Welcome to Shelf Life, the blog that reports the stories being told by packaging on the supermarket shelf.
This issue is inspired by a current project to sell the image of one country in another. Can packaging tell us an ownable brand story by invoking aspects of country of origin? Or is this a path to generic ‘postcard’ language that fails to focus on the true brand difference?
Hop on the open-top bus and find out…
Two Spanish-speaking beer stories for openers: San Miguel’s new UK advertising features a beer glass telling a story of its adventures in 79 countries, each one with its own unique sunset. Other countries are taking a slightly different tack on the execution, but they all talk of ‘worldliness’ and a bit of Spanish attitude (living life to the full, apparently). This pack might not get all of that across if you haven’t seen the ad, but it might well remind you of a cool beer on the beach at sundown, and what’s not to like about that? There is more substance in the glass design for your subconscious reassurance, but essentially this is outer packaging as advertising, which I endorse as long as you’re willing to keep it going. Nice wave lap, by the way…
Not much sign of sexy advertising images on the Corona box next door, of course, just some crudely printed graphics rich in symbolism (if you believe some of the stuff online), or to you and me as beer consumers, a box from far away where they haven’t got full colour printing yet. Authentically low-tech and grungy, if you like your beer that way. Apparently it can also go a bit sour in its clear bottle, but maybe that’s all part of the appeal…
The small Scottish Island of Islay is home to 8 distilleries, all but one coastal and battered by salt winds. The malts made here include some of the wildest and most characterful in the malt-whisky spectrum, with flavours and aromas described by words such as phenol, tar, smoke, iodine and carbolic. They take a bit of getting used to, a property which is used expertly in Laphroaig’s marketing to create a loyal band of true fans.
Telling its story on packaging, Laphroaig’s simple, green glass bottle hints at the flavours whilst simultaneously sending a signal that this brand ‘doesn’t do pretty’. The mostly black and white labels are reminders of the distilleries themselves, and as a range they have a basic and relatively uncoordinated look that belies their price. The focus of the storytelling is on what fans expect: the quality and individuality of the whiskies themselves and not what they refer to as ‘this design nonsense’.
Believe it or not four countries are represented in this shot of biscuit delicacies, but do they play to national strengths to tempt us into purchase? France plays its ‘love of traditional food’ card, whilst Germany goes for an unexpectedly emotional, indulgent feel. Belgium’s devotion to craft, tradition and ingredient excellence is well represented here, whilst Switzerland gives us an immaculate display of biscuit engineering, sealed with a flourish from the master patissier (or biscuitier, according to the Belgians).
Not quite sure where the blue sky came from on ‘Fine Crepe’, but otherwise a confident story of Swiss precision and good taste.
In cooking aids, Waitrose’s degree of overtrading (its market share of one sector versus its share of all groceries) is now quite spectacular, due mainly to these stylish packs with an irresistible story: “I’m a proper cook”. With their chatty titles that take you half way into the recipe you’re going to use them in, it’s as if Nigel Slater was personally coaching from behind the packs.
Two different types of risotto rice? Look them up and you can impress your dinner party guests with both good taste and ingredient expertise; what could be more middle England than that?
Despite its rich history and diverse landscapes and peoples, Mexico outside Mexico seems to have approximately one story, and here it is: hot chilli sombrero bandit cactus (feel free to change the order). It’s not pretty, it’s not fair, and it’s certainly not good branding, but it is testament to the constraining power of a bad cliché.
Actually I exaggerated: there’s always Aztec jungle Montezuma temple Indian to fall back on; and being Corona beer. Brave brands trying to sell a new and different Mexican story are hard to find, but any you know of would be great to see…
The things that different cultures decide to excel in is clearly linked to their history and geography; passion for and expertise in a particular product or service becomes part of the brand story of a country or region. But does passion and expertise automatically lead to good design? For Italian cars and clothes the answer must surely be yes, it’s part of the definition of excellence in the first place; but for packaged food and drink it can be a different story.
Italian coffee chic finds its design expression in coffee bars, coffee-making machines, and occasionally in packaging, notably Illy of course. But if Italy’s favourite coffee really is Lavazza, there’s not much evidence here that the locals care very much about how it looks. We Brits care a lot more about that, so Private Label and ‘Britalian’ brands like Costa look more the part than the real deal. Perhaps its time to let Lavazza know that it’s OK to look as good as a Fiat Cinquecento, Alfa Romeo, Piaggio, Ducati, I could go on…
So I guess everyone in the Czech Republic writes with a quill pen. That might explain the universal language of their beer branding: elaborate, quirky old-fashioned scripts with a bold underline. This is supported with even older-fashioned coats of arms or wax seals of medieval towns and cities, and some uncompromisingly dowdy colour choices.
So what’s the difference? And why should I care? Budweiser Budvar has that famous name, and the vaguely interesting back story of legal battles with an all-conquering American beer of the same name/very different taste; the packaging comes from the Laphroaig/Jack Daniels school of avoiding design niceties. Pilsner Urquell comes from the town of Plzen, spiritual home of all lagers, but now chooses to introduce us to the wild, unspoilt Bohemian countryside, so I’m guessing this is an ingredients story; maybe they should do a beer-tasting holiday promotion, it looks fabulous.
Staropramen, the beer of one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, manages to look as dull and uninteresting as if it came from Murmansk (this city chosen carefully to minimise any risk of outraged readers); having been involved in the original resurrection of this old logo, trade mark and label shape, I feel this latest incarnation is neither the charmingly old-fashioned nor vibrant central European story it so could be.
I don’t know what makes way, but at this time of year the cheese fixtures of France and Belgium suddenly acquire a lot more products to make cheese-based winter warmers. I’m feeling the love and almost tasting the dripping bread in the log cabin interior promised by RichesMonts; but down at Chalet Fondue it’s still summer and Julie Andrews is about to appear top left singing ‘The hills are alive, with the sound of music’ (Yes I do know that was Austria, but you get the point). Despite this cliché-rich pack you can feel the class through the formal layout, setting and typography; best to keep your tie on, this particular Swiss story doesn’t really do ‘informal’.
Smirnoff sounds Russian in an ever so slightly made-up way, but its design proudly displays Tsarist symbology to clarify that it has proper heritage; further reassurance of authenticity can be found in the extra details on the base label and bottle embossing. Stolichnaya, ‘Stoli’ to its friends, sports a staunchly communist aesthetic; I feel like saluting Lenin as I walk past, stiffly.
But the new(ish) story on shelf is that of contemporary Russia, embracing capitalism in its own unique way, welcoming back orthodox religion, but still fiercely proud of the motherland. Representing this story, I presume, meet Russian Standard. From a company of the same name promising ‘to enable ordinary people to participate in a luxurious lifestyle by offering affordable products and services on a large scale’, its distinguishing feature is the cloudy-grey glass bottle with a sturdy tapering base, making it seem faintly bell-shaped. The intricately designed label with mostly cyrillic text oozes class and crafsmanship, though less so on this Belgian shelf than the paragon on the website.
The Eagle/Bear brand symbol also tells its own intriguing tale, and it all adds up to a depth that many of its competitors don’t quite achieve. If James Bond drank vodka…he’d have a Stoli, wouldn’t he?