How Brands Build Belonging

Designing Rituals of Engagement

Every morning, before the sun warms the red clay paths of Kaptagat, a man rises in silence. No alarm. No phone. Just instinct and discipline.

He pours a cup of Kenyan tea — strong, sweet, simple. Then he laces his shoes. Left first. Always left.

By 6:00 a.m., he’s out on the trail with his training partners. No music. No distractions. Just breath and stride. The air is thin at 8,000 feet, but their pace is steady, almost meditative.

He runs twice a day, six days a week. Logs 220 kilometers. Eats ugali and vegetables. Sleeps by 9 p.m., naps every afternoon. Records every workout in a worn diary. Leads chores at the training camp. Lives away from his family to devote himself to a life of rhythm and repetition.

He’s not obsessed with breaking records. He’s obsessed with honoring the ritual. Because he believes greatness isn’t achieved by chasing comfort — but by embracing pain, again and again, until fear dissolves and the mind becomes quiet.

He doesn’t use supplements. Doesn’t tweet his mileage. Doesn’t chase fame. He lives simply, because simplicity is where discipline thrives. And for him, discipline is freedom.

“Only the disciplined are free.”

Then came the day the world watched him do what no one had done before: run a marathon in under two hours. But it wasn’t just his pace that moved us — it was his poise. He smiled through the pain. His stride was poetry. His presence, unshakable.

The shoes he wore were designed just for him — meticulously engineered to match the quiet rituals of a man who never ran for applause.

The brand behind the shoes didn’t lead his story. It followed it. Adapted to him. Learned from him. It wasn’t the logo that moved us. It was the miles. The silence. The monastic discipline.

And only after he crossed the finish line — arms raised, calm as ever — did the world learn his name:

Eliud Kipchoge.

He didn’t become great because he sought greatness.

He became great because he honored the ritual — every tea, every stride, every act of saying no to comfort and yes to the path. And in doing so, he built a world around him. Runners watched. Imitated. Aligned their lives — and their purchases — to his way of being. Not because a brand told them to, but because a ritual invited them in.

This is what brands often forget: the logo fades, the ad ends, the product changes — but a ritual remains. It’s what makes someone say, “These are the shoes I lace up before I do something hard.”

It’s what turns customers into participants.
And it’s how community is born — not from a campaign, but from a shared rhythm.

Great brands don’t just tell stories.
They design rituals of belonging.

Because in the end, it’s not the product people remember.
It’s what they did with it — again and again — until it became part of who they are.

Why Rituals Matter in Branding

Rituals are how we remember who we are.

Not just intellectually — but physically, emotionally, communally. They are the invisible architecture of our lives. They mark beginnings and endings, give shape to chaos, and — most importantly — they make meaning stick.

When Kipchoge laces his shoes in silence, he isn’t preparing to run.
He’s reminding himself who he is.

And this is where branding too often misses the mark.

Most brands focus on messaging. On performance. On reach.
They ask, How do we get noticed?
The better question is:
How do we get remembered?

What makes a brand unforgettable isn’t the campaign.
It’s the ritual — the way a product shows up, again and again, in the rhythm of someone’s life. The way it’s used, worn, spoken about. Ritual is how a brand becomes less of a company and more of a companion.

A morning runner doesn’t think of Nike as a corporation.
She thinks of them at 5:45 a.m., when she steps into the cold, laces up, and hears the voice in her ear say, “You’ve got this.”

That’s not marketing.
That’s memory.
That’s belonging.

Brand rituals are the small, sacred moments where identity is formed — not just the brand’s, but the customer’s. They say: This is who I am when I do this. This is what I believe. This is the kind of life I choose.

And the smartest brands don’t interrupt that rhythm.
They become it.

Designing Rituals of Engagement

Rituals are not invented. They are discovered.

You don’t create them by brainstorming clever campaigns. You uncover them by asking deeper questions:

Where in someone’s life does our brand already live?
What emotional moment do we share with them, again and again?
What does it mean to them — not just what does it do?

Rituals often start small. A runner’s pre-dawn lace-up. A skincare lover’s evening cleanse. A coffee drinker’s first sip in silence. They’re not flashy. But they are sacred. Because they carry emotional weight. They create continuity. They reinforce identity.

