01.24.11
Gold packaging pays off for many of Brazil’s beauty products. |
In a region known for bountiful natural ingredients, gold reigns as the packaging color of choice. Designer Gustavo Piqueira explains why, as he sheds light on the truth behind Brazil’s growth in the cosmetics industry.
The frequency with which two unrelated facts begin, at a given moment, to be accepted by everyone as if they are symbiotic, inseparable, is interesting.
Such a phenomenon emerges right here in this article: There’s a common belief that the Brazilian cosmetic industry boom is currently being driven by the growing valorization of local natural products, thanks to the country’s extremely rich biodiversity (especially in the Amazon).
I agree that when viewed separately, neither of the facts is false. After all, data does not lie:
• Brazil has the largest plant biodiversity on the planet, equal to almost 25% of all existing plant species. And every year, scientists add dozens of new species to this list.
• Brazil is the third largest market for cosmetics in the world, surpassed only by Japan and the United States. The country has also been growing at an extremely high rate (27.5% compared to a world average of 9.1%).
Data does not lie. But jumping to conclusions does—such as with the assumption that the two are connected—cause and effect, triggered by the country’s recent economic progress. In the best of hypotheses, this explanation is pure ingenuity. And it results in a curious misconception: Even though the recent image of Brazil has been one that is portrayed as encompassing an aura of success and modernity of the likes never seen before, old clichés stubbornly resist—such as, “…ah, Brazil. What a colorful country, surrounded by nature; so many colors...”
So many colors? Is that what you see in the products illustrated in this article? Because all I see is gold. Gold, gold and more gold.
Yes, yes. Products such as these have been driving the country’s cosmetic boom. Forget “the greatest plant biodiversity on the planet.” It is not being given any more value here than in other parts of the world, even during these times of global warming, sustainability, etc. And, while I don’t have the data, I’m willing to bet that the British or European consumer probably gives more of a damn than the Brazilian.
Of course, it is possible to find native fruits, like the pitanga, featured in a range of products aimed at Brazil’s emerging middle class, such as the local Bia Blanc. The “detail” is that the brand’s other five variants are pear, strawberry, fruit mix, peach with whipped cream and chocolate with hazelnuts. None of which, I believe, are typical of Amazon flora.
The truth is that the roots of the phenomenon are much more embedded in the economy than in some specific and intrinsic Brazilian behavior. Yes, I know, it makes the story less charming for the global audience. But what can I do? If there are cultural ingredients in the script, they do not come from the jungle, but rather from the Brazilian woman who has always been extremely vain. The vainest in the world in fact, according to a survey conducted in 2004 by Avon in 24 countries. All you need is the migration of more than 30 million people from poverty to middle class, as seen here in recent years, and there you have it. These people gain access to consumption, and the cosmetic industry gains impressive sales figures. Built on a foundation of pitanga and buriti, indeed. But on peaches with whipped cream as well.
In general, that is the explanation. However, a deeper look into the particularities of how this process occurred will help you to understand why the images in this article do not quite correspond to what you imagined “Brazilian cosmetic design” would look like. In the 1980s, known as the “lost decade,” the country experienced a harsh recession and we watched as millions of people travelled the opposite path to what we are watching today: a leap from middle class to poverty. Many women, who were housewives, were obliged to enter the job market to supplement the family income. Without any professional education or training and in a country where the informal economic sector accounts for impressive numbers (in 2010, Brazil’s informal economy equals an Argentina, or £213 billion per year), a large percentage of these women found employment by selling cosmetics to friends or neighbors. It was perceived to be the perfect job, because aside from the additional income, it also offered flexible hours, which made it possible for them to maintain their household obligations at the same time.
Years passed, the economic waters receded, but the culture of direct sales of cosmetics had taken a firm hold in the country. For example, it was the main contributing factor that enabled today’s giant, Natura, to flourish, much more so than the company’s ecologically correct proposal. Today, Brazil is one of the few countries where door-to-door sales of cosmetics exceed those of retail. And that, of course, affects the relationship consumers have with products, and questions how many truly effective results “traditional” brand communication actually provides. In a brief conclusion, it provides an environment for smaller brands to gain market share even when they are unable to invest millions in media.
The second—and perhaps most important—ingredient is, in reality, simple etymological distortion. In recent years, 30 million Brazilians have joined the ranks of the middle class. But Brazil’s middle class is a little different from Europe’s. After all, middle class is called that because it is in the middle of the income pyramid. Not the richest, nor the poorest. But it does not take any major effort to work out a simple mathematical equation: If the top and bottom of the pyramids of, for example, Brazil and Germany, are very different, then there is no way that the middle will be equal either. Therefore, when you hear “Brazilian middle class,” don’t look around. We are speaking of other people—of people who recently left a scenario of poverty, of very low education attainment, of very little hope.
We are speaking about people who are extremely proud of their achievements. People who, for the first time, feel they have the right to some “luxury” in their lives and who consciously choose “quality” products. And if they form the vast majority of the population (86.2 million people), they also form its biggest market. It is only natural for industry to set out to serve them.
“Quality” was not put in quotes by accident. After all, the term is not intrinsic to the products themselves, but rather to their symbolic content—a symbology that reveals an enormous specificity: It must externalize, without margin for error, this recently acquired status.
“I have come out of poverty and realized my dreams.” Everything they consume must reflect this ascension.
Samuel Klein, of Casas Bahia—the largest durable goods store in Brazil—speaks about the furniture he sells:
“Make the wardrobe shine and it will sell like hotcakes. After investigating the reasons behind this, I concluded that the emerging middle class attributes the beautifying and clean effects caused by varnish as qualities it values above all else.”
The same logic is valid for cosmetics. The ingredient can come from the Amazon. Or not. You know what? It makes no difference. But, wherever it comes from, it has to shout out its symbolic character as loudly as possible. “My consumer has come out of poverty and realized his dreams.” Less is not more for someone who has striven to leave everything that was “less” behind. Much more is more. Much more. Shiny varnish on the sofa, gold-colored cosmetics in the cabinet, loaded with graphic art and benefits.
The product examples you see here—rules, not exceptions—do not leave much room for doubt. All have price positioning comparable with the core product ranges of large global brands such as Unilever, P&G and L’Oréal. All are very far removed from what we have grown accustomed to admiring as a “trend” in cosmetic design, as well as being very far removed from the image of a Brazil that is synonymous with natural ingredients and biodiversity.
But, you know, data doesn’t lie. Like it or not, that is the true face of Brazil’s cosmetic boom. The rest, I’m sorry, differs little from what Montaigne reported in Rouen in 1562, when he witnessed the exhibition of exotic Tupinambá Indians in the French royal court.
About the Author
Gustavo Piqueira heads up Casa Rex, a design agency with offices in Sao Paulo and London, which serves clients such as Unilever, to smaller organizations. Piqueira has won many Brazilian and international design awards. More info: www.casarex.com.br
