Papa Murphy’s Is Having a Full-Blow Identity Crisis, and Honestly, It’s Kind of Pathetic
Remember when Papa Murphy’s was the "genius" option for people who wanted a pizza but couldn't be bothered to wait 20 minutes for Domino's to deliver a lukewarm circle of sadness? Yeah, that was the business model. But now, the Take-N-Bake chain is in the ICU, and the doctors are just a bunch of interns arguing over whether to use a defibrillator or just call it. Their stock is down so bad it's basically a penny stock for people who enjoy financial self-harm, and they're shuttering locations faster than a Karen leaves a Crumbl Cookies line when they're out of the weekly flavor.
The latest "strategic pivot" from the corporate overlords at Papa Murphy’s isn't to, oh, I don't know, offer a decent gluten-free crust or update their 1980s logo. No, they've decided the solution to their existential crisis is to open a bunch of "ghost kitchens." Because absolutely nothing screams "we've given up on the human experience" like making your pizza in a literal closet inside a Chili's. It’s a bold strategy, Cotton, let’s see if it pays off. Spoiler alert: It won't.
Let’s break down the absolute dumpster fire of a business plan they're running with. The core issue is that Papa Murphy’s has spent the last decade trying to sell a product that requires the customer to do half the work. It's like buying a book and having to write the ending yourself. "Hey, you want a pizza? Great! Here's some dough and sauce. You figure out the oven situation, champ." In a world where DoorDash will bring you a piping hot, potentially made-by-a-robot pizza from a gas station in 15 minutes, the inherent value of "raw pizza to-go" is, shall we say, limited.
And their response to this crumbling empire? They're not trying to be the premium, artisan option. They're not trying to be the budget option. They’re trying to be the "convenient" option, which is like walking into a gunfight with a spork. In a recent earnings call that probably sounded like a hostage video, the CEO—who I'm pretty sure is just a mannequin they found in a suit—announced they're leaning hard into delivery partnerships and "non-traditional" locations. Translation: "We will set up a stand in your local 7-Eleven next to the stale taquitos if it means we can sell one more $5 pepperoni."
It's a mess. A beautiful, car-crash-level mess that I can't look away from. They're shuttering their "flagship" stores, which is corporate-speak for "the ones that had a roof that didn't leak," and replacing them with micro-kitchens. The average Papa Murphy’s is already the size of a janitor’s closet, so I can only imagine their new "micro" concept is just a guy with a rolling pin and a toaster oven in the back of a U-Haul.
The competition is eating their lunch, and they're not even trying to fight back. You've got your mom-and-pop shops slinging New York-style pies that would make a Sicilian grandmother weep with joy. You've got the big chains throwing coupons at you like confetti at a parade for mediocrity. And then you have Papa Murphy’s, standing in the corner, holding a lump of cold dough, wondering why nobody wants to take it home and put in the effort themselves.
Let's not even get into the fact that their marketing is, and always has been, aggressively "safe." It’s the pizza equivalent of beige. They haven't had a memorable ad campaign since they tried to appeal to stoners with the "Papa Murphy's is a great idea after you blaze one" vibe, and that was probably an accident. Their mascot, a smiling Italian chef who looks like he's about to be audited by the IRS, is about as intimidating as a wet napkin.
So, what's the plan? Are they going to just keep bleeding out until they become a trivia question? "What was that pizza place that made you cook it yourself? Oh yeah, they went bankrupt in 2025." They need to do something drastic. I'm talking rebrand to "Murphy's" and sell a $40 "artisan" pie with truffle oil and arugula. I'm talking opening a "Papa's Speakeasy" where you can get a slice and a craft cocktail. I'm talking about doing literally anything other than just quietly fading into obscurity while offering a coupon for a free "Papa's Perfect" pizza that tastes like cardboard and regret.
The whole thing is a masterclass in how to run a business directly into the ground. They had a niche, they owned it, and then they just... stopped. They got complacent. They thought people would forever be cool with bringing a raw pizza into their homes and praying their oven wouldn't turn the crust into a cracker. News flash: We're not. We're lazy, and we want our pizza hot, delivered, and with zero effort required on our part. That's the American Dream. Papa Murphy’s is the nightmare that woke us up in a cold sweat, realizing we have to preheat the oven.
Now they're trying to be a ghost kitchen, and that’s like a has-been actor doing a cameo on a reality show to stay relevant. It's sad, it's pathetic, and it's the most interesting thing they've done in years. But it won't save them. It's just a band-aid on a bullet wound. They need to accept that the "Take-N-Bake" model is dead, and they need to pivot hard. Or, you know, just admit defeat and let the remaining stores be turned into vape shops and laundromats like God intended.
I'll give them credit for one thing, though: they've provided me with a fantastic metaphor for my own life. I, too, am a raw pizza. I have
Final Thoughts
There’s a bittersweet lesson in Papa Murphy’s decline: the "take-and-bake" model, once a brilliant disruption, is now a relic caught between the convenience of delivery apps and the premium experience of artisan grocery stores. The chain didn’t lose because the pizza was bad, but because it asked the modern consumer to do the one thing they no longer want to do—wait. Ultimately, this isn’t a story about a product failing, but about a business that forgot the most crucial ingredient in the restaurant industry is not the dough, but the frictionless experience.