Nuwe resepte

9 Ongesonde drankies wat u in die supermark moet vermy

9 Ongesonde drankies wat u in die supermark moet vermy

Maak gereed om te heroorweeg wat u drink

Vir enige goeie, dieetgetroue burger, kan 'n eenvoudige reis na die supermark of die geriefswinkel maklik soos 'n tikdans oor 'n mynveld van versoekings voel-om bykans elke draai goed versteekte kaloriebomme te omring.

Gebiede soos die gang van gevriesde voedsel en die rakke skyfies en koekies is voor die hand liggende gevaarsones vir die gesondheidsbewuste koper, maar wees versigtig om nie die moontlike dieetvalle in die koue houers met drankies oor die hoof te sien nie. Van sappe en ystee tot gegeurde melk en proteïenskud, drankies kan dikwels soos die bose ninja -vegters van dieet wees.

Dikwels is baie van die drankies waarvan ons glo dat dit 'gesond' is (te danke aan skerp bemarking) eintlik eintlik die teenoorgestelde.

Net omdat die drink van tee goed kan wees vir u gesondheid, beteken dit nie dat 'n bottel yskoue met kalorieë en suiker verpak is nie. En moenie dink dat u uself te veel van 'n guns doen deur die "lae-vet" sjokolademelk op te tel nie-kyk na die voedingsfeite op die agterkant en vind uit dat dit amper soveel kalorieë bevat en nie soveel minder nie gram vet as die volvet weergawe.

As ons daardie tyd van die jaar nader om dieetverbeterende besluite te neem, wil u dit moontlik oorweeg om hierdie drankies uit u winkelkar te hou.

Klik hier vir die 9 ongesonde drankies wat u in die supermark moet vermy.


Hoe supermarkte ons mislei om ongesonde kos te koop, en wat ons daaraan kan doen

Kyk u ooit na die bordjies wat in die supermarkte oor die gange hang om te sien hoe u moontlik die laaste drie dinge wat u nodig het, kan kry sonder om terug te gaan na die begin van die gevreesde renbaan?

As u net soos die meeste mense is, begin u waarskynlik ordentlik. Met grimmige vasberadenheid kom u deur die 'dekompressiesone'-die niemandsland van kerse en rietmandjies en lelies wat kleinhandelkundiges noukeurig ontwerp het om u van straatspoed tot spoedsnelheid te vertraag, na die 'mark' wat die moederliefde van varsheid.

U is verenig rondom die 'omtrek' van die winkel: die rande wat die deli, bakkery en slagter huisves, en waar die meeste wins gemaak word. Dan word dit 'n bietjie meer ewekansig. Halfpad in een gang verlaat jy jou trollie, draai jy om die "einddop" -skerms wat bedoel is om jou te lok om dinge wat jy dalk nie op jou lys gehad het nie, impulsief te koop. (Wat doen 'n ontbytkroeg langs 'n ketelpromosie?)

Met 'n vae paniek wat begin toeneem, begin u na die kategorieë kyk vir leiding en gesonde verstand - vertel my asseblief waar die bakpad is. Kleinhandelontwerpers skat (en hulle het baie ondersoek ingestel na die mikrogedrag van kliënte) dat ons na ongeveer 25 minute in die supermark oorskakel van rasionele na emosionele besluitneming. Dit maak ons ​​meer vatbaar om 'n pakkie sjokolade rosyne langs die eiers te gryp.

Voedselkategorieë - die manier waarop ons die basiese groepe voedsel sien - vrugte, groente, korrels, olies, suiwelprodukte en so meer, is ongelooflik kragtig. Hulle rig die manier waarop ons die inkopielys afmerk af, en verstandelik verreken die gesinslede en die stadiums van die dag. Ontbyt, bosluis. Kosblikke, regmerkie. Aandete, regmerkie. Die Voedselveiligheidsowerheid van Ierland het baie interessante studies gedoen oor die voedingsinhoud van voedsel in Ierse supermarkte. Dit het bevind dat die meerderheid yoghurt nie 'n gesonde keuse is nie, en ook nie ontbytgraan nie. Die meerderheid van die "baba -skyfies" was hoër in versadigde vet as volwasse "verminderde vet" -chips, terwyl die meeste babakoekies suiker hoër was as gewone spysverteringskoekies. Kategorieë kan misleidend wees, selfs gevaarlik.

