Cultural Sanctions Can Also Be Viewed As Ways That Society

So, my friend Sarah once showed up to a dinner party with a store-bought pie. Not just any pie, but one from a supermarket chain everyone in our circle secretly (and not-so-secretly) loathed. The silence that followed was deafening. Someone actually whispered, “Oh, you didn’t.”

She never brought that brand again. No one yelled. No rules were broken. But society had spoken. Sarah had been hit with a cultural sanction—a quiet, brutal little shove back into line.

We usually think of sanctions as big, government-level stuff, right? Trade embargoes, travel bans, the kind of thing that makes the evening news. But let’s be honest: society uses these tiny, invisible versions all the time.

They’re the nudge you never asked for.

Think of the last time you wore white after Labor Day. (If you’re reading this from anywhere that’s not the U.S., just hold on—this is our weird seasonal fashion trauma.) The looks you got? That’s a sanction. It’s society saying, “Nice try, rebel, but we don’t do that here.”

The funny thing is, these sanctions aren’t just about punishment. They’re about signaling. They tell you, in real-time, what your tribe values. Sarah’s pie debacle? It told her we valued effort and authenticity over convenience. (Or at least, pretending to make an effort.)

And here’s where it gets juicy: cultural sanctions are often faster than the law. You know that awkward feeling when someone cracks a joke that’s just a little too racist, and the whole room freezes? That freeze is a sanction. It works before any lawyer could even open a textbook.

But are they fair?

Oh, absolutely not. And that’s the point. Sanctions are society’s way of saying, “We don’t need a vote on this. We just know.” Which is terrifying and brilliant in equal measure. Think about the “cool kids” table in high school. That whole ecosystem ran on cultural sanctions. Wear the wrong sneakers? Sanction. Laugh too loud? Sanction. Exist while being different? Oh, you got a whole suite of sanctions.

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The irony? We love applying them ourselves. You’ve done it. I’ve done it. When your friend posts a blurry, ugly photo of their “artisanal” sandwich on Instagram and you don’t double-tap? That’s a sanction. The algorithm doesn’t punish them—you do. (You monster.)

Cultural sanctions are basically society’s immune system. They attack anything that looks like a “norm virus.” Veganism used to get sanctioned into oblivion. Now? Bring a kale salad to the barbecue and you’re a hero. The sanctions flip when the majority decides it’s time to change the rules.

And that’s the sneaky part: sanctions don’t just enforce rules—they create them. They’re how a society secretly votes on what’s acceptable, moment by moment, without ever holding a ballot. Ever notice how swearing went from taboo to just… normal? That’s because the sanction for dropping an F-bomb fizzled out. Nobody gasped anymore.

The silent negotiation.

Every time you adjust your behavior to avoid a side-eye or a cold shoulder, you’re negotiating with society. You’re saying, “I accept your terms. Please don’t sanction me.” It’s a little bit like being in a mafia movie, but with better snacks and less gunfire. (Usually.)

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Let’s get real for a second: cultural sanctions can be cruel. They’re how mobbing starts, how bullying gets institutionalized, how “cancel culture” becomes a fire hose. When the sanctions turn into a pile-on, it stops being about social health and starts being about social control. (Ask anyone who’s been on the wrong side of a Twitter storm. They’ll tell you sanctions hurt.)

But they also save us. Without them, we’d have to legislate every tiny behavior. Imagine needing a law to tell your neighbor not to play bagpipes at 3 a.m. The cultural sanction—a dirty look, a curt “are you kidding me?”—does the job with zero paperwork. It’s efficient, even if it’s a little mean.

So next time you feel that weird tension in a room—the kind where everyone avoids a topic like it’s radioactive—remember: you’re inside a living, breathing system of control. You’re watching cultural sanctions do their dance. And you’re part of it.

Sarah never brought store-bought pie again. But six months later, someone brought a store-bought cake from a different store, and everyone raved about it. Why? The rules had shifted. The sanction had been lifted. That’s the kicker: society’s “forbidden list” is written in pencil. You just have to know when to bring the pie.