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08.05.2009

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Private Label 2010: Redefining the Meaning of Brand

Why are consumers flocking to private label products in record numbers? Is the current economic crisis the stimulus behind the surge in apparent popularity? Can private label thrive without name brands?

The answers to these and many more strategic questions will be addressed in The Hartman Group’s Private Label 2010: Redefining the Meaning of Brand syndicated study.

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Consumer Education

"Teacher, Leave Those Kids Alone"

In 1968 an obscure filmmaker named Frederick Wiseman released his now iconic documentary High School. Though very few people have ever seen it, no less than the Library of Congress declared it a national treasure, and it is one of only a handful of films to be selected for inclusion in the National Film Registry. The film’s credentials warrant mentioning because, for most, the film’s conclusions are unsettling to the point of sparking outrage.

Famous for his cinema verite style—an ever-present, roving camera with absolutely no voice-overs or narration—the viewer is transported to a suburban Philadelphia high school circa 1968. From the opening scene, it becomes apparent that the “learning” taking place in our contemporary educational system is often of a very different flavor than the popular myths supported by our culture.

Many of us assume that schools are places where curious students are given opportunity to expand their minds in search of a myriad of answers to life’s many questions—to better understand why and how things work in the world that surrounds us. And while it would be unfair to suggest those things never occur in contemporary educational systems, Wiseman’s film reveals the bulk of what really goes on under the guise of education. Namely, a whole lot of paternalism, rule following, indoctrination and intergenerational value transmission—often despite significant protests from the students involved. As described by one reviewer:

“Wiseman examined a large, largely white and middle-class Philadelphia high school and the authoritarian, conformist value system inculcated in students by teachers and administrators. More than anything, the movie revealed the unrelenting, soul-crushing dullness that could be high school, and was banned from being shown in Philly for many years.”

Taken from this perspective, it is little wonder that kids celebrate the end of school year rituals by throwing their books in the air and running out the school doors as fast as possible, hopefully never to return.

But our point here is not to open a contentious dialogue or debate on the state of the US educational system. In fact, scholars have documented legitimate, positive educational reforms in recent years, and there is reason to believe things have improved. Rather, we cannot help but to notice that what passed for education in suburban Philadelphia in 1968 seems eerily similar to the educational programs championed and deployed by most marketers and retailers.

For several years now, we have been listening to a near-constant refrain—from analysts, marketers and clients alike—that we need to educate our consumers on various aspects of healthy eating, moral consuming or sustainability. Ergo nutrition rating systems, symbols, designations, ingredient decks, fact panels, calorie labeling on menus and so forth. And in this, we are guilty of the same paternalistic indoctrination that passes for education in many of our school systems—the same approach that made Philadelphia students so miserable back in 1968.

At its heart, learning requires an authentic, indigenous impulse. It has got to be something we really, truly want to do. To that end, learning also happens to be the kind of thing that can keep us awake at night reading voraciously or obsessing over unanswered questions. But lacking any sort of natural, innate passion, forced learning (i.e., indoctrination) is just no fun—which is why most students complain incessantly about how much they hate school.

And like it or not, the fact remains that when shopping in grocery stores, the vast majority of consumers are not interested in the finer details of nutrition or ethical production practices. If they were particularly interested, chances are they would have spent last Saturday lounging around the library reading an assortment of books on the subject written by experts—and would probably scoff at the sort of rating systems and label designations proposed by the food industry.

What some consumers are interested in learning about when shopping for food, however, is actual information about the food itself—information grounded in the history and practices of the World of Food. So rather than learning that a particular brand of butter delivers 45 calories a serving, scores a 3 on a rating system, or sports a smiling heart logo, what consumers might be interested in learning are things like the differences between salted and unsalted butter, or the differences between domestic and European butters, or the differences between cow milk, goat milk and sheep milk. Try to remember here that consumers are usually shopping for real, genuine food, not boxes of ingredients and nutrients sporting a plethora of symbols and claims.

The most well-received education efforts will always reside at a category rather than product level, and the categories should, of course, be categories as defined by the food world and not the food industry. Finally, we find that the most culturally mature and developed categories within the food world (cheese, oils, vinegars, chocolate, coffee, wine, meats, etc.) represent ideal entry points for educational dialogue with today’s food-savvy consumers.

Of course, better food retailers have understood this point for decades as illustrated in the image below:

Click to enlarge

You see, somewhere along the way, our industry somehow got distracted by a larger national dialogue on subjects such as health, nutrition, obesity, sustainability, etc. and decided we should head into the grocery store and start talking at consumers the same way we did when they were in high school, about subjects which most of us have little indigenous passion for. Rather than asking ourselves if consumers genuinely desired to spend their time learning about these subjects, we simply assumed so and plodded forward. In the end, our industry ends up sounding like the infamous teacher brought to life in the televised version of Peanuts—wahp wa wah wa wah wa whap wa woo...

Shoppers visit a car dealership to learn about the details of a specific car, to experience the car, or to imagine an aspirational lifestyle. But they generally do not do so expecting to endure the symbolic equivalent of a lecture from a defensive driving school. Likewise, imagine if the fashion industry decided to begin rating clothing on its ability to protect us from the elements, quality or endurance? So much for that cocktail dress indulgence.

Which points to a likely refrain: Well, it’s not so much that we are trying to educate consumers about nutrition per se as it is allowing them to distinguish between the relative quality level of the thousands of products that fill the supermarket shelves. And here the consumer would undoubtedly respond, “If you have to resort to arcane symbols and rating systems to convince me that your product is of sufficient quality as to be edible or morally acceptable, you’ve already lost the game.”

And this brings us to the most frustrating part of this great mess. For, once again, we find yet one more distraction that causes us to forget the most important rule of all: Simply put, we are in the food business—not the ingredient business, the nutrition business, the wellness business or the sustainability business.

In the words of my fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Merrick, “It doesn’t matter if you mess up as long as you learn from your mistakes.”

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