Welcome to Brand Weirding: The strange new logic of brand categories

The psychology sitting behind the way market categories stopped being a shorthand for sense making and started making worlds

We are used to the idea that technology can redefine a business category—such as streaming services upending traditional media consumption, apps changing taxi use, or digital payments dominating financial transactions. But today, we are seeing another round of business re-categorisation, arguably on a much bigger scale and with what we might call a weird style.

Take, for example, the rise of GLP-1 weight loss drugs (like Ozempic, Wegovy, and Mounjaro); of course, there have always been weight loss drugs but not on the scale of what we see today, with some estimating it to be a $100 bn industry by 2030. This has not just upended the weight-loss category, but it is having knock-on effects for other categories that would have been hard to anticipate. For example, food manufacturers are now marketing smaller-portion and higher-protein products as ‘GLP-1 friendly’ to cater to this less-hungry demographic. And challenger investor Terry Smith famously sold his stake in a leading drinks manufacturer, citing concerns about the potential impact of weight-loss drugs on alcohol consumption. Are we now seeing a whole new GLP-1 market category that extends way beyond the treatment itself, whilst at the same time creating a drastic realignment in other sectors?

And it does not look as if this is an isolated event: there is evidence that we are seeing a much broader collapse of once-stable product categories—from fashion and entertainment to soft drinks and gyms, we are starting to see not only a blurring of boundaries but arguably the start of a full-scale change.

This calls for an understanding of how we categorise and then recategorise things, which is of course a core part of human psychology. Perhaps there are always large-scale shifts in how we do this at certain points. If so, the current market shifts are suitable candidates for us to look at using behavioural science to understand better what is happening now and how this might change in the future.

The development of market categories

For much of modern economic history, consumer categories have been relatively stable and clearly defined. Throughout the 19th and 20th centuries most products and services fitted neatly into well-established commercial and social classifications, typically based on the provenance of their manufacturing process. Food was food, medicine was medicine, fashion was fashion, and so on. Of course, innovation within these categories was always present, and while the edges might have blurred, the boundaries between them arguably remained largely intact.

This stability was partly a function of companies focusing on a single, well-defined category. Hence, Coca-Cola sold soft drinks, Nike made trainers, and Warner Bros produced films. Each industry operated within distinct production, marketing, and sales structures, with little cross-category activity. Advertising reinforced this, as brands positioned themselves within specific category logics; a breakfast cereal ad would not resemble a pharmaceutical ad, and a trainers campaign would not market itself like a tech product. Category specific regulatory oversight further cemented these distinctions. This meant that categories were legible, meaningful, and functionally separate, making it easy for consumers to navigate the marketplace.

Additionally, cultural norms played a big part in keeping categories stable. We would not expect that fast food brands would produce fashion, that luxury houses would enter hospitality, or that video game companies would launch financial services. There was a widely accepted understanding of what a brand was and was not supposed to do. Consumers relied on these familiar classifications to make purchasing decisions, and the idea of brands or industries fluidly shifting across categories did not align with how brands operated for most of the 20th century.

This categorical stability is also rooted in the psychology of Essentialism. Cognitive scientists Douglas Medin and Andrew Ortony coined this term to explain our tendency to see categories as having a deep, underlying 'essence' rather than being arbitrary groupings. A large body of research supports this idea, showing that humans are enthusiastic essentialists, often assuming that categories have an intrinsic, defining core.

This essentialist thinking applies not just to more obvious areas, such as biological species, but also to the way we classify commercial goods and industries. So just as we intuitively believe that a cat remains a cat - even if it loses its fur - because it has an inherent 'cat-ness,' so too have we historically tended to think that a fashion brand is a fashion brand, a beverage company is a beverage company and so on, regardless of how they change in the way they present themselves. This deeply ingrained psychological tendency helps explain why, for most of modern history, consumers saw product categories as fixed, stable, and meaningful rather than fluid or malleable.

Yet, it seems that this essentialist logic is starting to break down. One way to understand the new logic that is emerging is through the concept of 'stacking.'

Brand Stackability

The emergence of stacking as a consumer practice first gained traction in biohacking and nootropic (cognitive enhancement) communities, where people sought to be their 'best mental selves' by mixing different substances into personalised routines.

