The Strange Power of the Unnecessary Instruction Card
Something odd has crept into packaging lately. Little cards. Not manuals, not warranties. Tiny notes that explain something you already know how to do. How to open the jar. How to tear the seal. How to enjoy the thing you just bought. And people love them.
I started collecting them after receiving one inside a box of biscuits from a brand called Field Study Pantry. The card calmly explained the "three bite method" for appreciating a biscuit. First bite for the crunch. Second for the butter. Third for the crumbs. Completely unnecessary. Also completely delightful. Suddenly the product had theatre. Someone had bothered to choreograph the moment between opening the box and finishing the last crumb.
This is quietly becoming a new battleground in design and marketing. Not the product. Not the ad. The micro ritual around using it. When a brand scripts the moment of interaction, it turns a basic action into a tiny performance. People repeat it. They film it. They teach friends. A fictional soda called Brimwell recently included a card instructing drinkers to "tap the lid twice before opening". No reason given. Sales jumped anyway. Humans love a ritual, even a pointless one.
Here is a prompt I have been playing with when thinking about this space: "Invent five unnecessary rituals for using an everyday object. Each ritual should take less than ten seconds but feel strangely meaningful." The results are gold. Brands will soon design products backwards from the ritual. Not what the thing is, but how the moment feels. Expect more instructions for things you already understand. Not because we need help. Because someone finally realised the fun part of a product often happens in the five seconds before it works.
I started collecting them after receiving one inside a box of biscuits from a brand called Field Study Pantry. The card calmly explained the "three bite method" for appreciating a biscuit. First bite for the crunch. Second for the butter. Third for the crumbs. Completely unnecessary. Also completely delightful. Suddenly the product had theatre. Someone had bothered to choreograph the moment between opening the box and finishing the last crumb.
This is quietly becoming a new battleground in design and marketing. Not the product. Not the ad. The micro ritual around using it. When a brand scripts the moment of interaction, it turns a basic action into a tiny performance. People repeat it. They film it. They teach friends. A fictional soda called Brimwell recently included a card instructing drinkers to "tap the lid twice before opening". No reason given. Sales jumped anyway. Humans love a ritual, even a pointless one.
Here is a prompt I have been playing with when thinking about this space: "Invent five unnecessary rituals for using an everyday object. Each ritual should take less than ten seconds but feel strangely meaningful." The results are gold. Brands will soon design products backwards from the ritual. Not what the thing is, but how the moment feels. Expect more instructions for things you already understand. Not because we need help. Because someone finally realised the fun part of a product often happens in the five seconds before it works.