Welcome to Shelf Life Issue 8, where the metaphors are flying furiously, and the perils of trying too hard are all too evident.
The sweet spot always lies in connecting personality to a simple story and then we, the consumers, fill in the details to suit our worldview. Easier said than done, of course, but worth it when you get it right…
One of our mantras at OP is that you can judge a book by its cover, but this example reminds me of an equally powerful principle: you can judge a story by its title. (Well, the story’s intent, if not its quality, but let’s not split hairs).
In stories we all love a good metaphor, and I’ve lost count of the times we refer to a brand extension or innovation as its ‘turbo’ or ‘GTi’ version.
But sometimes, just sometimes, you find the perfect project to actually go ahead and use this metaphor in the name. Pot Noodle is a curiously British phenomenon, a successful brand of (snack) food whose brand story proudly boasts its lack of food credentials.
Seeing this GTi version, I suspect there were far more ‘black & chrome’ designs presented, and I think this is one brand where fans would happily buy it. People who like food, less so.
Famous people are now widely considered to be brands, and by our definition that a brand is a story, no more, no less, that makes perfect sense.
Jamie Oliver (the person, or bloke as he’s more accurately known) is fast becoming a very big brand, with his fingers in numerous pies (metaphorically speaking – there I go again).
Capturing such a multi-faceted (and fast-changing) story is an interesting challenge, and in Jamie’s case the branded packs present a mixed message.
There’s the slick and conventional version called ‘Jamie Oliver – keep it simple’, which is nowhere better expressed than in these delightful home herb kits. Of the numerous ‘signature’ poses the designer could have chosen, this relaxed snacking on a bowl of pasta is well chosen, and given just enough presence without dominating. It also ranges extremely well, every pack format managing to find a bottom right slot.
But we also have the much-awarded J-me range, representing a more authentic collection, produced in collaboration with a ‘group of truly talented designers and artisans’. The food packaging is a triumph of imagination over conformity, and also suits Jamie very well, though perhaps more for the committed fan than the casual Sainsbury shopper.
When you’re this prolific, and this famous, seems you can have your cake and eat it (excuse my metaphor)…
According to Wikipedia (how’s that for a divisive opening statement?), Cathedral City is made in a place that has no cathedral, and is not even a city.
Its rise and rise to become the dominant brand leader in the UK branded cheese market suggests that the story it tells is far more effective than the one it could have chosen (‘where this cheese comes from’).
This is not to say that ‘where this brand comes from’ is not a good story; the Dairy market is full of such stories, just ask any German what they think of Ireland’s Kerrygold; or ask a malt whisky fan which specific location on the tiny island of Islay produces the best whisky.
But in this case the ambiguity serves to allow Cathedral City to rise above regional clichés and dominate the landscape of the cheese fixture. Its rich red packaging gives no hint of rural pastures, and only a glimpse of the product (or more truthfully a square of cheese-coloured ink) through a suitably ecclesiastical window.
This story clearly has strong believers, and judging from the brand below here, some followers too.
New York, New York, so good they named it twice.
This New York supermarket also features some double branding, but in this case I doubt anyone will write a song about it.
The Keurig brand offers a selection of tea and coffee brands in a Nespresso-type cup format, for a popular in-home brewing machine.
On-shelf the packs have just undergone a redesign to place more emphasis on the brand/product experience and less on the cup format. But if like me you didn’t notice, I think we can conclude that 5% more emotion isn’t enough. Next time try 95%.
When I was a kid Special K was famous for precisely ONE product, and to me its brand story was ‘nicer than Corn Flakes, but my mum says it’s too expensive’. In other words, an occasional treat.
I do remember the advertising on TV and on-pack for the ‘Special K breakfast’: with low fat milk and orange juice, 250 calories the lot. I never thought of it as a product for women on a diet, though my teenage daughter seems to have cottoned-on early to its true purpose.
In keeping with our collective obsession with choice, Special K is no longer a product, but a mega-brand with 2 metres of shelf space to contain all its flavours and formats.
Despite the extensive range the packaging remains single-mindedly brand-focused, meaning you’re going to have to look hard to find a favourite.
This new introduction gets some shelf impact from a fully metallic ‘New’ flash and a shaped box, but otherwise business as usual. If I watched TV I might know what’s Special about it, but the pack doesn’t give enough away after that first glitzy approach.
Oh look, that one’s got a free dress…
Much excitement in the juice press (see what I did there..) about innocent by Coke’s new carafe packaging, which is genuinely appealing on the breakfast table. One-nil.
It promises to be recyclable too, so Pepsi’s Tropicana Tetrapak had better raise its game soon. Two-nil.
I don’t know whether innocent will phase out its Tetras or offer both formats, as it makes a power-play for this most mainstream of markets. But I’m glad to see it has phased out the leafy hat, which for me crossed a subliminal borderline between ‘cute’ and ‘stupid’.
Now it looks properly innocent again, and it’s truly amazing to contemplate how this name/symbol metaphor adds value to something as commoditized as Orange Juice.
The UK’s 65th biggest brand and growing at 12% says we ain’t seen nothing yet.
So you’re browsing the shelf for a few bags of snacks for the weekend. Like most people you’ll get the family favourites first, then there’s room in the trolley for something new and different, something that stands out and attracts you. Maybe something a bit healthier…
Everything comes in bags of six, but what the heck, on promotion they’re all cheap as, er, chips.
What have we here then? Sun Bites. They look like Frazzles, but I’m getting a few healthy signals, especially on the new pack. The flavour name is now in colour, much tastier, and the naive illustration and typography makes them look quite natural and home-made-ish. The old pack seems to be promoting a golf weekend…
Suddenly a steaming baked potato image enters the corner of my eye. It’s called ‘Hello flavour’. Hello sailor to you too, cheeky!
On closer inspection (if I can be bothered, in this case I can because I’m writing a blog, but most consumers aren’t), this is also a product with a health message – low salt. This design might work on a bus-stop poster, but on a pack it’s just a big messy illustration that looks far from healthy.
The brand appears as a subtle endorsement at the bottom, so clearly Seabrook have decided to invest in establishing ‘Goodbye salt, Hello flavour’ as a sub-brand. It’s certainly different from ‘Soundbites’, but for me the flavour reassurance is so loud that I can’t hear the real message.
I thought Easter bunnies were really cute until I was faced with this rather forbidding display at the Co-op (Swiss version). That’s what I call an impressive off-shelf display (we’re talking every checkout!)
Still, rabbits are often deceptive in their apparent cuteness, as King Arthur found out all too well.
Happy Easter!