Losing My Edge
Or, how a shaving cream change made me rethink branding.
I spend a lot of my days telling other people how to think about brand and branding. (One of the earliest lessons is that those are two different things.)
But a couple of weeks ago I had an experience that made me reconsider a lot of what I thought I thought.
The scene was a Duane Reade on the Upper West Side. (Side note: Why do Duane Reades still feel like they’re in the midst of pandemic-era supply chain shortages with store shelves that are 30% stocked?) I needed a new container of shaving cream. And was surprised to find that the Edge Sensitive Skin shave gel I normally use had received a makeover.
The canister had a matte black finish. The sans serif type felt clean and minimal. The signature radioactive orange hue had become more muted.
It hit many of the design notes that I’ve been known to prefer as well as counsel clients to adapt.
And I hated it.
After living through the Jaguar rebrand on LinkedIn, I didn’t want to dash off a rushed hot take along the lines of, “Eww, new. I liked the old version better.” But I did want to dive a little deeper into why a new shaving cream canister made me feel a way.
Let’s start at the beginning. Picture a just-entering-puberty Justin staring into the mirror in the bathroom of his boyhood home and realizing those scraggly strands above his upper lip did not constitute anything close to something that might be described as a “mustache” and needed to go.
On second thought, gross, don’t picture that. Suffice it to say, I started using Edge shave gel because that’s what my dad used. It was around when I started shaving, so I used it. There wasn’t anything wrong with it. So I kept on using it.
In the ensuing years, my design tastes became decidedly more snobbish. But the power of nostalgia, inertia, and loyalty won out, and I stuck with the Edge canister adorned with a globule of gel that looked like it was being Hoovered up by a UFO tractor beam.
But when I faced the new Edge packaging at the Duane Reade, none of those elements was present. This wasn’t what I remembered fondly from being an impressionable teen. This wasn’t what I’d reached for countless times without thinking twice. This wasn’t “my brand” that I’d stuck with for decades.
My brand familiarity was so strong that it took me a solid minute to even recognize that the product I was looking at on the shelf was the same one I’d been using.
Then, after much harrumphing, I brought it to the counter and bought it.
So what did I learn about branding from this whole experience? Three things:
First impressions aren’t everything. They’re worth a lot, but as a brand, it’s how you show up on those 2nd, 100th, and 1,000,000th times that creates the lasting picture. The more something gets repeated, the more indelible the imprint (just look at pop songs). The more indelible the imprint, the stronger the power of familiarity, and…
…Familiarity is an incredible force. When people are used to something, they become very uncomfortable when that thing changes, no matter how much better the new version is supposed to be. But…
…People will adjust—after time. Because this is a product I use multiple times a week, I’ll eventually get used to the new look. (At some point down the road when they inevitably change again, I’ll probably even feel nostalgic for this new look over the new new look) While I may have disliked being shaken from my routine, I didn’t dislike it so much that I’d experiment with something different.
Didi
I think I might have seen this circulating on a few people’s “Best of 2024” lists (they honestly all blur together) and had the chance to watch it on the plane over the holidays. I’m a sucker for any coming-of-age film, especially when they incorporate Asian-American heritage and skateboarding. I convinced my 14-year-old daughter to watch it with me, and it was cool to see how it resonated with someone that is still squarely in the coming-of-age phase of life. —Justin
Epicly Later’d: Ben Kadow
I realize I’m becoming a bit of a broken record when it comes to recommending Epicly Later’d episodes. But the latest one on Ben Kadow is very good. I feel like the term “punk” has become really neutered in modern culture and doesn’t seem to be the aspirational archetype it used to be in skateboarding, especially as skating has become more a more widely embraced activity. But in my opinion, skateboarding remains a punk activity, and Kadow embodies it in all the right ways, while also having a wholly original style on a board. —Justin
The Next Drug Epidemic Is Blue Raspberry Flavored
The end of every jam band show (The Dead, Phish, etc.) is fraught with offers to buy, and then huff, nitrous balloons. The vibes are usually a bit unsettling as these de facto drug dealers hustle hard to get a balloon into every hippie’s hand. At a minimum, it sparks an inevitable conversation about the “Nitrous Mafia” (must-read IMO!) illegally supplying these tanks to the lots outside venues across the country. Somehow, despite their availability on DoorDash and Amazon, and their undeniably adventurous high, “whippets” had remained mostly confined to camping festivals and the occasional university bender. Until they became a blueberry-flavored meme, sold in every head shop in America. —Andrew
The Ghosts in the Machine: Spotify’s plot against musicians
Spotify doesn’t care about artists more than it cares their bottom line. I’m not sure if it’s their job to. But subscribers clearly don’t care either and that’s why your Discover Weekly, Release Radar, and Algorithmic Everyday contain artists that literally do not exist. Is 2025 the year I switch to Apple Music, 10 years after I switched to Android (immediate regret)? Note: there is an option to “Listen to an audio version of this article.”
—Andrew