Verwante

Hierdie inhoud is geblokkeer weens u koekievoorkeure. Om dit te sien, verander u instellings en verfris die bladsy

In die lig van 'n vetsugkrisis wat verborge maar sistemiese lyding en lewensverlies veroorsaak het, is die enigste kragtigste teenmaatreël wat ons kan onderneem om nie advertensies teen gemorskos vir kinders te verbied nie, en nie belasting op suikerhoudende drankies, of om kitskoswinkels 100 m te plaas nie. van die skoolhekke af, maar om voedselprodukte te herkategoriseer sodat dit vir verbruikers makliker is om te sien hoe gesond hulle is. As hierdie stap geneem word, verskyn die meeste ontbytgraan in die snackgang, die meeste gebak in die nagereggang, die meeste jogurt verskyn in die koeldrankgang, en die beskuit verskyn by die banketbakkie. Dit lyk dalk triviaal, maar die akkurate en deursigtige indeling van voedselprodukte is 'n belangrike stryd in die oorlog teen vetsug.

Dit is omdat 'perseptuele kategorisering' 'n kragtige verskynsel is. Elke voorwerp, elke ervaring wat ons het, word gekoppel aan 'n kategorie wat ons mettertyd in ons gedagtes opgebou het. Ons reageer op die wêreld deur dinge in kategorieë te plaas, nie deur dinge as individuele gevalle te beskou nie. Daarom hardloop ons nie na elke persoon in Graftonstraat wat ons nog nooit gesien het nie en groet hulle in verwondering oor hul unieke uniekheid. Ons skandeer die omgewing: "persoon", "persoon", "persoon", "winkel", "persoon", "rommelbak", ens. Hierdie "heuristieke" vorm die basis van verbruikersgedrag en die ruggraat van bemarkingsteorie.

Aangesien ons hard werk om gesofistikeerde kategorieë in ons gedagtes op te bou, bestee ons ook baie daarvan aan voedselondernemings uit en vertrou ons dit toe. Onthou jy nog die lemoensap Sunny Delight? Dit is aan die einde van die negentigerjare in die Verenigde Koninkryk bekend gestel, met 'n bemarkingsveldtog van 'n miljoen pond, en het gou een van die grootste drankies ter wêreld geword. Dit was 'n gesonde alternatief vir gaskoeldranke. In sy advertensies sou Ma die yskas met Sunny D in die yskas hou sodat hulle, as die kinders en hul vriende kom kuier, sou sien hoe 'n gawe gesin hulle was. Die sentrale boodskap was dat die drank in die yskas gebêre moet word. Dinge wat as yskaswaardig geklassifiseer word, is aan die hoë tafel van gesondheid.

Maar Sunny D was tegnies nie 'n sap nie, dit was 'n "sitrusverrykte drankie"-slegs 2 persent lemoensap, bygevoeg by mieliesiroop en water met hoë fruktose. Dit kan jare lank op 'n supermarkrak bestaan. Maar die konnotasies van varsheid wat die yskas geleen het, het dit stewig en onbewustelik in ons perseptuele kategorie van "gesond" bevestig. Meer onlangs het die Ierse Hooggeregshof beslis dat die suikerinhoud van Subway -toebroodjiebrood so hoog was dat dit as suikergoed gerangskik moet word. Die hofsaak het oorweeg of metrobrood BTW-vrygestel moet wees eerder as om besorg te wees oor die feit dat verbruikers verward of mislei word in hul voedselkeuses. Pringles -chips het ongeveer 'n dekade gelede 'n soortgelyke hofsaak gehad oor die vraag of die mengsel van aartappel, koringstysel, rysmeel, sonneblom en mielieolie bestrooi met mononatriumglutamate, dinatriuminosinate, geel kleurstowwe en meer as 'n dosyn ander bestanddele 'n 'aartappel' is. chip ”, weer vir belastingkategoriseringsdoeleindes.

Die meeste verwerkte voedsel wat ons eet, kom nie uit die natuur nie, maar word in fabrieke saamgestel met laboratoriummiddels bygevoeg. Die rol van bemarking, in 'n diepe sin, is om 'n voorwerp weer te betower. Bemarking betower kos deur dit te verskuif na emosioneel kragtige beelde (die pastorale platteland, die oerwoud, die bos, die plattelandse kombuis of die bakkery). Dit is op die kategoriseringsvlak waar die meeste geld en moeite deur die vervaardigers van ultra-verwerkte voedsel bestee word.

