Absence Marketing

Absence has become the fastest way to signal trust in a low-trust consumer economy.

In 2026, businesses prioritize what’s missing in a product as much as—if not more than—what’s in it. “No sugar added,” “No parabens,” “No PFAs,” “No dyes,” “No aluminum,” “No microplastics,” “No sulfates.” “No ____.” These claims now appear more prominently, and more frequently, than “All natural” or any meaningful description of what actually makes up a product. Modern brands are defined as much by what they exclude as what they include.

Is absence proof of care and restraint? What does this phenomenon say about the state of consumerism today? Are businesses trying to resonate with customers by speaking directly to their fears—or by offering relief from a world that feels increasingly risky, polluted, and opaque?

People eventually called bullshit on big companies stuffing products with things that optimized production and margins, not health. Food is the clearest example. The internet created a world where consumers share ingredient lists, studies, screenshots, and accusations in real time. Brands can’t hide anymore.

RXBAR (“No B.S.”) is a good example of the beginning of the shift and its labels emphasized what was in the product rather than what was absent. I don’t like RXBARs, but that’s beside the point. “100 eggs. 8 dates. Etc.” In hindsight, that looks like phase one. Maybe now we’re in phase two: brands realizing that a bold headline about what’s *not* in a product resonates faster and more deeply than explaining what is. Food and beverage tends to lead, and other industries follow—skincare, seed-oil avoidance apps, and now Instagram ads for plastic-free boxers designed to protect male fertility (algorithm reveal).

This phenomenon runs parallel to broader trends around health and threat elimination. People buy because they’re scared of the consequences of bad stuff. Take sobriety for example. Experts like Huberman outline the dangers of alcohol and dismantle the “one glass of red wine” narrative. More recently, Scott Galloway has urged young people to drink again so they don’t miss out on social development and shared experience. So maybe Absence Marketing *is* all about fears and/or avoiding them, feeling like you’re dodging threats.

I wonder if voices like Galloway signal that Absence Marketing is nearing its crest—where consumers begin to re-evaluate which fears are worth optimizing for and which ones quietly steal joy, texture, and social connection from everyday life. How do you decide?

My grandma always said: “everything in moderation.”

•••

We didn’t start Whim with a calculated strategy to capitalize on fears about microplastics in our brains, blood, and sperm.  But here we are, selling shirts made from 100% American merino wool, sourced from certified regenerative sheep ranches—verified by third parties to improve land health. We arrived here through a sense of sacred errantry – day by day year by year making nice things and wanting to make them nicer. Make clothes in the back of a dry cleaner in Chicago, sell them to Nordstrom, get fed up with sales, cold call a sheep rancher, talk for two hours, spend two years figuring out a supply chain, write a blog post about meal replacement bars, etc.

I could probably sell more shirts by loudly advertising what’s not in them: no microplastics—not in the fabric, not in the horn buttons, not in the cotton labels, not in the recycled paper packaging.

“These shirts won’t kill you.”

It just doesn’t feel right. We don’t live like that. I’ve flirted with absence-driven habits myself. I stopped drinking for month-long stretches. I read “Meat is for Pussies” and went plant based once. I own a Berkey water filter but maybe tap water is good? Builds toughness. 

One is clear – having the time and headspace to *even care* about these types of “threats” is the real luxury here... the No Paraben face wash is a symptom of it, and we’d all be better off by being more grateful about the privilege to think about how to avoid these invisible threats than scared of their potential harm to us.

There’s no doubt many products contain genuinely bad stuff. Consumers should hold companies accountable. Governments should regulate some, how and how much? Next question. 

All of that is true.

That said—why not eat a Dorito when you want?

We won’t make polyester shirts. Real men don’t wear polyester. But I’ll still wear my Mitchell & Ness UNC Tar Heel shorts.