From strong brands to heavy earths. A geopolitical turning point?
Brands are—par excellence—the symbol of Western world order. They represent not just products but power, influence, identity. Apple, Microsoft, IBM, Ford, Coca-Cola, Nike, McDonald’s, Google, ExxonMobil, Pfizer, or Disney are not just corporations. They embody a cultural universalism inseparably linked to American hegemony in the 20th century. Whoever dominates global markets also shapes signs, values, and lifestyles. Brands are considered the true currency of modernity—visible, desirable, identity-forming.
But this order seems to be faltering. While Western societies continue to focus on differentiation, positioning, and symbolic value, the material center of global production is shifting in a direction fundamentally foreign to the brand logic. The new order is not based on attention but on dependence. Not on meaning, but on ownership. Not on logos, but on control.
At the heart of this emerging reality lie the so-called commodities—standardized raw materials that circulate globally in interchangeable bulk. They form the backbone of industrial value creation, the foundation of every transformation—from infrastructure and food systems to digitalization. They are the economic bedrock of a world that is increasingly refocusing on the material. Their economic weight is substantial—globally and structurally. According to the World Bank, commodities account for between 20 and 25 percent of global trade. In many resource-based economies, they generate more than 80 percent of export revenues.
Yet their role remains curiously invisible. Commodities have no brands. Producers and suppliers in these markets rarely seek visibility. Brand awareness is not part of their business model—on the contrary: a strong corporate brand is often considered a liability. Economic value here derives from purity levels, technical norms, delivery schedules—not from image or differentiation. These goods are interchangeable, standardized, anonymous—and their anonymity is not a weakness but the precondition for their central role. Copper prices are set in London, grain is traded via futures in Chicago, and raw materials like cobalt, crude oil, or aluminum are moved by trading houses in Geneva.
A particularly urgent example is the market for so-called heavy rare earth elements—materials such as dysprosium and terbium, as well as the functionally critical neodymium, which are indispensable for nearly all future technologies. wind turbines, electric motors, semiconductors, lasers, drones, satellites, missiles. “Rare earths” may sound like a rarity, but the term is misleading: these metals are not actually rare, but they are difficult to access and costly to refine. Without them, there is no energy transition, no digital infrastructure, no modern defense capability. And yet, hardly anyone knows them. They have no brand value, no packaging, no communication strategy. Their price is determined solely by physical necessity—and geopolitical control.
This is where a strong weak signal emerges. The growing structural importance of these elements signals not only the rise of a new material geopolitics but also the potential decline of the Western brand order. While brands are loud, visible, and saturated with meaning, these raw materials operate silently, invisibly—exerting power not through culture, but through dependence. Where meaning once arose from visibility, it now derives from necessity. And where narratives once ruled, resources now decide.
Whoever controls this market controls the industrial future. And that actor, increasingly unchallenged, is China. Around 70 percent of global extraction comes from there—but even more importantly: over 90 percent of global refining capacity lies in Chinese hands. Do we know the key companies? Have we heard of their products? Hardly. And yet, China not only controls the raw materials but also the know-how, infrastructure, and logistics to make them industrially usable. The U.S., Europe, and Japan are effectively dependent. And this dependency is not only economic—it is strategic. And it is asymmetrical.
In 2025, what has long been evident becomes starkly clear: China uses its leverage. In April, it restricts exports of seven critical elements—including dysprosium and terbium—targeting the U.S. and Europe. The result: Chinese exports drop by a third, U.S. defense contractors report acute material shortages, and several European suppliers temporarily shut down operations. Export becomes a tool of geopolitical governance. Bloomberg speaks of a “quiet resource war.” AP reports that export licenses are now granted selectively, and China reserves the right to impose new restrictions at any time. The Washington Post cites U.S. officials who say national reserves would not cover more than 60 days of interrupted supply. An internal U.S. Department of Commerce report states: “The structural dependence on Chinese refining capacity cannot be overcome in the short term. Any export slowdown has immediate security policy implications.” Strategic autonomy? An illusion.
When it comes to this market, China trades in control—not in brands. It does not sell stories but scarcity. It produces no narrative but dependency. This marks a shift in the center of economic agency. The classical Western conception of market power— differentiate, create desire, build emotional attachment—meets a new logic: control, dosage, constraint. The brand—long the symbol of Western influence—loses its privileged status. In this new order, what counts is not visibility but inevitability. Not promises, but delivery. Not uniqueness, but elemental necessity.
What if access to a single gram of yttrium today carries more geopolitical weight than any brand promise? What if the future of global power lies not in symbolic meaning but in chemical purity? What if, in places beyond the reach of branding, the future of the world is already being decided? The present suggests: Rare earths now outweigh strong brands. Not just differently. More powerfully. More decisively. More effectively. And this is more than a shift in economic thinking. It is a geopolitical turn.
A modest proposal to end on: Brand strategists of the world—stick to your core skill: trend surfing. And where is the trend heading? Away from logos, slogans, and branded identities—and straight into supply chains, geopolitical leverage, and critical raw materials. If you want to stay relevant, think less about disruption and purpose—and more about dysprosium and neodymium.
