Why the New Age Fetish for 'Tribe' Isn’t Cute
“Grateful for my tribe,” they post. “Yoga tribe,” they call themselves. “Just me and my tribe sipping cacao,” they moan. And just like that, we’ve entered the realm of unexamined colonial language… draped in earth tones and good intentions.
You see, “tribe” isn’t just a cute synonym for community. It’s a word with baggage. Not the chic, patchwork-leather-backpack kind, but the heavy, centuries-old kind filled with racial hierarchies, imperial taxonomy, and the persistent echo of European men scribbling in journals about “noble savages” while stealing land and resources and calling it “discovery.”
Historically, “tribe” was a tool (one of many) used to flatten, categorize, and diminish entire peoples. It was colonial shorthand for “not fully human,” for “those people over there who dance around fires and haven’t yet discovered trousers or capitalism.” Indigenous and African societies were called “tribes” not because it accurately described their social structures, but because it helped colonizers feel superior. “Tribe” was never just a descriptor, it was a judgment hiding behind anthropology.
Fast forward to now, and suddenly “tribe” is the name of your favorite organic skincare brand, your life coach’s Telegram channel, and that yoga studio down the street with the macramé altar and ayahuasca retreats (flights and professional mental aftercare not included). Somehow, a term once used to dehumanize is now being repackaged to sell you empowerment. Usually by white people in feather earrings who think smudging with sage and “love and light”-ing everyone and everything fixes neocolonialism and cultural appropriation.
It’s the spiritual-industrial complex in action. A place where words get recycled faster than plastic water bottles… scrubbed of history, sprinkled with essential oils, and repurposed as marketing copy.
And I get it. We’re all longing for belonging. Alienation is the currency of our times. In a world where destroying land and people is business as usual, and “community” means liking the same meme, who wouldn’t want a tribe? But using that word — especially when you’re not from a culture where it was imposed — isn’t neutral. It’s part of a pattern where dominant cultures borrow the cool, earthy, mystical vibes of marginalized peoples, while sidestepping the systemic violence those same peoples still endure.
Which brings us to “community,” the safer, shinier cousin of “tribe.” Probably once a word full of depth and rootedness, it’s now a semantic inflatable — lightweight, bouncy, and easy to toss around. Join a WhatsApp group and boom: community. Attend a women’s circle once and share your Human Design chart = community. Spend two hours in a yurt drinking lukewarm cacao with strangers who all “feel called”? Deep community.
We’ve turned community into a vibe. It can be a playlist, a mood board, or a curated group photo with just enough melanin to look inclusive. But real community is not just good vibes and feel good moments, it’s also inconvenient. It’s showing up when it’s not pretty. Like conflict, repair, and that long, awkward pause after someone says the hard thing and nobody knows what to do. It’s unsexy labor, mutual care, and the slow, unglamorous work of being in relationship — not just when it’s affirming, but when it’s hard.
And that’s where the New Age marketing machine loses the plot. It wants the look and feel of ancestral depth, without the responsibility. Ritual without accountability. “Tribes” that gather under the full moon but disappear when there’s injustice on the ground. Community, but only the parts that can be monetized, aestheticized, or turned into sharable content.
Here’s a radical idea: let’s use words that reflect the world we want to build, not the one that colonized us. Let’s get creative, let’s start imagining. And please can we just stop dressing appropriation in boho chic? Can we just stop calling every curated clique a tribe and start doing the work of actual relationship? The messy, non-linear, deeply human kind?
Maybe, just maybe, the real flex isn’t having a “tribe” but building community that doesn’t need to look pretty?
If this resonated with you, moved you, or made you pause and reflect – consider this your cue. I’ve set up a virtual tip jar via Buy Me a Coffee. No monthly commitments, no strings, no memberships required.
Your sweet kindness helps keep the thoughts flowing, the energy exchange intact, and the glow of my inner goddess alive. It won’t fix capitalism, but it might buy me five minutes of joy (or at least a cortado).
Gracias. Thank you. Jërëjëf. Merci. Obrigada. Danke. Arigatō. Medaase. Grazie. Hvala. Tack. Asante. Shukran. Teşekkürler. Dziękuję.