Unlike traditional medicines, which typically rely on a single drug to address a specific issue, people sought to develop performance-enhancing ‘stacks’, where each component plays a distinct role— Caffeine + L-Theanine (coffee, tea, green tea) for focus without jitters, Piracetam + Choline (nootropic + eggs, fish, nuts) for memory clarity, or Modafinil + Magnesium (wakefulness aid + leafy greens, nuts) for energy without overstimulation. This approach quickly developed beyond cognitive enhancement into areas such as functional nutrition, fitness, and stress management, with companies selling pre-made supplement stacks for energy, focus, and longevity.

The success of stacking within the biohacking movement arguably paved the way for a broader consumer shift: people started to see categories as less fixed and more modular, assembling stacks from once-separate industries to fit their own needs. This shift is not just happening at the level of individual consumer behaviour, but it is now being mirrored in the way brands themselves construct their market presence. Increasingly, once-distinct industries are merging into new, unexpected formations, blurring the boundaries between commerce, culture, and aesthetics.

This has taken on a new energy, developing into a form of 'world-building', where brands act as cultural institutions, shaping taste, identity, and broader experiential landscapes. No longer confined to selling either fashion, beverages, or entertainment, brands now have licence to create layered or 'stacked' consumption ecosystems that aim to redefine the relationship between industries, mirroring how individuals have come to curate their own modular consumption ‘stacks’.

And this is where the 'weirding of categories' speeds up. As Ana Andjelic puts it:

"This fusion-as-a-strategy is aligned with big brands' ambitions to be cultural players (LVMH) and to "create identity that transcends what we sell" (Prada). The ultimate branding is of our time and how we pass it, so brands use collaborations to curate what we eat, how we travel, the art and culture we have access to, the entertainment we enjoy, in addition to what we wear.”

We can see this in how fast-food chains launch fashion lines such as McDonald's x Crocs or KFC streetwear, suggesting a radical realignment of traditional categorical logic. Brands seem to no longer exist within static, clearly defined industries, but as Andjelic suggests, they instead function as 'aesthetic curators', expanding into any industry that fits their cultural identity and immersive brand experience.

The result is a marketplace that, if looked at through the eyes of a traditional brand landscape, can feel weird and shape-shifting. For example, where does Mattel, traditionally a toy brand, now sit when they have a successful film business? With British retail M&S now selling nootropic-infused hydration drinks, do we see these as part of the soft drinks industry, the supplement market, or performance enhancement? It appears these new hybrids refuse to be neatly categorised.

Maybe this is nothing new?

We can see that Joseph Pine's Experience Economy foresaw some of this, arguing that businesses must move beyond selling products and services to offering immersive experiences. However, the Experience Economy framework still assumed that industries remain distinct: retailers enhance shopping through experiential store formats, hotels elevate hospitality with themed environments and personalised services, and entertainment brands deepen engagement by creating interactive, multi-platform storytelling worlds. In Pine's model, businesses compete on experience rather than price or convenience, and yet they still operate within their original industry boundaries. The experience-driven differentiation happens within the industry, not across industries.

Another explanation we could consider is that historically, companies have sought to control more of the value chain (vertical integration)—either backward (owning suppliers and production) or forward (owning distribution and sales channels)—to improve efficiency, reduce costs, and capture more profit. This disrupts the market category in some ways (e.g., drinks manufacturers purchasing bars), but it feels like an edge case rather than a full-scale change.

What we are seeing now is the emergence of platform-based business models, where companies don't just control the value chain but curate a wide range of interconnected experiences. Instead of selling just a product, there are multi-layered environments where products, services, entertainment, and identity formation all overlap.

Taste platforms

‘Platformisation’ suggests that companies seek to own the entire consumer experience, making category boundaries irrelevant. This means that consumers today don't just buy products; they curate a stack of lifestyle choices, brands, and digital services that define their identity. Nike isn't just buying shoes but offer a fitness ecosystem (Nike Training Club, SNKRS drops, Nike-branded wellness spaces), Soho House isn't just joining a club; a member is entering a curated social, travel, and lifestyle 'stack'.

This goes way beyond traditional value chain strategies, it's not just about controlling production but about shaping the entire logic of consumption, making once familiar categories feel irrelevant through cultural dominance.

