I bought a back support for my office chair at Bed, Bath and Beyond. It works wonderfully. It even has a heating function. However, I still feel that there is something wrong with it.
The item I wanted was the last one on the self. The cardboard packaging was torn in several places. Someone had attempted to recreate the box with scotch tape and staples. It was a less than artistic repair job. I picked it up and brought it to customer service. I asked if they had any more of them without the broken box.
The customer service person kindly looked in the computer. A few minutes later, she told me this was the last one in stock. I inquired if she new why the box had been ripped open. She then relayed, as if memorized from a training manual, a story about what “probably” occurred. I asked if there was a discount based on the condition of the package. Without missing a beat, the friendly clerk replied: “No Sir. You are paying for the product not the packaging.” I smiled and bought the produced at full price.
If you are paying for the product, not the package, why does the company spend so much money on the artwork, the shape, and the messaging on the package? Why was the one I bought, with the damaged package, the last one left in the store? For that matter, why do placebo drugs work for some people? These questions all have the same answer: the package is just as important, and many cases more important, as the product. The package tells us a story about the product. We are buying how that story makes us feel about the product.
Writing the best opening statement in the history of law on paper is an accomplishment. However, if you deliver it to the jury in a wrinkled suit, unshaven, and with the smell of whiskey flowing from your breath, chances are you will not persuade anyone. The package you have placed your opening statement in has affected its value. Despite the training manuals at Bed, Bath and Beyond, the package matters.
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Side Notes