"Diseases of affluence," they are called, the so-called Western-World diseases caused by stuffing ourselves with too much sugar, red meat and other rich food, and working it off with too little hard labor: obesity, heart disease, acquired diabetes, high blood pressure and more. As a society, we are mortgaging our health to squander our relative wealth on modern, processed diets bought from large agribusiness companies controlled by rich, fat white guys. And the antidote, according to the new food movement? Eat simpler, eat organic, eat local, eat non-GMO, eat paleo, eat socially responsibly, eat closer to the land, eat brown, eat Native American. In short, go back to eating like we used to eat when we were too poor as a society to be obsessed with keeping up with the gastronomical Joneses.
But what if it's less about the health than it is about the show? Has eating poor become the new symbol of affluence?
Texas A&M University ag economists tested a sample of 201 non-students from a midsized college town, selected by local newspaper advertisement in order to mirror the typical grocery shopper. They then gave participants a battery of survey questions regarding their shopping behavior as it relates to feelings of prestige, prominence and social status, in order to rank them on a well-accepted marketing scale that classifies shoppers along a continuum from those who buy simply to satisfy basic needs to those who buy just to show off. As the researchers anticipated based on other such work, the group broke along typical lines:
The researchers then asked participants to bid in a silent auction to buy lettuce and spinach that was labeled as either conventionally grown, hydroponically grown or organically grown. The meaning of each category was explained in detail to participants. They applied sophisticated statistical modeling to guage the willingness of shoppers in each of the categories to pay for each type of food. They found:
If it's true that the new ethical eating is simply conspicous consumption, and that, as VOGUE writes, "Wellness has become an important part of the luxury lifestyle... Eating right can give the privileged class a sense of moral superiority," how does the grocer communicate that basic-food luxury? Consider how you might manage your organics bin within these basic tenents of marketing luxury goods, from Jean-Noël Kapferer, author of Strategic Brand Management, and Vincent Bastien, former CEO of Louis Vuitton Malletier and author of The Luxury Strategy:
Remember, you don't launch luxury brands, you build them progressively. Successfully marketing luxury begins with understanding what a luxury brand is, and isn't, and then steadily promoting those traits. "In order for conspicuous consumption to exist, there is a need for others to be aware of the purchase so that it signals status," the Texas A&M study authors write. "Consumers evaluate conspicuous goods based on quality attributes and the prestige and social status derived from consuming them." Promoting organic and local as luxury depends on maintaining and building what the scholars call "socially constructed preciousness."
Feed the need. Despite the fact all boats in our society are floating higher with growing average afflence and some high-profile disavowal of riches, man's base need for some form of social stratification has not disappeared, Kapferer and Bastien argue. People still feel it vital to know their place in society, and luxury has the fundamental function of creating and reinforcing that stratification.
Luxury is where you find it. As the relatively small but consistent price premiums in the A&M study demonstrate, conspicuous luxury doesn't necessarily mean expensive. "Anything that can be a social signifier can become a luxury," according to Kapferer and Bastien. "By the same token, anything that ceases to be a social signifier loses its luxury status." Case in point: backyard swimming pools. Promotion and merchandising for organic products should reinforce the elements that make their purchase such social signifiers. It's the preciousness that matters, preciousness that results from making food harder, not easier to acquire, by placing often artificial constraints on its production: antibiotic-free, locally grown, animal-welfare-friendly, to name just a few.
Keep them believing. "No luxury brand can hope to survive if it relies purely on clients who are only interested in reputed signs of recognition, the symbol rather than the substance," say Kapferer and Bastien. Luxury customers will abandon you as soon as they lose faith in the symbol, which could explain the growing impatience by former apostles with organic that has been co-opted from the small, independent farmer by large corporations.
Obey the circle of fashion. Luxury is closely tied to fashion, they suggest, and fashion plays a key role in our social life by "recreating the rhythm of the seasons that was done away with by urbanisation." Can you say "Eat Seasonably?"
Lead, don't follow. In traditional marketing, the marketing duo write, client is king. Consumer package goods put the customer at the heart of the business and listen constantly to customers. The luxury brand, on the other hand, springs from the creator's mind, often driven by vision that borders on eccentric. Can you think of a better explanation for the growing popularity of biodynamic food, farming that counsels growing food according to the star alignment and fertilizing crops by burying amputated cow's horns filled with fermented manure in fields. "Don’ t look for equality with your clients," Kapferer and Bastien counsel. "...the brand must always dominate its client. As a result, a certain distance is preserved that is not supercilious or aloof, but nevertheless maintains an aura of mystery."
Be difficult to buy. "The luxury brand is something that has to be earned," they write. "The greater the inaccessibility–whether actual or most often virtual–the greater the desire." What better description of the local, sustainable, community supported agriculture movement? Notes University of Wisconsin professor Craig Thompson: If you set out to purposely design a food system that offered only limited selection, at limited times of the year, at higher prices, determined largely by what the producer had to sell rather than what the customer wanted, pushing items you often aren't familiar with and don't know how to use, you couldn't do better than today's alternative food systems. It's those very inaccessibilities of farmers markets compared to supermarkets that draw shoppers to be there, he says.
If the election of Donald Trump and the conversative-populist movement that unpredictably brought him to office accomplishes nothing else, it stands to even further weaken the average American's trust in traditional institutions. For better or for worse, according to an annual Gallup poll, less than a third of Americans on average say they have either "a great deal" or "quite a lot" of confidence in 14 traditional institutions, including the military, the police, the church, the medical system, the presidency, the supreme court, public schools, banks, organized labor , the criminal justice syste, TV news, newspapers, big business and Congress. It is the third straight year in a row Gallup has reported that phenomenon. But Trumpism is less the cause than the result—Congress, banks, organized religion and the news media have all suffered a decline in public trust for a decade now.
