CULT PHENOM
Ron Poisson shares how denim-rooted Cult of Individuality stays close to the culture.
on a mild early february thursday afternoon,
Cult of Individuality’s Garment District showroom thrummed with creative energy. Talent from polar ends of the musical spectrum rifled through racks packed with crystal-blinged denim, bleached-out shredded jeans, studded leather jackets, and logo-heavy streetwear blaring in big block letters, HVMAN, the brand’s younger, streetsavvier sibling. → Onetime Vogue model and CFDA New York Fashion Week ambassador Young Paris, a rising afrobeat singer/songwriter clad in cowboy attire complete with a ten-gallon Stetson hat, sized up Cult’s hot-off-the-assembly-line arrivals. Eric Vanlerberghe and Dylan Menoian of Grammy-nominated Detroit rap- and punk-minded metal band I Prevail stayed true to their rocker roots. The respective lead singer and guitarist each picked out standard-issue stretchy black skinny jeans to wear that evening when the five-member group—whose platinum-certified cover of Taylor Swift’s “Blank Space” shot them to fame nearly a decade ago—thrilled hundreds of metal fans gathered at Manhattan’s historic Gramercy Theatre. → Ron Poisson wouldn’t have it any other way.
A vocalist and rock aficionado himself, Poisson and two co-founders hatched Cult of Individuality during the Great Recession of 2008, right when the economy “bottomed out” and yanked retail on a rollercoaster ride. Despite the seemingly inauspicious start, launching with $145 price tags when “$200 was an expensive pair of jeans” helped Cult penetrate stores that wouldn’t otherwise have entertained an unproven upstart, all but guaranteeing wholesalers up to triple their typical margin, said Poisson, the private company’s owner and creative director.
Taking style cues from “fashion-forward” European brands like Miss Sixty and Diesel, Cult steadily secured a place for itself in premium department stores and higher-end boutiques, turning organic word of mouth into valuable hype among cultural insiders. Poisson envisioned
Cult as a vintage-minded brand
with a little rebellious, antiestablishment edge sprinkled in for good measure.
“Denim is a cult phenomenon, and it’s also that individual expression of who you are,” he said. “You and I could wear the same jeans in dark blue or black, but how we merchandise that is [unique]. I love denim as a canvas, and to me, denim is a backbone of American fashion. I mean, everybody wears jeans.”
LOGO MANIA
Poisson admits the journey wasn’t always smooth sailing, but the imprint’s modest genesis— starting with just eight men’s relaxed and bootcut jeans— blossomed into a streetwear tour de force known for collabs with Bob Marley, the Sex Pistols, Public Enemy and other marquee icons of music and culture. Cult’s denim prices now sit in the “not inexpensive” $200-$300 range. That’s nowhere near the heady heights of a Balmain or a Gucci, Poisson said, but it’s well above the easily accessible, mass-market territory.
The creative maven believes Cult of Individuality’s logo—nodding to Jean Michel Basquiat’s famous crown—ignited the brand’s mojo when the insignia emerged some five or six years ago. “It took us a long time to come up with that logo for something that embodies and symbolizes the brand without having to say Cult of Individuality, you know, because that's a mouthful,” Poisson said. With the logo emblazoned on everything from hats to hoodies, consumers started buying into the brand without even knowing it, cementing the label’s appeal with the countercultural crowd, he added.
Cult of Individuality is seeing notable growth in China, a fashionloving market where logos just won’t quit. “We’re working very hard because the logo has really resonated in the Asian community,” Poisson said. He’s keeping a close eye on Douyin, the ByteDanceowned Chinese social app akin to QVC “on steroids” where influencers hawk products in a round-the-clock online shopping marathon. America, he said, needs a little of this livestream magic to jolt flagging store sales.
The company created a little magic of its own during the pandemic, renegotiating its headquarters lease to add more space and build a performance stage where artists joined the then-new Cult Sessions podcast in free-flowing, “friend-to-friend” conversations that engaged listeners unmoored from their typical daily routines. Sales continued apace, said Poisson of the popup podcast’s impact. Cult’s lone Los Angeles warehouse continued to ship orders during shutdowns while retail partners kept the “back door open” to fulfill digital demand.
Today, Cult keeps that musical momentum alive, hosting album release parties and other exclusive events once or twice a month inside the intimate showroom, where tufted leather sofas nestled at stage left invite visitors to savor libations from the well-stocked bar just feet away. Poisson sees the space as a “destination” where artists alight for unplugged performances complementing their bigger New York shows, fueling a virtuous cycle that “continues to build around the brand.”
