how brands become religions

By Nick Hart

Jesus…Iron Man…does it matter, really?

-Marc Maron

On October 31, 1512, four years after Michelangelo had begun work on the Sistine Chapel, Pope Julius II held a vespers service to unveil the fiery artisan’s now-famous frescos. The paintings—like many of Julius II’s commissions—were strategic on the part of the promotionally minded pope. Almost immediately, the storied scenes featured on the chapel’s ceiling became the topic of nearly every conversation in Rome, and over half a millennium later they continue to receive more than five million visitors every year.

Of course, Julius II’s creative efforts to drum up business aren’t the only examples of religion’s attempts to draw in more faithful flocks. A look around any house of worship quickly makes it clear how the opium of the people has enjoyed so many repeat customers for so many consecutive quarters. From the emotion-laden stories and icons to the unifying and purpose-driven creeds, old-time religion and today’s most recognizable brands share many crucial elements.

In his book, Religion Explained: The Evolutionary Origins of Religious Thought, author Pascal Boyer notes three key components of which every religion is ultimately comprised. (1) each is founded on “a set of core beliefs and values,” (2) differentiated by a number of “symbols, myths, and rituals,” and (3) offers congregants “relationships with members of a like-minded community.” A deeper investigation into each of these elements reveals how the gods of Madison Avenue and history’s most successful men of the cloth have built their brands in nearly identical ways by serving the same psychological functions.

A Set of Core Beliefs and Values

In 1517, a 34-year-old German friar and theology professor named Martin Luther published a list of 95 theses he called The Disputation on the Power of Indulgences. Though he most likely did not nail the work to the door of Wittenberg’s All Saint’s Church as legend would have us believe, it disputed, among other things, the Catholic Church’s selling of indulgences, or sin pardons, thereby igniting the Protestant Reformation and changing Christianity forever.

Unsurprisingly, the church was not receptive to Luther’s arguments. In January 1521 a papal decree was issued in which the friar was declared a heretic and excommunicated—a decree Luther publicly burned. That April Holy Roman Emperor, Charles V, summoned the defiant clergyman to appear before the Imperial Diet of Worms where a hearing would take place. As he passed through town after town on his way to the ancient city, the man who refused to compromise the beliefs that would eventually become Lutheranism was “acclaimed almost as a messiah” according to National Geographic and gathered crowds hoping to get a glimpse of the renegade monk “who embodied the struggle against the seemingly all-powerful Catholic Church.” By not backing down from a more powerful Goliath, Luther had become the principled underdog the people could root for. 

“Religions are revolutionary,” writes former CEO of Skullcandy headphones, Jeremy Andrus. And when it comes to your brand, it pays to “rebel by standing for something.” Like Apple rebelling against Microsoft, Tesla challenging the oil industry, or CrossFit opposing giant “globo gyms,” “brand rebellions, like religions,” says Andrus, “create in-groups and out-groups.” In an age of purpose-driven branding and social media-connected consumers who demand authenticity, a clear set of beliefs are essential. Rebellion, however, goes further by conveying the willingness to take a risk. And “if you’re willing to fight as an underdog, your mission must be authentic.”

In the eyewear world, there is no company less of an underdog than Luxottica Group. Founded in 1961, the Milan-based glasses manufacturer, wholesaler, and retailer, accused many times of monopolistic business practices and unjustifiably high prices, has approximately 9,000 retail locations worldwide and reports total assets in excess of 10 billion euros. Since Luxottica’s 2018 merger with French optics company Essilor, which resulted in a combined market capitalization of 57 billion euros, you’d be hard pressed to think of an eyewear brand they don’t design, distribute, or manufacture. Except one.

The year four Wharton Business School classmates founded Warby Parker from a small apartment in Philadelphia, Luxottica reported gross profits of over 3.8 billion euros. That was in 2010. Within five years, the scrappy eyewear startup was valued at well over a billion dollars and named Most Innovative Company by Fast Company, beating out Apple and Google for the honor. But it all began with a question no one else was asking. Why are glasses so expensive? Marked up from ten to twelve times what they cost to produce, most eyeglasses, an 800-year-old technology, can cost more than an iPhone. After losing a $700 pair while traveling, co-founder Dave Gilboa—along with friends Neil Blumenthal, Jeff Raider, and Andy Hunt—decided it was time to confront the giant and, by charging only $95 a pair, change the status quo. 