And the result for 2017 and beyond: Absent those trustworthy institutions, everyone has now become his own food and farming expert. Expect this often unsettling trend to continue, affecting your food sales. Witness:
Mercola, Food Babe and David Wolfe. Joseph Mercola, the 61-year old osteopathic physician, natural-foods purveyor, and founder and video star of Mercola Health Resources, who once famously advised his readers to avoid grocery stores if they want healthy food, shook off a mid-April 2016 $5.3 million settlement with the U.S. Federal Trade Commission over false-advertising accusations. According to the Chicago Tribune, Mercola sold tanning beds for up to $4,000 apiece by reassuring consumers not only were they not harmful, but in fact actually reduced their chances of getting cancer. Mercola's website empire continues to flourish, though, offering unsound advice on health issues from vaccination to flouride in water to organic food. By one estimate, his site continues to attract an estimated 5 million to 7 million visits monthly. And he still lists more than a quarter million Twitter followers and 1.5 million Facebook followers.
Similarly, Vani Hari, a.k.a. "Food Babe," the internet blogger who grew a guilty penchant for fast food and disdain for science into an estimated 3 million viewers and a best-selling book deal, and David Wolfe, informercial star turned "rock star of the superfoods and longevity universe" whose Facebook following now outnumbers the entire state of Nebraska five times over, continue to flourish by pandering to the worst suspicions about food and health.
Critical media—gone. Whether you love or hate the mass media that the Trump movement has so successfully positioned as disloyal opposition, there's little arguing that business has been so economically hollowed out that meaningful journalism is on the ropes. The information vaccuum being created is being filled by more partisan sources, often without being recognized as such. One recent example: The National Grocers Association's Education and Leadership Weekly newsletter in January included the story "Should we be labeling genetically modified foods?" Although an important question, and one Farmer Goes to Market has examined in the past, the "custom-content" story written for NGA members based its reporting on questionable claims from an activist organization with no balanced critique of the dubious science behind those claims. Get ready for more of that style of advocacy journalism disguised as news.
Rogue agency Twitter feeds. In testament to the dilution of trust in institutions, a curious phenonomen accompanying Trump's election starkly illustrates even the government institutions themselves no longer trust their own authority. President Trump's reported attempts to put a "gag order" on agencies including USDA and the Environmental Protection Agency—reports which themselves now appear to be "fake news"—spawned "resistance teams" of agency scientists and other employees who took to their own Twitter feeds to post "unofficial" discussions of issues they believed were being repressed by the new administration, from climate change to food and drug issues.
Sustainability according to the marketing department. With little to no meaningful regulatory definition and an apparent public appetite to hear them—even if apparently no true consumer demand can be proven—the world of product claims about food justice, sustainability and health have become the Wild Wild West, where everyone's rushing to stake a claim. Case in point: The new HowGood label, which in the past three years has expanded its services into grocers in 26 states and more than 250 stores, including a highly visible Giant Foods pilot project. The 20-year-old system, which attempts to boil up to 70 different indicators down to a simple good/better/best labeling system, includes measures of pesticide use, fertilizer control and animal welfare. But it also includes more shadowy measures of packaging, "labor accountability," "reputation index," and simply how much information a company is willing to divulge to them.
Amid this trend toward the shattering and scattering of food authority lies some good news for the grocer, although it's a mixed blessing: Gallup's surveying does show Americans retain some trust in institutions, in particular, the military, the police and you—small businesses. So opportunity to lead exists. But the bad news is that it's not hard to squander that fragile trust. A recent survey shows almost half of consumers say they don't trust what food labels tell them. Today's food marketers trying to sell product claims are borrowing the grocer's credibility to do so, and if those claims don't live up to customer expectations, it could be that trusted retailer who ends up holding the bag.
The American Farm Bureau Federation’s 31st annual informal price survey of classic items found on the Thanksgiving table indicates the average cost of this year’s feast for 10 will be down by 24 cents, coming in at $49.87 vs. last year’s average of $50.11. The big ticket item – a 16-pound turkey – came in at a total of $22.74 this year. That’s roughly $1.42 per pound, a decrease of 2 cents per pound, or a total of 30 cents per whole turkey, compared to 2015.
That good news for consumers comes even as CNN Money takes note of stock-price increases for several upscale grocers rising in response to the election of President-Elect Donald Trump. CNN interprets the trend as the market betting Trump's economic plan will lead to more inflation, particularly inflation in agricultural commodities and, eventually, food prices. And any hint of significant food-price inflation typically spurs calls to improve Americans' "food security" by, among other measures, guaranteeing basic income levels and increasing food-relief programs.
But how bad is America's food inflation?
USDA makes a series of charts available that disect its food-expenditure figures over time. They demonstrate that although food prices have inflated over the years, American consumers continue to enjoy food at a relative share of personal income that's a fraction of other countries, and is overshadowed by other consumer expenditures.
As Nebraska's 140,000 college students settle in for the new academic year, marketers eye their impact on the food system — and their bottom line. From Cody, Neb., population 156 people, where volunteer students are manning the town's last grocery — now a non-profit — to Toronto's Sheridan College, where time-stressed college kids can order their university food via app and avoid standing in lines, to small college towns throughout the country where local businesses hope the return of students will lead to higher sales. "We've got students [here] who, like most college students, have discretionary income," a Maryland marketing professor told the Baltimore Sun. "They're going to buy food, they're going to buy music, they're going to buy clothing."
But is the campus outlook all that rosey?