Neem byvoorbeeld die geval van die Europese Parlement, wat die vleislobby se pogings om plantgebaseerde produkte te verbied met kategorieë soos 'burger' of 'wors' in die beskrywing van hul vegetariese plaasvervangers, verwerp het. Sy argument was in wese dat dit verwarrend vir die kliënt was. In werklikheid illustreer dit hoe die belangrikste stryd om die beheer van voedsel en die verbruik daarvan nie in die advertensies, handelsmerke, erkenning van beroemdhede of pryse is nie, maar op die baie meer subtiele, maar diepgaande maniere waarop ons perseptuele kategorieë gemasseer word. Voedselhandelsmerke, supermarkte en groepe in die bedryf weet dit.

Intussen loop die res van ons voort in die “graan” gang en wonder waar alles verkeerd loop.

Dr Norah Campbell is medeprofessor in bemarking aan die Trinity College Dublin, Sarah Browne is assistent -professor in bemarking by TCD, en prof Francis Finucane is 'n konsultant -endokrinoloog by Galway University Hospitals en NUI Galway


Hoe supermarkte ons mislei om ongesonde kos te koop, en wat ons daaraan kan doen

Kyk u ooit na die bordjies wat in die supermarkte op die gangetjies hang om te sien hoe u moontlik die laaste drie dinge wat u nodig het, kan kry sonder om terug te gaan na die begin van die gevreesde renbaan?

As u net soos die meeste mense is, begin u waarskynlik ordentlik. Met grimmige vasberadenheid kom u deur die 'dekompressiesone'-die niemandsland van kerse en rietmandjies en lelies wat kleinhandelkundiges noukeurig ontwerp het om u van straatspoed tot inkopiesnelheid te vertraag, na die 'mark' wat die moederliefde van varsheid.

U is verenig rondom die 'omtrek' van die winkel: die rande wat die deli, bakkery en slagter huisves, en waar die meeste wins gemaak word. Dan word dit 'n bietjie meer ewekansig. Halfpad in die gang verlaat jy jou trollie, draai jy om die “einddop” -skerms wat bedoel is om jou te lok om goed te koop wat jy dalk nie op jou lys gehad het nie. (Wat doen 'n ontbytkroeg langs 'n ketelpromosie?)

Met 'n vae paniek wat begin toeneem, begin u na die kategorieë kyk vir leiding en gesonde verstand - vertel my asseblief waar die bakpad is. Kleinhandelontwerpers skat (en hulle het baie ondersoek ingestel na die mikrogedrag van kliënte) dat ons na ongeveer 25 minute in die supermark oorskakel van rasionele na emosionele besluitneming. Dit maak ons ​​meer vatbaar om 'n pakkie sjokolade rosyne langs die eiers te gryp.

Voedselkategorieë - die manier waarop ons die basiese groepe voedsel sien - vrugte, groente, korrels, olies, suiwelprodukte en so meer, is ongelooflik kragtig. Hulle rig die manier waarop ons die inkopielys afmerk af, en verstandelik verreken die gesinslede en die stadiums van die dag. Ontbyt, bosluis. Kosblikke, regmerkie. Aandete, regmerkie. Die Voedselveiligheidsowerheid van Ierland het baie interessante studies gedoen oor die voedingsinhoud van voedsel in Ierse supermarkte. Dit het bevind dat die meerderheid yoghurt nie 'n gesonde keuse is nie, en ook nie ontbytgraan nie. Die meerderheid van die "baba -skyfies" was hoër in versadigde vet as volwasse "verminderde vet" -chips, terwyl die meeste babakoekies suiker hoër was as gewone spysverteringskoekies. Kategorieë kan misleidend wees, selfs gevaarlik.

Verwante

Hierdie inhoud is geblokkeer weens u koekievoorkeure. Om dit te sien, verander u instellings en verfris die bladsy

In die lig van 'n vetsugkrisis wat verborge maar sistemiese lyding en lewensverlies veroorsaak het, is die enigste kragtigste teenmaatreël wat ons kan onderneem om nie advertensies teen gemorskos vir kinders te verbied nie, en nie belasting op suikerhoudende drankies, of om kitskoswinkels 100 m te plaas nie. van die skoolhekke af, maar om voedselprodukte te herkategoriseer sodat dit vir verbruikers makliker is om te sien hoe gesond hulle is. As hierdie stap geneem word, verskyn die meeste ontbytgraan in die snackgang, die meeste gebak in die nagereggang, die meeste jogurt verskyn in die koeldrankgang, en die beskuit verskyn by die banketbakkie. Dit lyk dalk triviaal, maar die akkurate en deursigtige indeling van voedselprodukte is 'n belangrike stryd in die oorlog teen vetsug.

