Simultaneously, though, “cult” was starting to be applied to all manner of people who garnered large followings. The rise of “the cult of x” coincided with the explosion of mass media and fandom in new, more fervent forms: We got Beatlemania and Elvis Presley. (“Hobart Arena Is Shrine for Elvis Presley Cult,” one headline in The Troy Daily News read in 1956.) And there were cultural artifacts elevated by small, devoted groups that became known as “cult classics.” According to the Oxford English Dictionary, James Joyce’s “Ulysses” was deemed a “cult book” in 1961.
This use of “cult” does pinpoint an aspect of fandom that has never felt entirely secular. Most people recognize that a devotion to Olivia Rodrigo, or even to Alison Roman or James Joyce, can be more feverish than is natural. Being in a group oriented around one of these people or his or her work provides a sense of identity, direction and belonging. You can say, with relief, I’m a Swiftie. I’m a Deadhead. You know something about who you are and who your fellow travelers might be.
But there’s some loss, I think, when everything is described as a cult. The cult of Taylor Swift, sure, but the cult of Costco? That’s just a store where you go and buy stuff. To belong to that cult signifies only something about what you like to consume. To be a proud member of “the cult of whatever grocery store you happen to like” is to try to say something profound about yourself — your values, your status, your class — through where you shop. Like many clichés, the “cult of” formulation has been laundered through headline-writing and marketing ploys. “The cult of tinned fish” sounds a lot more alluring than “a lot of people really like eating tinned fish these days, huh?” It borrows from the dark magic of the word while flattening it.
Using “cult” to describe our devotion to stuff makes me think not of Manson but of an obsolete use of the word — which, in the 16th century, was an adjective that meant “refined, cultured” or, per the O.E.D., like someone trying to look “neate and cult, thereby to gaine the prayse and vaine opinion and applause of the people.” Joining the cult of Trader Joe’s can do this, at least in the eyes of like-minded people who shop at Trader Joe’s and orient part of their identity around discounted snacks.
In this way, “cult” is about the willingness to hop on the growing bandwagon of a fad. It describes less how someone might stand out, counterculturally, and more how someone might aim his or her consumption toward a highly specific manner of being cultured. In “Cultish,” Montell points out that being a devotee to a specific brand like Glossier can provide an entire “identity template” that will guide your decisions, from perfume to what news sources you choose. As a member of “the cult of Glossier,” you can become cult in that highly particular way. As she writes, “You can simply ask, ‘What would a Glossier girl do?’” The choices, as in any cult, have been made for you.