Filed Under: Cult of Personality
They’ve already sold you sneakers, tequila, NFTs, rosé in a can, lip kits, and Bluetooth vibrators shaped like their fucking initials. Now they want to sell you weed. Not the weed they smoke. The weed they slap their name on and walk away from. The kind grown in bulk, sealed in Mylar, and jacked up thirty bucks because it’s got a rapper’s logo on the lid.
You’re not buying cannabis. You’re buying proximity to fame.
They are calling it culture. They are calling it premium. They are calling it curated. It’s not. It’s mids with a marketing budget. The kind of flower you wouldn’t brag about if it didn’t come with a celebrity’s face attached. The kind you convince yourself is fire because you paid sixty bucks and the packaging looks like an Apple product.
And they know you’ll buy it.
Tyson 2.0, Houseplant, Khalifa Kush, Monogram, Garcia Hand Picked, Cookies, Leafs by Snoop. Some of them started with real vision. Some of them even had good weed once. But what they all have now is a contract. A distribution deal. A photo shoot. A PR team telling you this is what elite cannabis looks like. It is not. Elite cannabis doesn’t need a commercial. It needs a nose. A cure. A grower who gives a shit.
You think these people are pheno hunting? You think Jay-Z is in the back with a jeweler’s loupe breaking down trichomes by hand? They are selling you smoke like it’s merch. Like it’s another drop. Like it’s fashion. And the worst part? It’s working.
Because too many people have forgotten how to judge weed.
Legacy growers made this plant matter. They kept it alive when it was illegal, when it got you locked up, when it had to be grown behind fake walls and sold out of glove boxes. They did not do it for Instagram. They did it for survival. For culture. For connection. And now they’re watching the shelves fill up with celebrity eighths full of bunk flower that couldn’t get a real smoker high if it came with a free torch and a prayer.
These aren’t brands. They’re cosplays.
And if you are falling for it, you are not participating in cannabis culture. You are helping bury it.
What does it say that people still sit in prison for selling weed while celebrities roll out pre-rolls like it’s just another product launch? What does it say that your favorite strain now comes with a brand partnership and a promo code? What does it say when the herb you light is less about what it does and more about who it’s attached to?
This plant deserves better than being someone’s side hustle.
Stop buying weed because you recognize the name. Start buying it because it moves you. Because it smells like the past and tastes like the future. Because someone grew it who knew what the fuck they were doing. Not because some actor said it was gas on Fallon.
And if you don’t know the difference between real and branded, ask a grower. Ask someone who’s been arrested for it. Ask someone who grew up hiding it. Ask someone who still smokes out of a mason jar, not a celebrity collab pouch with a QR code.
Because here’s the truth. A lot of that stuff on the shelf is empty. Empty story. Empty bud. Empty connection. All gloss, no soul.
And if you’re paying sixty bucks for eighths that smoke like the inside of a sunglass case, you’re not a connoisseur. You’re a mark.
Wake the fuck up.
The future of this plant belongs to the people who still care about how it’s grown. Not the people trying to make it the next energy drink.
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