Dit is omdat 'perseptuele kategorisering' 'n kragtige verskynsel is. Elke voorwerp, elke ervaring wat ons het, word gekoppel aan 'n kategorie wat ons mettertyd in ons gedagtes opgebou het. Ons reageer op die wêreld deur dinge in kategorieë te plaas, nie deur dinge as individuele gevalle te beskou nie. Daarom hardloop ons nie na elke persoon in Graftonstraat wat ons nog nooit gesien het nie en groet hulle in verwondering oor hul unieke uniekheid. Ons skandeer die omgewing: "persoon", "persoon", "persoon", "winkel", "persoon", "rommelbak", ens. Hierdie "heuristieke" vorm die basis van verbruikersgedrag en die ruggraat van bemarkingsteorie.

Terwyl ons hard werk om gesofistikeerde kategorieë in ons gedagtes op te bou, bestee ons ook baie daarvan aan voedselondernemings uit en vertrou ons dit toe. Onthou jy nog die lemoensap Sunny Delight? Dit is aan die einde van die negentigerjare in die Verenigde Koninkryk bekendgestel, met 'n bemarkingsveldtog van 'n miljoen pond, en het gou een van die grootste drankies ter wêreld geword. Dit was 'n gesonde alternatief vir gaskoeldranke. In sy advertensies het Ma die yskas met Sunny D opgegaar sodat die kinders en hul vriende kon sien hoe 'n gawe gesin hulle was. Die sentrale boodskap was dat die drank in die yskas gebêre moet word. Dinge wat as yskaswaardig geklassifiseer word, is aan die hoë tafel van gesondheid.

Maar Sunny D was tegnies nie 'n sap nie, dit was 'n "sitrusverrykte drankie"-slegs 2 persent lemoensap, bygevoeg by mieliesiroop en water met hoë fruktose. Dit kan jare lank op 'n supermarkrak bestaan. Maar die konnotasies van varsheid wat die yskas geleen het, het dit stewig en onbewustelik in ons perseptuele kategorie van "gesond" bevestig. Meer onlangs het die Ierse hooggeregshof beslis dat die suikerinhoud van Subway -toebroodjiebrood so hoog was dat dit as suikergoed gekategoriseer moet word. Die hofsaak het oorweeg of metrobrood BTW-vrygestel moet wees eerder as om te sorg dat verbruikers verward of mislei word in hul voedselkeuses. Pringles -chips het ongeveer 'n dekade gelede 'n soortgelyke hofsaak gehad oor die vraag of die mengsel van aartappel, koringstysel, rysmeel, sonneblom en mielieolie bestrooi met mononatriumglutamate, dinatriuminosinate, geel kleurstowwe en meer as 'n dosyn ander bestanddele 'n 'aartappel' is. chip ”, weer vir belastingkategoriseringsdoeleindes.

Die meeste verwerkte voedsel wat ons eet, kom nie uit die natuur nie, maar word in fabrieke saamgestel met laboratoriummiddels bygevoeg. Die rol van bemarking, in 'n diepe sin, is om 'n voorwerp weer te betower. Bemarking betower kos deur dit te verskuif na emosioneel kragtige beelde (die pastorale platteland, die oerwoud, die bos, die plattelandse kombuis of die bakkery). Dit is op die kategoriseringsvlak waar die meeste geld en moeite deur die vervaardigers van ultra-verwerkte voedsel bestee word.

Neem byvoorbeeld die geval van die Europese Parlement, wat die vleislobby se pogings om plantgebaseerde produkte te verbied met kategorieë soos 'burger' of 'wors' in die beskrywing van hul vegetariese plaasvervangers, verwerp het. Sy argument was in wese dat dit verwarrend vir die kliënt was. In werklikheid illustreer dit hoe die belangrikste stryd om die beheer van voedsel en die verbruik daarvan nie in die advertensies, handelsmerke, aantekeninge van beroemdhede of pryse is nie, maar op die baie meer subtiele, maar diepgaande maniere waarop ons perseptuele kategorieë gemasseer word. Voedselhandelsmerke, supermarkte en groepe in die bedryf weet dit.

