Do, or do not. There is no try.” – Yoda.
One of the most oft-used phrases at the American International Toy Fair in New York City – the be-there-or-be-square event of the kids’ retail industry – was “try-me packaging.” Introductions of the latest dolls and action figures (by those effervescent actors toy makers hire to enliven quick-hit presentations) were most often punctuated with, “. . . will be available this fall in try-me packaging.”
If you ask me, try-me packaging will only lead to “wash me toys,” like those battery-operated clapping monkeys and barking dogs in five-and-dimes that keep getting discounted until someone finally overlooks the soiled plush and cracked battery case because of the $1.99 price.
How can I buy my niece that beautiful Baby Walk `N Talk to cuddle with, knowing that 111 other kids have already activated the cuddle mechanism before her? There’s also the chance that poor Baby Walk `N Talk has been cuddled to death, so to speak, before she ever finds my niece’s loving arms. The “viral marketing” implications are too much to ignore.
I’d rather have my toys wrapped safely behind six or more pieces of cardboard and take my chances with the manufacturer’s veracity – “Product not drawn to scale” and other packaging euphemisms notwithstanding. At least that way I know who gets my letter of complaint.
I must be in the minority on this, since there’s no way toy makers are going to flood stores with try-me packaging if focus groups and buyer surveys didn’t suggest that’s exactly what consumers want. But I’ve been to my local Bradlees discount store and seen what shoppers can do to inventory they don’t plan on buying.
All in all, the trip to Toy Fair wasn’t very troubling this year, aside from the occasional offensive product. (Bounce `N Babble Dill, from Mattel’s Rugrats toy line, does most of his bouncing and babbling through his gastrointestinal tract, if you know what I mean.)
I like some of the subtle ways marketers are getting together to reach kids and parents. Mattel’s deals with Skechers and Smucker’s to add a little slice of marketing reality to doll play – Dancin’ Debi wears Skechers shoes, Peanut Butter & Jelly Cabbage Patch Kids eat Smucker’s Goober spreads – don’t get in kids’ faces, just in their hands. And the coupons that come with the partnerships ($10 off shoes, 50 cents off jelly) give Mommy something to play with, too.
Then again, I think I’d like it better if packaging announced that the price tags for Dancin’ Debi or the PB&J Kids were $2 lower courtesy of Skechers or Smucker’s. That would be an all-around positive brand experience.
SMOKER’S LAMENT
While we’re still on packaging, I would like to ask the folks at R.J. Reynolds if this new lock box they call a Salem Lights cigarette pack is the future of the brand. If it is, the brand might not be in my future.
Yes, the hip graphics and colors are quite appealing. And yes, the coupon for $1 off two packs is appealing as well (although we know that feature won’t be permanent).
But it takes less time to unwrap a CD than it does to get to the cigarettes in this box. And as most smokers will tell you, by the time you’ve stopped to buy a new pack, you’re usually well into your jones. If you’re hopping back into the car and hitting the highway, the last thing you need is packaging that requires two hands and full concentration.
Of course, I don’t want RJR changing their plans for my sake, because I’m quitting this nasty habit next week, or maybe the week after. I’m going to try, at least.
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