Why Are Supermarket Endcaps Still So Bad?
Let’s talk about the absolute dog’s breakfast that is the supermarket endcap. You know the one. That proud metal frame at the end of every aisle, supposedly showcasing the week’s treasures. Chocolate bars, dishwashing liquid, energy drinks, and… inexplicably, gardening gloves. As a piece of primetime retail real estate, it’s a marvel of missed opportunity.
This space should be a marketer’s dream. High visibility, habitual traffic, low dwell time. In theory, it’s the billboard in the fridge. And yet the creative thinking is nil. Worse than nil—it’s absent. Most brands seem to treat endcaps like punishment. Go look at one this afternoon. There’s a beige stack of muesli bars with a single crinkled piece of A4 taped on, printed off a work experience intern’s computer. No story. No draw. No effort.
Now here’s where things get spicy. In Australia, Woolworths has started treating endcaps like curated seasonal vignettes. They're weaving stories: midwinter soup kits with paired wines and crusty bread, or kid-friendly bento builds with QR code links to lunchbox hacks. It’s subtle, but it respects the shopper. It respects time. More importantly, it sells more stuff. Why are we not pressure-testing this in New Zealand?
A well-done endcap isn’t just a stunt. It’s a stage. And brands who ignore it are whispering when they could be singing. Next time you’re in Countdown, look up from your list and take in the endcap. If you're seeing a sad pile of two-litre sodas and a faded “Save $2!” sticker… congratulations. You've just spotted the lowest-performing Ferrari in the retail showroom.
This space should be a marketer’s dream. High visibility, habitual traffic, low dwell time. In theory, it’s the billboard in the fridge. And yet the creative thinking is nil. Worse than nil—it’s absent. Most brands seem to treat endcaps like punishment. Go look at one this afternoon. There’s a beige stack of muesli bars with a single crinkled piece of A4 taped on, printed off a work experience intern’s computer. No story. No draw. No effort.
Now here’s where things get spicy. In Australia, Woolworths has started treating endcaps like curated seasonal vignettes. They're weaving stories: midwinter soup kits with paired wines and crusty bread, or kid-friendly bento builds with QR code links to lunchbox hacks. It’s subtle, but it respects the shopper. It respects time. More importantly, it sells more stuff. Why are we not pressure-testing this in New Zealand?
A well-done endcap isn’t just a stunt. It’s a stage. And brands who ignore it are whispering when they could be singing. Next time you’re in Countdown, look up from your list and take in the endcap. If you're seeing a sad pile of two-litre sodas and a faded “Save $2!” sticker… congratulations. You've just spotted the lowest-performing Ferrari in the retail showroom.