Intussen loop die res van ons voort in die “graan” gang en wonder waar alles verkeerd loop.

Dr Norah Campbell is medeprofessor in bemarking aan die Trinity College Dublin, Sarah Browne is assistent -professor in bemarking by TCD, en prof Francis Finucane is 'n konsultant -endokrinoloog by Galway University Hospitals en NUI Galway


Hoe supermarkte ons mislei om ongesonde kos te koop, en wat ons daaraan kan doen

Kyk u ooit na die bordjies wat in die supermarkte op die gangetjies hang om te sien hoe u moontlik die laaste drie dinge wat u nodig het, kan kry sonder om terug te gaan na die begin van die gevreesde renbaan?

As u net soos die meeste mense is, begin u waarskynlik ordentlik. Met grimmige vasberadenheid kom u deur die 'dekompressiesone'-die niemandsland van kerse en rietmandjies en lelies wat kleinhandelkundiges noukeurig ontwerp het om u van straatspoed tot spoedsnelheid te vertraag, na die 'mark' wat die moederliefde van varsheid.

U is verenig rondom die 'omtrek' van die winkel: die rande wat die deli, bakkery en slagter huisves, en waar die meeste wins gemaak word. Dan word dit 'n bietjie meer ewekansig. Halfpad met die een gang verlaat jy jou trollie, draai jy om die “einddop” -skerms wat bedoel is om jou te lok om dinge te koop wat jy dalk nie op jou lys gehad het nie. (Wat doen 'n ontbytkroeg langs 'n ketelpromosie?)

Met 'n vae paniek wat begin toeneem, begin u na die kategorieë kyk vir leiding en gesonde verstand - vertel my asseblief waar die bakpad is. Kleinhandelontwerpers skat (en hulle het baie ondersoek ingestel na die mikrogedrag van kliënte) dat ons na ongeveer 25 minute in die supermark oorskakel van rasionele na emosionele besluitneming. Dit maak ons ​​meer vatbaar om 'n pakkie sjokolade rosyne langs die eiers te gryp.

Voedselkategorieë - die manier waarop ons die basiese groepe voedsel sien - vrugte, groente, korrels, olies, suiwelprodukte en so meer, is ongelooflik kragtig. Hulle rig die manier waarop ons die inkopielys afmerk af, en verstandelik verreken die lede van die gesin en die stadiums van die dag. Ontbyt, bosluis. Kosblikke, regmerkie. Aandete, regmerkie. Die Voedselveiligheidsowerheid van Ierland het baie interessante studies gedoen oor die voedingsinhoud van voedsel in Ierse supermarkte. Dit het bevind dat die meerderheid yoghurt nie 'n gesonde keuse is nie, en ook nie ontbytgraan nie. Die meerderheid van die "baba -chips" was hoër in versadigde vet as die volwasse "vetvet" -chips, terwyl die meeste babakoekies suiker hoër was as gewone spysverteringskoekies. Kategorieë kan misleidend wees, selfs gevaarlik.

Verwante

Hierdie inhoud is geblokkeer weens u koekievoorkeure. Om dit te sien, verander u instellings en verfris die bladsy

In die lig van 'n vetsugkrisis wat verborge maar sistemiese lyding en lewensverlies veroorsaak het, is die enigste kragtigste teenmaatreël wat ons kan onderneem om nie advertensies teen gemorskos vir kinders te verbied nie, en nie belasting op suikerhoudende drankies, of om kitskoswinkels 100 m te plaas nie. van die skoolhekke af, maar om voedselprodukte te herkategoriseer sodat dit vir verbruikers makliker is om te sien hoe gesond hulle is. As hierdie stap geneem word, verskyn die meeste ontbytgraan in die snackgang, die meeste gebak in die nagereggang, die meeste jogurt verskyn in die koeldrankgang, en die beskuit verskyn by die banketbakkie. Dit lyk dalk triviaal, maar die akkurate en deursigtige indeling van voedselprodukte is 'n belangrike stryd in die oorlog teen vetsug.