The collapse of rigid industry categories has led to a world where aesthetic experience and cultural influence have become the primary drivers of consumption, aligning with philosopher Walter Benjamin's theory of aura and the aestheticisation of everyday life. Benjamin argued that in modernity, art and cultural objects, once unique and tied to a specific time and place, have become mechanically reproduced, leading to a loss of their 'aura,' by which he means their authentic, singular presence. Today, it is the cultural and emotional experience brands that are Benjamin's 'aura', re-creating a sense of uniqueness in what can feel like an otherwise commodified world.

Entertainment properties like The White Lotus TV show and A24 film production company exemplify this shift, extending their influence beyond their core medium to become aesthetic worlds. The White Lotus fosters an aura of exclusivity and aspirational luxury using its distinctive visual and cultural identity to fuel collaborations in fashion (H&M), luxury travel (Away), and curated interiors (CB2). These partnerships transform The White Lotus from a TV show into a branded experience that consumers can wear, travel with, and live inside, reinstating the aura through carefully designed, scarcity-driven cultural touchpoints.

Similarly, as Ana Andjelic points out, A24 has become more than just a film studio. It is a tastemaker with its own aesthetic, shaping not only what films people watch but also what they wear, how they decorate their homes, and how they engage with pop culture. Through activities such as limited-edition 'merch drops' and high-design book releases, A24 has turned its brand into a signifier of cultural literacy and taste. This gives the sense that A24 is not just about watching a film but participating in an exclusive, curated artistic movement (or ‘aura’.)

In both cases, these brands are not just selling entertainment but constructing aesthetic worlds where the product itself can be secondary to the wider cultural experience it creates. This represents a significant shift: once, entertainment was something to be watched, but now it is something to be worn, inhabited, and integrated into lifestyle choices.

But what about baked beans?

It is perhaps easier to see how these principles can work in fashion and entertainment, but what about in the traditionally stable FMCG sector, where it could be hard to argue that the same principles apply? In fact, here this is also considerable experimentation with the fluidity of categories and brand world-building, with brands shifting their focus beyond simple product offerings and engaging in broader cultural conversations relating to ‘purpose’.

Unilever, for instance, has transformed the Dove brand from a soap label to a symbol of body positivity, demonstrating the power of purpose-driven branding in today's world. Similarly, Coca-Cola's investment in health-conscious drinks like Glacéau Smartwater and Honest Tea is aligning with modern consumer priorities such as wellness. Nestle has moved into plant-based and sustainable products, positioning its Garden Gourmet brand as a socially responsible company committed to sustainability and health. Heinz, once solely known for Ketchup, now creates limited-edition products and collaborations to elevate its cultural relevance, while PepsiCo is tapping into the growing health-conscious market with brands like Bare Snacks and Bubly. These examples show how FMCG companies are no longer relying on traditional categories and are instead merging products with culture, identity, and values under the broad umbrella of brand purpose. Again, in doing so, these brands are not just selling products but shaping broader consumer experiences.

The fragility of aesthetic-driven brands

There is a challenge, however, that brands built on aesthetic, cultural, or symbolic value rather than pure functionality could be vulnerable to reputation shifts and cultural backlash. Shyon Baumann and colleagues argue that when consumer preferences are shaped by both aesthetic and moral legitimacy, then brands must maintain cultural relevance and ethical credibility if they are to sustain their value.

We can see these risks playing out with Tesla, where the appeal was never been just about engineering but about status, innovation, and an ethical vision of sustainability. But as Elon Musk's public persona has become more divisive, Tesla's moral-aesthetic appeal has eroded. So unlike Toyota, for example, which sells on product related qualities of durability and efficiency, Tesla sells a lifestyle and a belief system, So if that belief system loses credibility, so does the brand.

Baumann also emphasises that high-status consumers distinguish themselves through exclusive consumption choices. If a brand becomes too commercial, mainstream, or ethically compromised, it risks losing its cultural cachet. So, going back to the example of A24, this is a tastemaker brand that sells aesthetic sensibility and cultural cachet as much as films. But this is exactly what also potentially makes it fragile. If it loses its status as the 'cool indie studio', its brand value could collapse in a way that blockbuster studios like Universal, reliant on franchises rather than cultural exclusivity, would not experience.

Hence, the irony is that the more a brand relies on cultural capital, the more precarious its position becomes—because it is not selling a product but an idea or belief system, and these are far harder to control.

Psychological Essentialism and the boundaries of stacking

While industries can blur, remix, and stack to create new experiences, some categories seem more resistant to reinvention. For example, luxury brands, pharmaceutical companies, and financial services still seem less adaptable to the aesthetics-driven strategies seen in fashion or entertainment. Understanding why can tell us something more about the psychology of these categories.

