Virality is a myth that marketing likes to tell itself as if it were a force of nature: a lightning strike, a sudden grace of the crowd. Yet this notion is a convenient fiction. Not every piece of content goes viral simply because it is loud, eccentric, or sentimental. This is the first illusion.
Virality does not follow a linear logic of reach; it moves along the intricate web of relationships. It does not emerge from mere visibility, but from the inner order of communities. Content spreads like wildfire across distances when it breaches the boundaries of close-knit groups—when it leaps from one circle to another, carried by the connecting minds we commonly call influencers. Without these bridges, even the most original content remains trapped in its own bubble.
This may sound abstract, but it is simple: there are networks with viral potential—and networks without. It is not the message alone that matters, but the framework into which it is placed.
First, sheer numbers. The larger the audience, and the more tightly it is connected to a brand—through social media, for instance—the greater the potential for virality. Yet size alone is not enough. The internal configuration matters. Younger audiences navigate digital spaces with ease; they like, share, comment—and it is these tiny movements that give rise to virality. Older audiences react more slowly, more sparingly, more cautiously. The currency of virality circulates there with a heavier hand.
Closely linked to this is reaction speed. Seconds in the online world are no small matter; they are signals. When the first responses arrive immediately after a post, momentum builds. Two days of silence, by contrast, feel like a vacuum. Virality thrives on acceleration.
A third factor is the influencers themselves: individuals with large reach who can carry content to broad audiences without extra advertising spend. They are multipliers, megaphones. Alongside them are brokers: less visible, but structurally significant. They move between platforms, between milieus, between digital spaces. They carry content across boundaries. Where many of these border-crossers operate, viral potential rises markedly.
Above all, however, is network density. Too often, followers speak only to the brand, not to one another. Parallel monologues emerge, not dialogues. Yet virality requires horizontal communication: people must converse about a message, make it their own, reshape it, contest it, confirm it. Only when a conversation takes on a life of its own does real movement begin.
And finally, there are digital black holes: spaces where content fails to spread, regardless of its quality. Perhaps the audience is simply absent. Perhaps the content clashes with the culture of the platform. Perhaps there is no point of entry. In such environments, even the most ambitious campaign dissipates.
Some brands exist in almost ideal network conditions. Coca-Cola is a textbook example. Hardly any age group is left unreached; few countries remain unaware of the brand. As an international lovebrand with millions of followers, it possesses a dense, intergenerational network. The Christmas truck, the familiar happiness narratives—they repeat year after year, and yet they go viral. Not necessarily because of originality, but because of the framework in which they reside.
The situation is different for Fritz-Kola. A young, urban audience, strong presence in cities such as Hamburg, Berlin, Cologne, and Munich. In these clusters, viral potential is high. In rural areas, and among older demographics, awareness diminishes—and with it the structural prerequisites for organic spread. To reach new milieus, advertising is necessary.
Even more precarious are Afri-Cola and Club Cola. The former, a cult drink with echoes of the 1968 generation; the latter, a reminiscence of DDR times. Both carry historical weight, yet their networks are fragmented, regionally or generationally limited. Neither has managed to capture the other half of the country, nor to engage younger audiences. Viral potential hovers near zero—not for lack of story, but for lack of structural connectivity.
Seasonality creates yet another dynamic. Lambertz is known for Christmas confections—Nuremberg Lebkuchen, Aachen Printen. Between mid-November and late December, when Christmas markets open and mulled wine warms the senses, the network thickens. Conversations ignite, images are shared, moods multiply. Yet after New Year, the curve plunges. Saturation replaces enthusiasm. Viral potential collapses—and for the remainder of the year, it remains but a faint echo.
HiPP appears at first glance to enjoy favourable conditions: young, digitally literate parents, seeking information and—at least temporarily—having the time to engage. Yet this audience is fleeting. Once the children outgrow infancy, connections dissolve. The field is delicate; criticism spreads swiftly. The potential for a ‘shitstorm’—a negative form of virality—is high. A stable, intergenerational community, like that of Coca-Cola, can scarcely form here. The effort of building loyalty must begin anew, repeatedly.
And then there is tobacco. For tobacco companies, any digital activity is forbidden; even responding to customer queries is prohibited. Conversations among consumers may flare briefly, but remain transient. Networks form like summer clouds: briefly visible, then dispersed. Consolidation, a lasting density, is legally barred.
Thus it becomes clear: virality is not a matter of genius alone. There are marketers whose mediocre campaigns go viral, because the network favours them. And there are brilliant strategists whose work, without paid reach, scarcely passes beyond a modest level of engagement.
The second great illusion is that of spontaneity. What appears as an organic hype is often the result of a precise initial spark. Virality is prepared, not discovered. It is less a miracle than a construction—less a matter of chance than of design.
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