I had a client like you several years ago. Flush with earnings from a successful company exit, he sought to create the company of his dreams. “I want you and your team to build me a cult-like brand,” he proclaimed. 

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He then intensified his eye contact and, rather disconcertingly, added: “Literally.”

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I knew he didn’t mean an actual cult, since no one had used the term “literally” with semantic accuracy since roughly 1998. The company was a healthcare startup devoted to wellness, so I couldn’t help but chuckle at the metaphor. Until he leaned in further.

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“Matt, I want people to drink the Kool-Aid.”

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Funny how often corporate types use that expression without seeming to recall how that story ended. Did I half-expect a giant anthropomorphic pitcher to burst through the wall and intervene before a Jonestown sequel could take place? Oh, yeah!

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It’s understandable why leaders like my former client—and by extension, like yourself—thirst for their brands to achieve cult-like status. You want to form deep connections with your constituents and build unflinching loyalty. You aim to foster a real sense of community. It’s not just a product you’re selling, you might even say. It’s a lifestyle.

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But before you trade in your fleece vests for Waco chic, let me remind you that—and I can’t believe I have to say this—cults can also have a bit of a dark side.

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At the extreme end of loyalty comes exclusion, even alienation. An us-versus-them mentality becomes inevitable, which can seriously limit your customer pool. That doesn’t mean your brand has to be all things to all people—differentiation is critical, and some level of exclusivity can create real value. But it’s better achieved through a limited edition product than a loyalty oath.

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Don’t construct your brand to be a temple where only the faithful are welcome. Make it a party where everyone is dying for an invite. (Figuratively.)

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The level of allegiance you’re seeking also tends to stifle dissent and reject any sentiment that might conflict with your inspired manifesto. This forced consensus may make your ego feel great, but it creates an echo chamber that amplifies voices of praise and silences those of criticism. You’ll miss out on valuable input from employees and customers on how your company might actually improve.

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Remember that sense of community you’ve always wanted to build? In the long run, people respond better to conversation than indoctrination. 

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Your cult-like aspiration also puts a tremendous amount of pressure on you. As the brand’s supreme leader, you’ll become the embodiment of your organization, which ties its fate inextricably to both your talents and your flaws. Should you make a mistake—and cult-curious bosses always do—any resulting failure will have your name written all over it.

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There’s a reason we never hear about the Peoples Temple Agricultural Project of Guyana. Just ask Jim Jones.

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Which brings us back to my Kool Aid-loving client. My team and I created an outstanding brand for his startup, work we all remain proud of. Sure, he ended up being ousted from the company. But today, it lives on without him.

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It does so in part because the brand we created was designed to inspire rather than alienate. Its brand narrative invited ongoing dialogue with both customers and employees, instead of inflating a CEO-sized bubble. 

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Most importantly, the brand articulated a positioning that was differentiated in the market and appealing to its audiences. It was built to be bigger than one guy—and now, despite his best efforts, it’s become just that.

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So don’t make the mistakes he did. And should you run into him at your next entrepreneurial networking event, whatever you do, don’t let him buy you a drink.

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Literally.

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Indelibly yours,

Matt