This post was originally published on Substack and Paragraph
REI has built an empire on the promise of outdoor access for all. Their messaging is warm, inclusive, and aspirational: "A life outdoors is a life well lived." They close on Black Friday to encourage people to #OptOutside. They champion sustainability, equity, and community.
But beneath the carefully crafted brand narrative lies a more uncomfortable truth: REI has become the very thing it claims to oppose.
The Price of Virtue
Let's talk about accessibility. REI's average jacket costs $200-$300. Their tents? $400-$800. Backpacks? $150-$250. For a company that champions "outdoor access for all," their price points tell a different story.
The reality is that REI has positioned itself as a lifestyle brand for the upper-middle class. The outdoors, as REI presents it, isn't for everyone—it's for people who can afford $600 worth of gear for a weekend camping trip.
This wouldn't be problematic if REI didn't simultaneously market itself as the champion of inclusivity and access. But when your diversity campaign features people of color decked out in $1,000+ worth of gear, you're not dismantling barriers to entry—you're just diversifying the demographics of exclusivity.
The Co-op That Forgot Its Roots
REI is technically a co-op, which should mean it operates for the benefit of its members, not shareholders. But somewhere along the way, the co-op model became more marketing tool than operational philosophy.
Yes, members get a dividend. Yes, there are occasional member sales. But these perks are dwarfed by the fundamental inaccessibility of REI's core offerings. A 10% dividend on a $300 purchase is still $270—far outside the budget of the communities REI claims to serve.
Meanwhile, REI's executive compensation remains robust, their stores are strategically placed in affluent neighborhoods, and their product selection increasingly skews toward high-end, premium offerings. The co-op model has become aesthetic rather than structural.
Sustainability Theater
REI loves to talk about sustainability. They have recycling programs, used gear sections, and partnerships with eco-conscious brands. They've committed to ambitious climate goals and regularly publish sustainability reports.
But here's the thing about sustainability in the outdoor industry: it's still fundamentally about selling stuff.
True sustainability would mean helping people repair their gear, encouraging them to buy less, and challenging the culture of constant upgrades and new releases. Instead, REI's sustainability efforts mostly amount to:
- Selling you "sustainable" products (at a premium price)
- Offering to recycle your old gear (so you can buy new gear)
- Marketing their commitment to the environment (while continuing to grow their product catalog)
It's sustainability theater—just enough action to earn progressive credentials without fundamentally challenging the consumption-based business model.
The #OptOutside Paradox
REI's #OptOutside campaign is brilliant marketing. By closing on Black Friday, they positioned themselves as the anti-consumerist alternative in an industry drowning in consumption.
But let's be real: REI isn't asking you to consume less. They're asking you to consume differently. #OptOutside isn't about rejecting materialism—it's about channeling that materialism toward REI products. Go outside! (In our gear.) Reject consumerism! (By consuming our brand of conscious consumption.)
The campaign works because it lets consumers feel good about their purchases. You're not just buying a jacket; you're buying into a lifestyle, a set of values, a movement. You're one of the good consumers.
When Confidence Becomes Complicity
Here's where we get to the heart of it: REI's confidence in its own virtue has made it complicit in the very systems it claims to oppose.
By positioning itself as the "good" outdoor retailer, REI has created a permission structure for conscious consumers to continue consuming without guilt. As long as you're buying from REI (and not those other outdoor retailers), you're doing your part.
This confidence—this unshakeable belief in their own righteousness—has blinded REI to the contradictions at the core of their business model. They've become so focused on telling the right story that they've stopped asking whether they're actually living it.
What Would Real Change Look Like?
Imagine if REI actually lived up to its aspirational messaging. What would that look like?
- Real accessibility: Sliding scale pricing, robust gear rental programs, partnerships with community organizations to provide free gear to underserved communities
- True co-op values: Democratic decision-making, transparent financials, executive compensation tied to median worker pay
- Genuine sustainability: Repair programs that prioritize fixing over replacing, rental-first models, active discouragement of unnecessary purchases
- Honest marketing: Acknowledging the contradictions, admitting the limitations, inviting customers into the complexity rather than offering easy answers
Would this be harder? Absolutely. Would it be less profitable? Probably. But it would be honest.
The Lovable Bubble
REI operates in what I call the "lovable bubble"—a space where progressive values, aspirational lifestyle marketing, and corporate capitalism converge to create something that feels good without necessarily doing good.
Inside this bubble, everyone means well. The marketing team genuinely believes in the mission. The executives see themselves as the good guys. The customers feel virtuous about their purchases. And anyone who questions the model is positioned as cynical or unrealistic.
But bubbles are fragile. And the bigger they get, the more spectacular the pop.
A Call for Complexity
I'm not saying REI is evil. I'm not even saying they're worse than other outdoor retailers (though their moral posturing makes them more worthy of scrutiny).
What I am saying is that we need to get comfortable with complexity. We need to be able to acknowledge that REI can do some good things and participate in harmful systems. That their employees can be passionate about the mission and the company can still perpetuate exclusivity.
We need to pop the lovable bubble—not to destroy REI, but to demand better. To hold them accountable not just to their marketing, but to their stated values.
Because the outdoors should be for everyone. Sustainability should matter. Access should be real.
But pretty words and warm feelings won't get us there. Only honest reckoning and uncomfortable change will.
What do you think? Am I being too harsh, or not harsh enough? Let's talk about it in the comments.