiasm captured in industry write-ups that highlight its “bold, irreverent energy.” Critics, however, argue in columns like a skeptical campaign analysis that the small print undermines the grandiose promise and risks alienating consumers already wary of corporate theatrics.
There’s also the question of whether engaging conspiracy communities this directly is wise. Analysts studying online extremism have warned in pieces like a digital-culture feature and a rumor-spread paper that amplifying fringe beliefs, even to mock them, can sometimes reinforce their visibility. Columbia is clearly betting that the upside — brand relevance, shareable content, and viral jokes — outweighs that risk.
For flat-Earth believers themselves, the reaction has been predictably split. Some see the challenge as an insult, lumping it together with media coverage they already distrust, similar to grievances catalogued in a public-opinion snapshot on conspiratorial worldviews. Others appear oddly flattered that a major global brand has taken enough notice to design an entire campaign around them.
Flat Earthers are mad, scientists are laughing, marketers are taking notes, and somewhere a Columbia lawyer is double-checking that “The Company, LLC” clause again. — Nina F. (@NinaOnNumbers) Dec 9, 2025
Underneath the spectacle, the campaign also functions as a reminder of just how high the stakes feel in modern brand storytelling. Outdoor gear companies have long tried to differentiate themselves with extreme expeditions and rugged imagery, but Columbia is now tying that toughness to an expedition that literally cannot be completed, a move that marketing commentators in industry analysis interpret as a wink at the absurdity of both conspiracy culture and brand one-upmanship.
The message beneath the joke is blunt: the Earth is not flat, the “edge” does not exist, and any quest to find it is doomed from the start. But Columbia’s jackets, boots, and backpacks are tough enough to go wherever that doomed journey might take you, an idea reinforced by references to the company’s technical pedigree, including its role in outfitting the Odysseus lunar lander described in a space-tech feature that emphasized the brand’s real-world engineering credentials.
In the end, Tim Boyle is not actually handing over his $3 billion corporation to the first person who believes in a cosmic ice wall. He is, however, handing the internet exactly what it craves: a story outrageous enough to share, simple enough to meme, and layered enough to argue about, all while quietly reminding people that when the weather turns brutal — on a mountain, at a frozen lake, or on a very round planet hurtling through space — Columbia is ready to gear them up for the trip.