A brand becomes powerful when it transforms from a thing I use into a way I begin.

That’s why campaigns fade. But rituals last.
Campaigns try to persuade. Rituals invite participation.

Nike doesn’t just sell shoes. It choreographs a lifestyle.
The shoes appear in the moment a person chooses discomfort, commitment, change. Over time, that moment becomes emotionally charged. Then repeated. Then ritualized. The brand is no longer in the ritual.

It is the ritual.

That’s the highest form of branding:
Not attention. Not even admiration.
Integration — when your brand becomes part of how someone faces the world.

Rituals Work for Everybody.

This Sunday, I’ll run the Madrid Half Marathon.

I’ve done the training. Logged the miles. Looked after my running shoes. I’ve studied the streets of Madrid, checked the elevation, planned my route. I’ve done strength sessions at OrangeTheory, taken my vitamins, stuck to my fasting routine, and followed the taper.

None of this is glamorous. It’s repetition. It’s habits. It’s a routine.
But that’s exactly the point.

These rituals help me show up ready — physically, mentally, emotionally. They’re the small decisions that build confidence and clarity over time.

And they’re not just for athletes.
They’re for anyone building something meaningful — whether it’s a brand, a practice, or a better version of themselves.

Because when a ritual works, it doesn’t just prepare you.
It reminds you of who you are — and why you started.

And that’s the highest form of branding:
Not attention. Not even admiration.
Integration — when your brand becomes part of how someone faces the world.

The Anatomy of a Brand Ritual

That’s why great brands don’t sell. They cultivate.

They don’t push products into people’s lives. They plant ideas, nurture identity, and design rhythms that help people become who they want to be.

And at the heart of that journey is the ritual.

Look closely, and every great ritual follows a quiet choreography.
It begins with an object — a pair of shoes, a serum, a pen, a plunge pool. But the object is only the doorway. What comes next is the action — the behavior that signals this is what I do to feel like myself.

The morning run. The five-minute breathwork. The silent walk into the sauna.

Over time, these actions gather emotional weight — a sense of readiness, clarity, care. That emotion is what transforms a habit into a ritual. And when enough people share that rhythm, a community emerges.

Running is the masterclass.
From the first lacing of the shoes to the Strava upload that completes the loop, every step is part of a larger choreography. Nike didn’t invent it. They built for it.

Othership didn’t invent breathwork. But they ritualized it — through curated music, ceremonial pacing, and language that makes every session feel sacred.

Skin Rocks turned skincare into a moment of self-respect. The act of cleansing becomes a quiet affirmation: I’m worth caring for.

Muji’s products offer more than minimalism. They invite simplicity as a daily ritual. Fewer logos. Fewer choices. More calm.

These brands don’t interrupt your life.
They meet you in the moment you’re becoming someone — and they offer a hand.

That’s the secret:
The most powerful brands don’t lead the ritual.
They join it.

The Ritual That Remains

Long after the ad fades, the scroll continues, the trend dies — what remains is the ritual.

The shoes you reach for before doing something hard.
The breath you take before stepping into the unknown.
The serum that says, today, I take care of myself.

People don’t build relationships with brands because of slogans.
They build them through rhythm. Repetition. Through the acts that accompany their growth.

Kipchoge doesn’t talk about greatness. He talks about tea. About lacing up. About showing up. And in those quiet repetitions, he became the most trusted runner in the world — not because of what he said, but because of how he lived.

That’s what rituals do.
They create memory.
They build meaning.
They connect us to who we are — and to the brands that understand who we’re trying to become.

So if you’re building a brand, don’t just ask:
How do we get people to care?
Ask:
What ritual are we part of? What rhythm are we joining?

Because in the end, the brands we love most don’t just show up in our lives.
They show up in our days.
Again and again — until they become part of the person we’re becoming.

And that’s what makes them unforgettable.

If this resonated with you, you’ll love my new book, The Mentor Brand: How Great Companies Become Irreplaceable. It’s a deep dive into the storytelling frameworks, rituals, and purpose-driven strategies that help brands stop selling and start guiding. Grab your copy here.