Though not everyone took them seriously at first, nonbelievers were quickly converted. In February 2010, only two years after the group began pursuing their idea, GQ published a piece calling the online retailer that allowed customers to try on frames at home “The Netflix of eyewear.” “The company,” says Blumenthal, “shot off like a rocket ship.” Within three weeks the four friends hit their first year’s sales targets. Within four, they had sold out of their top fifteen styles. With 20,000 customers waitlisted for a pair of Warby Parker glasses, there was no question as to whether others were ready for the industry to change, too. 

 In addition to their e-commerce business, the company has, at current count, 121 retail locations across the country. Those are far from Luxottica numbers, but that’s a good thing. “The evangelical brand takes discipline,” writes Andrus. “Grow only as fast as your values permit.” In other words, the quickest way to discredit your mission is to reach the size of those you’ve challenged. “Growth for growth’s sake,” he cautions, “disillusions the faithful.” But Warby Parker understands rebellion well. Gilboa has since focused his slingshot on the shaving industry with his latest venture, Harry’s, and when asked if Warby Parker is afraid of the big optical companies, Blumenthal answers, “We’re actually more afraid of four guys just like us sitting in a dorm room somewhere thinking up a better way to provide glasses to people.”   

Symbols, myths, and rituals

There are symbolic parallels, as well, between successful brands and religions, many of which are obvious. Both have logos, for instance, that capture the popular imagination and are identified by millions. Both also benefit from public ambassadors, from Louis Farrakhan to Jeff Bezos, who, in addition to being key decision makers, personify the organization’s values and communicate its message. “In his regular sermons at the annual Apple developers’ conferences,” writes Stephen Baily in The Financial Times, “Steve Jobs held his congregation in thrall. There was an aroma of sanctity perfuming events where true believers were offered redemption by consumption of his products.” Jobs, called “our savior” by salon.com, was perhaps the most deified and symbolic of the modern chief executives. And the church he built has many pilgrims. 

An often overlooked communicative medium, architecture has long been acknowledged as a powerful symbol with which to convey a brand’s message. “It began in 1983 with Trump Tower,” writes Bailey— “architecture as corporate branding.” Though the dates can be disputed (White Castle, anyone?), building to be noticed is hardly a corporate concept. “Religion has continually used architecture as a propaganda vehicle and to create a shared sense of identity,” writes Deyan Sudjic in his book, The Edifice Complex: How the Rich and Powerful—and Their Architects—Shape the World. Architecture also serves to differentiate. For example, we recognize a Christian church by its cross, an orthodox church by its dome, and a mosque by its minaret. 

Similarly, Apple Fifth Avenue is unmistakably Apple. Situated near Manhattan’s Central Park, the store’s entrance—a 32-foot-tall clear glass cube—houses a large, neon-filled Apple logo that illuminates the plaza on which it sits like the crucifix at a truck stop chapel. “The result of a close collaboration between the design team at Apple” and architecture firm Foster + Partners, the project’s goal, according to the architects, was to reinforce “the progressive and innovative spirit” the tech brand symbolizes. An Apple press release states 57 million visitors have passed through the store since 2006—"more annually than the Statue of Liberty or Empire State Building.” Once inside, the devoted find a well-trained clergy ready to preach the gospel of Steve Jobs—a staff of “900 employees who speak over 30 languages.”

A brand or religion’s symbols, however, would be nothing without its myths. Just as the Christian cross is given meaning by the story of the man said to have died on it, Apple’s logo, which conjures images of Newton’s progressive genius, is given meaning by the story of the company’s heavenly ascent from the Jobs family garage, however inauthentic. “The garage,” admits Apple co-founder Steve Wozniak, “is a bit of a myth. We did no designs there, no breadboarding, no prototyping, no planning of products.” No matter. As Jeremy Andrus tells us, “we stay in a faith or choose one because we identify with its culture.” And the garage myth effectively creates a culture of nose-to-the-grindstone bootstrapping that appeals to anyone who wishes to be perceived similarly. In other words, the story makes the products symbols for the values it espouses. And as figures adept in self mythology will confirm, any story repeated often enough may as well be the genuine article—despite not playing a significant part in Apple’s beginnings, the god-like founder’s garage was nonetheless listed as an historical site in 2013.

