Until last month.
Amid a child pornography scandal that in May ensnared the executive director of Fogle's Jared Foundation, which combats childhood obesity, state and federal authorities converged on the Subway spokesman's Zionsville, Indiana, home early in the morning of July 7.
A 'mutual' parting of ways?
Investigators initially leveled no accusations, but on Wednesday, prosecutors and defense attorneys announced that Fogle will plead guilty to child pornography charges
and to crossing state lines to pay for sex with minors. Fogle "has notified the court that he intends to plead guilty," U.S. Attorney Josh Minkler said in Indianapolis. Under the plea deal, he would serve between five and 12½ years in prison.
Last month, Subway said only that the raid was related to the arrest of someone who worked for Fogle's foundation. His attorney, Ron Elberger, said his client was cooperating with the probe. Those who live near Fogle described him as a "terrific neighbor" and expressed shock over the police camped out on his property.
Perhaps seeing the writing on the wall, Subway announced
that the company and Fogle "mutually agreed to suspend their relationship" because of the investigation.
"I find that a little hard to believe," New York-based brand adviser Dean Crutchfield said at the time. "Subway clearly made a decision to separate itself from Fogle and the entire scandal. Ultimately, this is a decision made by Subway. With or without Fogle, it was going to be done. ... There has to be a throat to choke."
Brands rely on trust, and trust rests on reputation. Fogle enjoys widespread recognition, and with that recognition comes liability, said Crutchfield, who counts BP, McDonald's, PepsiCo, General Electric and Target among his former clients.
It was important for Subway to make a strong decision quickly, he said, because "brand integrity is compromised through fear" and this scandal -- and child pornography investigations in general -- involve sensitive issues the public finds scary.
How the 37-year-old came to be the frontman for a restaurant chain that boasts 44,000 locations in 110 countries used to be one of Subway's favorite stories to tell.
Before Subway scrubbed its website
of any connection to Fogle last month, visitors could access a host of pages devoted to his story and his fight against childhood obesity.
To hear the Jewish son of a teacher and doctor tell it through Subway's corporate facade, it began in 1998 when the 425-pound Indiana University student decided to turn his life around by eating veggie and turkey sandwiches.
"Chairs would bend when I'd sit in them," Fogle told USA Today in a 2013 profile
in which he detailed his tendency to quaff 15 cans of soda, mostly Mountain Dew, a day and frequent McDonald's, where he chased double quarter-pounders and super-size French fries with a pair of apple pies.
It was a condition he'd suffered since third grade when he adopted a strict regimen of video games and junk food, he told the newspaper.
He remained invisible at college and avoided dating and parties because of his weight, choosing instead to hole up in his dorm room eating unhealthy fare, according to a New York Daily News profile
"I knew you were supposed to go on dates and go to parties, but because I was so big, I just took myself out of the equation," the 6-foot-2 Fogle told the Daily News. "I didn't want to allow myself to be made fun of."
It was only when the fat around his neck obstructed his windpipe, exacerbating his sleep apnea and causing him to nod off behind the wheel and steer his car into a ditch that he decided to start living healthy. For him, that meant a diet primarily of Subway sandwiches -- sans the cheese and mayo -- baked chips and diet soda or water.
It began with student newspaper
His weight loss -- a reported 245 pounds -- drew the attention of his college newspaper, the Indiana Daily Student, which wrote a feature on him in 1999. The narrative made its way into a Men's Health magazine story
headlined "Stupid diets ... that work!"
Despite the title's condescending tone, Subway took notice and the following year, Fogle was in Los Angeles shooting his first 30-second ad.
Soon, he was globe-trotting from Canada to Australia, talking health and hoagies.
His celebrity grew. In 2002, he was asked to serve as grand marshal in the first of several NASCAR races, and he helped ferry the Olympic torch through Indiana ahead of the Salt Lake City Games.
He flipped the coin before the 2003 Fiesta Bowl and began traveling the world visiting troops. In 2006, the same year he started the Jared Foundation, he penned a memoir, "Jared, the Subway Guy: Winning Through Losing: 13 Lessons for Turning Your Life Around."
Though he insisted in all caps atop the book's cover that it was "not a diet book," a Publisher's Weekly review summarizes its content as an exploration of "the frightening aspects of being at high risk for heart attack at the age of 20 and the frustration of all his previous failed attempts at dieting. He uses his experience as a framework to offer advice on achieving all sorts of personal transformations."
In addition to rubbing elbows with celebrities, many of them the athletes who joined him on Subway's payroll, he also met President George W. Bush in 2007 and paid a visit to Capitol Hill, where he stood alongside officials from the Center for Science in the Public Interest to lobby for healthier snack options in school. That was the same year he and his first wife divorced after six years of marriage.
Fogle remarried in 2010. (Katie Fogle's attorney said Wednesday she is "seeking a dissolution of the marriage" in light of the charges against her husband.)
Soon some of the pounds he'd shed came creeping back, and Subway made a campaign out of getting him into shape to run the New York Marathon
, bringing in celebrities Phelps, hoopster Blake Griffin and NASCAR's Carl Edwards to help him train. He didn't set any records, but he finished in just over his goal of five hours, which only added to his celebrity largesse.
More than a spokesman?
By then, he had long outgrown the confines of pitchman. He was arguably a household name, and his notoriety had seeped into popular culture via the lampoons of "South Park
" and Jimmy Fallon of "Saturday Night Live."
This fame helped him become one of the biggest -- and most effective -- faces in advertising, according to a 2013 study by Technomic's Consumer Brand Metrics, which monitors 120 eateries' brands on attributes, including image and customer loyalty, according to Advertising Age
The group's survey of 78,743 adults, who were asked about the relatability of advertising and whether it made them hungry, determined that Subway, "thanks to everyman Jared Fogle," had the ads to which people most strongly related. The sandwich chain snared the highest composite score of any restaurant, just edging out Olive Garden.
"While endorsements from celebrities certainly play a role in Subway's success, advertisements that feature the brand's real-life spokesman Jared Fogle may also drive its high ratings on relatability and memorability," the study concluded.
That same year, in commemoration of Fogle's 15th year wolfing down subs, then-Subway Chief Marketing Officer Tony Pace made the media rounds, crediting Fogle with as much as one half of the chain's growth since 1998 (the remainder of the success was generated by $5 footlongs, he said). Pace added that Subway's homegrown spokesman was "woven into the fabric of the brand.