The Colonization of the Mind: How Name Brand shape of psyche and Perception of Wealth

I was browsing a yard sale in the sweltering southern heat, not really looking for anything in particular—just passing time. Tables were lined with the usual mix of old clothes, dusty decor, chipped glassware, and half-used bottles of household cleaners.

As I moved past the clutter, an older Black woman beside me let out a delighted exclamation.

“Ooooh! They got name brands! Look at this! Lysol, Pine-Sol, Tide—now that’s what I call quality!”

She clutched a half-full bottle of Clorox like it was a rare gem, smiling wide, satisfied with her find. I smiled back politely, but inside, something tugged at me.

I couldn’t relate. Not because I don’t clean. Not because I’m too “woke” to appreciate a deal. But because I’ve never trusted name brands as a symbol of quality or effectiveness.

To me, the obsession with name brands—especially in cleaning products, clothes, food, and even medicine—has always felt more like a hand-me-down ideology than a matter of truth.

A deeply embedded narrative that tells us: If it has a recognizable name, it must be better. But better for who? And at what cost?

The Psychological Impact of “Name Brand Worship”

The woman’s excitement wasn’t superficial. It was layered. Her reaction was rooted in a generational mindset that equates “name brand” with survival, trustworthiness, and social validation. For many Black, brown, and working-class families, name brands were once the signal that you had "made it," or that you cared enough to buy "the good stuff."

Generic brands were seen as poor, risky, or even shameful.

Psychologically, name brands offer something deeper than just product performance—they offer status, security, and identity.

• Status: Name brands can function like social armor. In a world that constantly devalues marginalized communities, wearing a Nike hoodie, carrying a Coach purse, or cleaning your house with Febreze becomes an unconscious way to declare, “I am enough. I have value.”

• Security: For generations raised in scarcity, buying name-brand products became associated with safety and reliability. If the commercial said it kills 99.9% of germs, and everyone you know uses it, it must be true.

• Identity: Brands market lifestyles, not just goods. We absorb these messages and use them to shape how we see ourselves and others. Someone wearing off-brand shoes is still often perceived as "less than" in some circles—not because of the actual product, but because of the meaning we’ve been taught to assign to labels.

The Colonization of the Mind

Let’s call it what it is: a colonized mindset.

Brand loyalty, especially when it overrides personal research, economic logic, or cultural sustainability, reflects how capitalism and colonialism have crept into our psyche.

Companies spend billions every year convincing us that their product is the only product—and that our proximity to them says something about our value as people.

This isn’t just about class; it’s about internalized messaging.

Many marginalized groups have been taught to trust institutions—brands, religions, governments—more than we trust ourselves.

That’s colonization. It's when the outside world tells you who you should be, what you should value, and what counts as “the best.”

But what happens when “the best” isn’t really better?

• Generic medications are often chemically identical to brand names.

• Off-brand food items are produced in the same factories.

• Homemade cleaning solutions often work as well (or better) than $7 name-brand sprays.

Still, the myth persists.

Unlearning and Choosing Freedom

Reclaiming our minds from the worship of name brands isn’t about judgment—it’s about liberation.

It’s about asking:

• Why do I trust this brand?

• Who taught me that it’s better?

• Does this purchase align with my values or just my conditioning?

It’s not wrong to like quality. But when we tie our identity, worth, or success to a logo or label, we’ve got to pause. We've got to do the work of questioning how our ancestors survived, created, and thrived without a single name-brand product in sight.

Final Thoughts

That day at the yard sale, I didn’t challenge the woman’s joy. I let her have her moment. Maybe those brands remind her of something good—a mother who always cleaned with Pine-Sol, or a time when Tide was a luxury her family finally afforded.

But for me, choosing not to chase name brands is my quiet rebellion. It’s how I unlearn the idea that I need permission—corporate, cultural, or otherwise—to trust my own choices.

It’s how I decolonize my mind.

And maybe next time, I’ll share that with her. Or maybe I’ll just keep smiling and choosing differently, one unbranded bottle at a time.