Commercials have always fascinated me. It occurred to me a few years ago that televisions only exist for the purpose of selling us stuff. Broadcast companies are able to spend millions on 22 minutes of our favorite sitcom because advertisers are willing to pay them millions to show eight minutes of advertisements during the show. Some of the most memorable stories, characters, and moments of my life were made possible by Coca-Cola, Kellogg’s, and Ford. And it works! Americans watch, on average, four hours of television every day (or about an hour of commercials every day).
Now I feel like an insider. I’m on to their game and I watch commercials with a great amount of appreciation. They have figured out how to influence us to do something we may not have otherwise. They make us chuckle, cry, covet, and consider and some are extremely effective. Fascinating…
Lately, I’ve had a similar admiration for packaging. The job of packaging was once to simply protect the thing during transport. However, some pretty bright individuals figured out a little over a century ago that the better that packaging looked, the better their product sold – and an entire industry was born.
Packaging has a tough job. In addition to its utilitarian tasks, it has to perform many of the same objectives as a commercial: persuade us of utility and value, convince us of the company’s aptitude to make the object, and ultimately prompt us to purchase. But, it has to do this while sitting idly on a shelf. It rarely has the benefit of CGI, cinematic production value, celebrity appearances, or evocative soundtracks. This simple, static shroud has to somehow attract my attention, convince me my life would be better if I could take its contents home, and justify the expense. And I’m a sucker for it…
If the packaging makes me laugh, I think “These guys have a pretty good sense of humor. I think we could get along and possibly be friends. Oh…look…they like this product. It may be worth checking out. After all, I don’t think they would work for a company that sold a bad product. They are quite likable.”
If the packaging of one item looks more expensive than a competitor’s next to it, I think “They must really be doing well if they can afford all that glitz.” Or, if it is more sophisticated… “They’re subtle and sensitive. They really understand me and what I need.” I know it is happening and I fall for it almost every time.
The first iPod I purchased easily cost ten times more than any other MP3 player I had ever purchased before. Opening up the box, carefully pulling off layer-after-layer of high-gloss, embossed and foiled paperboard, I felt better about my purchase. “If they care this much about their packaging, the product must be really great!” Even after the purchase, packaging can be an experience, helping build consumer confidence and making the purchasing event favorably memorable.
Other packaging is elegantly simple, innovative, and just a really great idea (I wish I had come up with). The GreenBox from ecovention is one such example. It rethinks packaging that is already universally accepted, and with a few simple modifications, makes it more useful. The humble pizza box transforms to become more than just a vessel to hold and transport. While adding utility, ecovention also subtly tells an ecological story. I’m eagerly awaiting them to make it to a pizzeria near me.
I never really paid attention to the packaging (not consciously, anyway), always more interested in the contents, but I now realize how great some of it is (often more interesting and delightfully unexpected than what’s inside). Some very creative, insightful, and talented individuals are out there and they have honed an ability to affect my thoughts, mood, and behavior. And I give them permission to because they continue to impress and inspire and motivate me to do better work.
