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Re-enchanting

Weirdness

2 August 2023

4 min read

The age of re-enchantment and how brands will exploit it

One of the world's largest advertising agencies has released a report on 're-enchantment', Daniel Kim predicts a not-too-distant future when brands will exploit and commodify spiritual hunger.

Daniel Kim

Daniel is an advertising strategist turned vicar-in-training.

Last month, Wunderman Thompson published a new insight report called The age of re-enchantment. I was giddy to get into it, not least because Seen & Unseen has a podcast called 'Re-Enchanting' (which you should listen to by the way).

For the uninitiated, Wunderman Thompson is a 20,000 person-strong global advertising agency who literally invented the term ‘marketing’ back in 1961. With clients like Heinz Ketchup, Burger King, Bose, HSBC, KitKat and countless other ubiquitous brands, they are a culture-shaping juggernaut. They’re no joke.

Like all Wunderman reports, The age of re-enchantment is meticulously researched, beautifully presented, and written with finesse, coining terms left, right and centre like 'joy-deficit' and 'sensory techtopias'. It had me nodding along from the get-go.

'Re-enchantment is fulfilling a craving for feelings of wonder and awe, an appetite for joy and fun, and an openness to thrills and adventures'.

Yes.

The top two emotions that people want more of in their lives are ‘joy’ and ‘hope’.

Yes, yes!

'We live in a rational, explained world, and one in which we are harried and anxious, with little time to pause and pursue these sensations'.

Yes, yes, yes!

But then, as I read on, my warm glee turned into abject horror.

In the introduction of the report, Marie Stafford, the Global Director of Wunderman Thompson wrote:

'It’s time to remake the world through the lens of re-enchantment, where the new brand metrics are jaw drops, heart swells, and goosebumps. Brands can help people transcend tough times and jolt them from long-standing malaise by celebrating the thrilling and uplifting, the awe-inspiring, and the magical'

In other words, the market has recognised this profound existential hunger in culture at large, and will now try and extract capital value from you.

A couple months ago, I wrote a piece on the dangers of selling spirituality and wellness, and how it had become a $3.7 trillion dollar industry, warning that 'we can’t let our spiritual hunger be commodified for profit'. Well, get ready folks. Here comes the re-enchanting brands here to do just that.

The middle bulk of the report parades a line-up of case-studies that have leant into the ‘age of re-enchantment’.

Some brands, like Levi Strauss, were leaning into themes of mortality and death in the post-pandemic period, such as in the 2023 Campaign, 'Greatest Story Ever Worn: Legends never Die'. This ad dramatises the true story of a man who requested all his loved ones to wear Levi’s to his funeral.

The Greatest Story Ever Worn: Legends Never Die, 2023

Others were leaning into the desire for transcendence, trying to (legally) replicate spiritual and psychedelic experiences. Of note was a new VR experience called Isness-D developed to deliver a transcendent experience that replicates spiritual and near-death experiences. Apparently, this VR product has similar effects to a medium dose of LSD.

Product demonstration of Isness-D.

The report also recommended that brands tap into the ‘Joyconomy’. Yup, you read that right. That means ‘advocating for moments of joy, play and fun’ because that can be a ‘powerful strategy for brands to uplift and engage customers’. After all, 49 per cent of people say that they would be even more likely to purchase from a brand that brings them a sense of joy. In fact, the CEO of Daybreak, a fitness-and-dance company, even said that one of the core KPIs for her business is ‘tears of joy’. …

Look, I’m sure they mean well, but quite frankly, I don’t want to be part of a world where tears of joy(!) are considered key performance indicators for brands. Tears of joy are for weddings, reunions, or the end of a national war. Not a market transaction! Similarly, I find something bizarrely distasteful about a mortality-themed brand activation. ‘Yes, embrace your mortality and stare into the void, but don’t forget to buy our 501 Original Levi Denim.’ And I don’t know about you, but if I am going to seek out experiences of profound, spiritual transcendence, I’m sure as hell not going to do it in some VR-fake-LSD-hellscape-nightmare that I overpaid for.

There’s a profound irony in all of it. There is chunky section in the report about the rise of ‘New Spiritual Rebels’, the ever-growing community of people interested and practicing non-traditional religions like witchcraft and paganism. The report recognises that, wrapped up in this movement, there is a desire to 'break things down and build them up again in paths of inclusive post-capitalist… futures'.

How are brands meant to respond to that?! “Ah, yes”, nodded the advertiser. “Now, how do we bake that into our new Spring campaign for Airbnb? Maybe an authentic Wicca hut in Salem could be the hero ad?” It’s absurd.

This is blindingly obvious, but brands will be hopeless at addressing questions of mortality, transcendence, awe, serendipity, hope, joy, and meaning in a chaotic and anxious world. I love brands, but that’s above their pay-grade. Unfortunately, that won’t stop them from trying to commodify 're-enchantment' and extract capital value from it. No thank you.

The age of re-enchantment is real, and this report does a tremendous job at demonstrating it. But this piece of work is not, and shouldn’t be, for brands. It should be for community and religious leaders, and it should be for you. And so I will end this article in a similar vein to my last one.