While symbols and myths peak a customer or congregant’s interest, rituals keep them coming back. Consider the reverent disassembly of an Oreo cookie, the lime wedge in a Corona bottle, or scrolling through your iPhone while you have your coffee. Like genuflecting, making the sign of the cross, or lighting a menorah, brand rituals, according to Rice University’s Dr. Utpal Dholakia, also “follow a specific script, and possess symbolic and personal meaning.” Rituals, says Dholakia, offer both brands and religions three main benefits. First, they “encourage habitual consumption.” Ritualized behaviors are more likely to become “entrenched habits” the longer they’re repeated, which makes it “easy for us to keep buying the brand.”

Secondly, they “give customers a compelling reason to choose the brand in a crowded marketplace” by helping make parity products unique. “Without the twist, lick, dunk ritual,” writes Dholukia on psychologytoday.com, “the Oreo is just another sandwich cookie. The ritual is part of what the brand stands for and what it means to us.”

Finally, rituals “lock” members into a like-minded community. From waving at another Jeep driver to camping out in front of Apple Fifth Avenue, “customers tend to enjoy such brand-specific ritualistic activities that involve participation by others.” Ultimately, they “ensure that the customer will stay committed to the brand for the long haul for the sake of continuing membership in the community.”

Relationship to a Like-Minded Community

“Brand communities, like religious ones,” writes Andrus, “bind the flock emotionally,” and “connect individuals around…values that defy logic.” Dr. Dholukia agrees. These populations “provide a substantial value beyond the functional and esthetic aspects of the product.” In our decidedly digital age, geographic proximity isn’t even necessary for a brand or religious community to achieve the desired effect. “They work just as well online,” assures Dholukia—even when comprised of total strangers.

In some communities, the line between brand and religion can be difficult to distinguish. John Schouten and James McAlexander, marketing professors at the University of Portland and Oregon State University respectively, studied Harley Davidson enthusiasts and found what they called a “sacred domain within the everyday life of the Harley owner.”  The community, they write, “has a spirituality derived in part from a sense of riding as a transcendental departure from the mundane” and the “consciousness of oneself as an integral part of a larger group or purpose.” The bikes themselves are treated with such reverence that to touch another’s without permission may result in violence, even among casual riders. “The sacredness of the bike,” the researchers tell us, “is observed in elaborate rituals for…cleaning and maintenance.” There are even owners who build “shrines” in which to store their Harleys, “bedecked with Harley posters, calendars, and memorabilia…temple(s) open only to fellow bikers.” 

Members of brand and religious communities can even display the same physiologic responses. CNN reported an instance in which “neuroscientists ran an MRI test” on an Apple devotee and found that images of the company’s products “lit up the same parts of the brain as images of a deity do for religious people.” How can this be? Brands, religions, and their effects on us are psychologically interchangeable because each allow us to express feelings of self-worth. Gavan Fitzsimons of Duke University and his colleagues have designed experiments to test this concept and discovered that “religiosity tends to reduce reliance on brands,” yet “a focus on brands tends to reduce people’s reliance on religion.” Pope Benedict XVI warned that technological products like those of Apple and other companies threaten religion, but cautioned that those products “can’t replace God.” Apparently, they can. In an interview with Faith and Leadership, a website ran by Duke Divinity School describing itself as “a learning resource for Christian leaders and their institutions,” Gavan Fitzsimons explains:

“For eons, organized religion has provided a sense of community, has provided a way to say who we are to others, has provided a source of meaning in the world. Brands, as they have evolved, have just moved into that exact same space with those exact same functions. So, if that need is getting fulfilled through brands, it means that we don’t need religion nearly as much to do so. As a function of that, people don’t think it’s as important to go to services, and it even reduces their belief that there is a higher power looking over us.”

However, a brand or religion’s ability to decrease a consumers’ dependence on the other depends on its power to be an object of self-expression. “Brand salience,” according to the Fitzsimons study, “leads to lower levels of religious commitment, but only when brands are incorporated into expressions of the self.” For example, a clothing brand would be more likely to create such an effect than would a brand of batteries, which is, reports the group in a similar study, “more likely to only satisfy functional needs.” 

With a clear and aspirational belief system communicated via engaging stories and symbols and communities in which people can practice emotionally significant rituals, there’s no limit to how far an organization can spread its message­ or products. “It’s not hard to imagine that people don’t want to believe it,” says Fitzsimons, “that this is a real effect.” But “it seems that what many consider sacred is often treated as merely a means to an (expressive) end.” Depending on your goals, these findings may be valuable, unsettling, or potentially problematic. Fitzsimons, however, is counting his blessings. “I guess, at this point,” he says, “I’m happy to be the consumer psychologist and not the religious leader.” The rest of us, though, have plenty to learn from both.  

-NH