MLMs are a cult

Multi-level marketing, or MLMs, certainly has a reputation as predatory. They employ hard-line tactics to recruit new salespeople, often young mothers, by promising a flexible schedule that allows them to be with their children and earn a living. When they don’t make money, upper levels of the team reach out and “encourage” them to exhaust their network, which includes family, friends, and coworkers.

I know this firsthand because I was part of an essential oil company when I taught yoga. When I first learned about the oils, my initial question was, “Do I have to recruit other people?” I had no interest in doing that, and I was told it wasn’t necessary. But months later, when my upline learned my meager sales weren’t helping their bottom line, I started getting the hard push.

I was invited to attend an annual event where reps from all around the world came together for networking, food, and awards. It was held in Salt Lake City, Utah, at the Delta Arena, where the Utah Jazz play. Although I was invited, I had to foot the bill for airfare, hotel, and food. Remember, MLM reps are not employees; they are 1099 workers. Independent contractors. Everything you do for your business is on your dime, including corporate awards ceremonies.

I met up with some of the women who were in various levels of my up and down-line. They were lovely. One was a physician assistant, while the others worked their oil biz full-time.

The arena was PACKED. I mean, packed with people. Thousands. One of the company execs came out on stage, multi-colored lights flashing, rock music blasting. The crowd erupted, and everyone stood, screaming and shouting. It was like being at a rock concert in the eighties.

I remained seated, as did my physician-assistant friend. The rest of the event went off in a similar fashion up to the end, when the newly minted Diamond-level representatives walked on stage like Miss America contestants. Dressed in gowns and full make-up, they wound their way around the stage, each getting a large eruption of applause after their name was called.

Physician assistant and I side-eyed each other, still seated amongst the throng of oil reps. We both realized with horror that we were in a cult.

You may think, “Duh, of course it’s a cult. How could you not know?” But I wanted to use oils for sensory relaxation in my yoga class. One positive experience led to another, including an oil that could stop my son’s excessive nosebleeds within seconds, and I thought, hmm, maybe there is something to these oils. So I dug in, learning the chemical makeup of oils, reading peer-reviewed studies (there aren’t many), and embracing the basics: lavender for sleep, tea tree oil to sanitize yoga mats and help my tween sons’ acne, and orange for an uplifting home aroma.

Things started to fall apart when reps started sharing medical advice, using oils as a replacement for physician-guided care, and making statements such as “baking soda can cure cancer.” One woman in a Facebook group recommended using an oil on a tampon to help with vaginal infections. It got scary, fast. And I couldn’t shake the cult mentality of the thousands of mostly women in the Delta Arena that day.

Although I loved using oils and continue to use some to this day, I left the business shortly thereafter.