If we are going to embark on this journey of re-enchanting our society with joy, spiritual depth, and existential meaning, we can’t let that hunger be commodified for profit. The re-enchantment of our hearts is too important for that. It is worth more, infinitely more, than 501 Originals.

Article

Care

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Economics

Ethics

2 December 2024

4 min read

NHS: How far do we go to feed the sacred system?

Balancing safeguards and economic expediencies after the assisted dying vote.

Callum Elwood

Callum is a pastor, based on a barge, in London's Docklands.

A patient eye view of six surgeons looking down.

National Cancer Institute via Unsplash.

“Die cheaply, protect the NHS” It sounds extreme, but it could become an unspoken policy. With MPs voting on 29th November to advance the assisted dying bill, Britain stands at a crossroads. Framed as a compassionate choice for the terminally ill, the bill raises profound ethical, societal, and economic concerns. In a nation where the NHS holds near-sacred status, this legislation risks leading us to a grim reality: lives sacrificed to sustain an overstretched healthcare system.

The passage of this legislation demands vigilance. To avoid human lives being sacrificed at the altar of an insatiable healthcare system, we must confront the potential dangers of assisted dying becoming an economic expedient cloaked in compassion.

The NHS has been part of British identity since its founding, offering universal care, free at the point of use. To be clear, this is a good thing—extraordinary levels of medical care are accessible to all, regardless of income. When my wife needed medical intervention while in labour, the NHS ensured we were not left with an unpayable bill.

Yet the NHS is more than a healthcare system; it has become a cultural icon. During the COVID-19 pandemic, it was elevated to near-religious status with weekly clapping, rainbow posters, and public declarations of loyalty. To criticise or call for reform often invites accusations of cruelty or inhumanity. A 2020 Ipsos MORI poll found that 74 per cent of Britons cited the NHS as a source of pride, more than any other institution.

However, the NHS’s demands continue to grow: waiting lists stretch ever longer, staff are overworked and underpaid, and funding is perpetually under strain. Like any idol, it demands sacrifices to sustain its appetite. In this context, the introduction of assisted dying legislation raises troubling questions about how far society might go to feed this sacred system.

Supporters of the Assisted Dying Bill argue that it will remain limited to exceptional cases, governed by strict safeguards. However, international evidence suggests otherwise.

In Belgium, the number of euthanasia cases rose by 267 per cent in less than a decade, with 2,656 cases in 2019 compared to 954 in 2010. Increasingly, these cases involve patients with psychiatric disorders or non-terminal illnesses. Canada has seen similar trends since legalising medical assistance in dying (MAiD) in 2016. By 2021, over 10,000 people had opted for MAiD, with eligibility expanding to include individuals with disabilities, mental health conditions, and even financial hardships.

The argument for safeguards is hardly reassuring, history shows they are often eroded over time. In Belgium and Canada, assisted dying has evolved from a last resort for the terminally ill to an option offered to the vulnerable and struggling. This raises an urgent question: how do we ensure Britain doesn’t follow this trajectory?

The NHS is under immense strain. With limited resources and growing demand, the temptation to frame assisted dying as an economic solution is real. While supporters present the legislation as compassionate, the potential for financial incentives to influence its application cannot be ignored.

Healthcare systems exist to uphold human dignity, not reduce life to an economic equation.

Consider a scenario: you are diagnosed with a complex, long-term, ultimately terminal illness. Option one involves intricate surgery, a lengthy hospital stay, and gruelling physiotherapy. The risks are high, the recovery tough, life not significantly lengthened, and the costs significant. Opting for this could be perceived as selfish—haven’t you heard how overstretched the NHS is? Don’t you care about real emergencies? Option two offers a "dignified" exit: assisted dying. It spares NHS resources and relieves your family of the burden of prolonged care. What starts as a choice may soon feel like an obligation for the vulnerable, elderly, or disabled—those who might already feel they are a financial or emotional burden.

This economic argument is unspoken but undeniable. When a system is stretched to breaking point, compassion risks becoming a convenient cloak for expedience.

The Assisted Dying Bill marks a critical moment for Britain. If passed into law, as now seems inevitable, it could redefine not only how we view healthcare but how we value life itself. To prevent this legislation from becoming a slippery slope, we must remain vigilant against the erosion of safeguards and the pressure of economic incentives.

At the same time, we must reassess our relationship with the NHS. It must no longer occupy a place of unquestioning reverence. Instead, we should view it with a balance of admiration and accountability. Reforming the NHS isn’t about dismantling it but ensuring it serves its true purpose: to protect life, not demand it.

Healthcare systems exist to uphold human dignity, not reduce life to an economic equation. If we continue to treat the NHS as sacred, the costs—moral, spiritual, and human—will become unbearable.

This moment requires courage: the courage to confront economic realities without compromising our moral foundations. As a society, we must advocate for policies that prioritise care, defend the vulnerable, and resist the reduction of life to an equation. Sacrifices will always be necessary in a healthcare system, but they must be sacrifices of commitment to care, not lives surrendered to convenience.

The path forward demands thoughtful reform and a collective reimagining of our values. If we value dignity and compassion, we must ensure that they remain more than rhetoric—they must be the principles that guide our every decision.