Inspired by the Covid boom in creativity, Poisson became lead singer in Tempest, a band formed with Evanescence drummer Will Hunt, and guitarists Chris Cain and Doc Coyle, and bassist Kyle Konkiel, all of Los Angeles heavy metal band Bad Wolves.
CONSISTENCY AND COLLABS
Cult wouldn’t have secured these external successes without the nitty-gritty operational work that goes into creating a culturally resonant brand with a time-hardened appeal. And that, said Poisson, begins with a manufacturing partner allied with the brand virtually from day one.
He credits much of the company’s achievement to his two-pronged co-founding team, a “passionate” denim expert who runs one of China’s biggest jeanswear factories and installed his supply chain-savvy niece to handle the logistics of shipping and receiving in Cult’s L.A. facility. This value chain integration helps Cult keep its foot on the gas pedal, trying new washes, finishes and silhouettes without compromising on a steadfast commitment to quality. The company has yet to have a shipment detained by U.S.
Customs and Border Protection, Poisson said, citing Cult’s history of sourcing Australian-grown cotton. Early on in his career, Poisson realized the vertical advantage of getting in bed with a denim producer, a move that has paid off.
Some 15 years since Day One, Cult sees an expansive future beyond its founding roots in denim. It sponsored the skate ramp at Project Las Vegas in February, “doubling down” in a bigger way on the skateboarding activation it backed at last year’s trade show, said Kyle Anglin, Cult’s vice president of sales and a veteran of Adidas and Lacoste. Cult is also kicking around a shoe collab that would “parlay into the position we’re taking into the skating community,” added Poisson, whose own footwear wardrobe consists of Golden Goose, Doc Martens, Converse and, of course, Vans—perhaps the ideal sneaker confederate for the brand’s grand ambitions.
And after pulling back on women’s denim—only available in Australia and New Zealand after other markets stalled—
Cult believes the time is right to relaunch the category this year, starting with a few styles at key Las Vegas trade fairs. But like so many similar growth-hungry brands, Cult set its sights on building a lifestyle empire beyond the boundaries of fashion.
“We want to push anything that has a logo on it. We want to penetrate your house,” Poisson said, rattling off skateboards, surf boards, slides, belts, keychains, underwear, sunglasses as product possibilities. Cult has already tried its hand at candles and cannabis paraphernalia, even Zippo lighters and umbrellas. “Look at Supreme,” Poisson said of the VF-owned label synonymous with street culture. “They sold a brick with their logo on it. That’s the power of branding and marketing.”
Poisson might have stars in his eyes, but Cult will never abandon its origins creating “silhouettes and fabrics for this musician that was out on stage.” That means oodles of novelty and crazy embellishments for the fashion “eccentric” who craves something different and can pony up $800 for a jacket or $600 for jeans.
“We’re pushing the envelope,” Poisson said, describing a new leather-like coated denim. “We spray coat the jean seven times, so it takes 24 hours every time you spray it. Let it sit there hanging in the laundry, dry, and the next day it’s sprayed again.” The factory hates this drawn-out process, he joked, but it’s worth it to clinch the right touch and feel.
Quality is at the core of what Cult is trying to do. That means using premium Lycra T400 yarns to create comfortable, high recovery stretch in popular skinny jeans. Or fusing velvet atop denim to create a suedey, velour type of fabric. Or sourcing selvedge denim from Japan. Or grinding and handsanding denim for a jacquard hand with a camouflage aesthetic. The list goes on and on.
Another way quality shows up is in how Cult authentically speaks to its core consumer—urbandwelling, Black and brown Gen Z guys who supply some 80 percent of the company’s sales. Employee headcount reflects Cult’s customer demographics, which sometimes helps to open doors in a way that Poisson might not, noted Ahmal Marsh, managing partner at Cult’s publicist, Slusa Productions.
Cult never wants to be a “copycat brand that doesn’t necessarily have a background or story attached to it,” Marsh said, describing the label as something bigger than simply where it’s distributed. “It’s really a culture—it’s DJs, it’s skaters, folks that are in tune and attached to our culture that goes above race,” he said, with music as the driving force that unites the brand community.
“We can get lost in the sauce if we don’t align ourselves with partners who also speak to excellence,” Mash said.
DENIM IS A BACKBONE OF AMERICAN FASHION.” Cult of Individuality