This involves returning to the topic of Essentialism. Bruce Hood's research suggests that people perceive certain objects, and by extension, categories, as having a core, irreplaceable essence. His experiments with a 'duplicating machine' found that while people were happy to replicate functional objects, they rejected copies of sentimental items like childhood blankets. Similarly, people recoiled from wearing a cardigan once told it had belonged to a serial killer, demonstrating a belief in moral contagion.

This has implications for the weirding of categories. While some industries lend themselves to stacking (such as those we have seen, like fast food chains launching fashion lines), others seem to resist fluidity. It may be that categories carrying heritage, identity, or perhaps moral weight, make them harder to repurpose. Luxury brands such as Hermès or Rolex trade on craftsmanship and historical continuity, and so entering other industries, might struggle, as it dilutes exclusivity and status, which is more likely to have essentialist properties. Traditionally, pharmaceuticals are bound by strict regulations, scientific validation, and medical authority, making it challenging to blend seamlessly into consumer lifestyle markets without losing credibility.

However, even in pharmacy, we see the development of a direct-to-consumer market where patients are treating weight loss medication more like a lifestyle investment rather than purely medical intervention, blurring categories between healthcare, wellness, and lifestyle spending. This suggests that while Hood's research findings indicate some categories have psychological constraints that make them harder to disassemble, perhaps none are immune.

Reinvention or other reasons?

Of course, there are critics of how this consumer landscape is changing. We could draw on Mark Fisher's capitalist realism, which suggests that the breakdown of categories is not, in fact, innovation but a symptom of stagnation. When fast food becomes fashion and weight-loss drugs become lifestyle accessories, Fisher might have argued that we are not, in fact, expanding choice but endlessly recycling aesthetic codes. Instead of imagining new ways to live or consume, brands remix familiar symbols, ultimately reinforcing existing consumption patterns. The result is a marketplace where everything is a remix, driven by references, associations, and curated vibes rather than fundamental breakthroughs in design, technology, or social organisation.

Another critic, Yanis Varoufakis, might argue that traditional branding is fading because tech giants control through ownership of the infrastructure of consumption itself. Algorithms, influencer marketing, and platform ecosystems dictate what consumers see, buy, and engage with. What looks like a world of limitless options is, in reality, a tightly controlled marketplace where choice is shaped, not created.

And there are good reasons why businesses prefer this. In some cases, industries might consider this as a way to operate outside of areas where there are strict regulations & high taxes. Nicotine pouches, for example, avoid cigarette taxes, and THC beverages can avoid alcohol laws in some jurisdictions. Potentially, high-profit margins allow for 'premiumisation', so functional soft drinks can sell for significant sums compared to their more conventional counterparts. It also allows a brand to target different 'demand moments' – meaning the product is considered for a greater variety of occasions. For example, Athletic Greens could not only be seen as a supplement but also as a meal replacement.

Conclusions

The collapse of rigid consumer categories presents both new opportunities and hidden constraints. On one hand, the rise of stacking, brand-world building, and aesthetic-driven consumption allows for a vibrant world of experimentation, hybridisation, and cultural cross-pollination.

Yet this shift also raises questions about autonomy and control. If brands no longer function as mere identifiers of quality, price, or purpose but as curators of experience and identity, then the marketplace may not be expanding but becoming more enclosed. Do we still choose brands, or do brands choose us? The increasing dominance of algorithmic curation, closed ecosystems, and corporate-owned cultural spaces suggests that rather than liberating consumer choice, the weirding of categories may be limiting how we engage with culture itself.

One response is the revival of subcultures, where taste and identity are arguably shaped from the ground-up rather than through (top-down) brand-led curation. In music, NTS Radio and Keep Hush foster independent scenes outside streaming algorithms. In fashion, Vinted and Depop let consumers trade directly, bypassing high-street retailers, while brands like Community Clothing and Non reject fast fashion's hype cycles. Even in media, Rough Trade Books and STRIKE! Magazine offer alternatives to mainstream cultural narratives.

Ultimately, the weirding of categories is not just about how businesses operate but also how consumers navigate a changing world. Whether this shift leads to a more fluid and creative marketplace or a more controlled and curated reality will depend not just on brands but also on the extent to which consumers seek to shape culture or whether they will be shaped by it.