Dit is omdat 'perseptuele kategorisering' 'n kragtige verskynsel is. Elke voorwerp, elke ervaring wat ons het, word gekoppel aan 'n kategorie wat ons mettertyd in ons gedagtes opgebou het. Ons reageer op die wêreld deur dinge in kategorieë te plaas, nie deur dinge as individuele gevalle te beskou nie. Daarom hardloop ons nie na elke persoon in Graftonstraat wat ons nog nooit gesien het nie en groet hulle in verwondering oor hul unieke uniekheid. Ons skandeer die omgewing: "persoon", "persoon", "persoon", "winkel", "persoon", "rommelbak", ens. Hierdie "heuristieke" vorm die basis van verbruikersgedrag en die ruggraat van bemarkingsteorie.

Terwyl ons hard werk om gesofistikeerde kategorieë in ons gedagtes op te bou, bestee ons ook baie daarvan aan voedselondernemings uit en vertrou ons dit toe. Onthou jy nog die lemoensap Sunny Delight? Dit is aan die einde van die negentigerjare in die Verenigde Koninkryk bekendgestel, met 'n bemarkingsveldtog van 'n miljoen pond, en het gou een van die grootste drankies ter wêreld geword. Dit was 'n gesonde alternatief vir gaskoeldranke. In sy advertensies het Ma die yskas met Sunny D opgegaar sodat die kinders en hul vriende kon sien hoe 'n gawe gesin hulle was. Die sentrale boodskap was dat die drank in die yskas gebêre moet word. Dinge wat as yskaswaardig geklassifiseer word, is aan die hoë tafel van gesondheid.

Maar Sunny D was tegnies nie 'n sap nie, dit was 'n "sitrusverrykte drankie"-slegs 2 persent lemoensap, bygevoeg by mieliesiroop en water met hoë fruktose. Dit kan jare lank op 'n supermarkrak bestaan. Maar die konnotasies van varsheid wat die yskas geleen het, het dit stewig en onbewustelik in ons perseptuele kategorie "gesond" vasgemaak. Meer onlangs het die Ierse hooggeregshof beslis dat die suikerinhoud van Subway -toebroodjiebrood so hoog was dat dit as suikergoed gekategoriseer moet word. Die hofsaak het oorweeg of metrobrood BTW-vrygestel moet wees eerder as om besorg te wees oor die feit dat verbruikers verward of mislei word in hul voedselkeuses. Pringles -chips het ongeveer 'n dekade gelede 'n soortgelyke hofsaak gehad oor die vraag of die mengsel van aartappel, koringstysel, rysmeel, sonneblom en mielieolie bestrooi met mononatriumglutamate, dinatriuminosinate, geel kleurstowwe en meer as 'n dosyn ander bestanddele 'n 'aartappel' is. chip ”, weer vir belastingkategoriseringsdoeleindes.

Die meeste verwerkte voedsel wat ons eet, kom nie uit die natuur nie, maar word in fabrieke saamgestel met laboratoriummiddels bygevoeg. Die rol van bemarking, in 'n diepe sin, is om 'n voorwerp weer te betower. Bemarking betower kos deur dit te verskuif na emosioneel kragtige beelde (die pastorale platteland, die oerwoud, die bos, die plattelandse kombuis of die bakkery). Dit is op die kategoriseringsvlak waar die meeste geld en moeite deur die vervaardigers van ultra-verwerkte voedsel bestee word.

Neem byvoorbeeld die geval van die Europese Parlement, wat die vleislobby se pogings om plantgebaseerde produkte te verbied met kategorieë soos 'burger' of 'wors' in die beskrywing van hul vegetariese plaasvervangers, verwerp het. Sy argument was in wese dat dit verwarrend vir die kliënt was. In werklikheid illustreer dit hoe die belangrikste stryd om die beheer van voedsel en die verbruik daarvan nie in die advertensies, handelsmerke, erkenning van beroemdhede of pryse is nie, maar op die baie meer subtiele, maar diepgaande maniere waarop ons perseptuele kategorieë gemasseer word. Voedselhandelsmerke, supermarkte en groepe in die bedryf weet dit.

Intussen loop die res van ons voort in die “graan” gang en wonder waar alles verkeerd loop.

Dr Norah Campbell is medeprofessor in bemarking aan die Trinity College Dublin, Sarah Browne is assistent -professor in bemarking by TCD, en prof Francis Finucane is 'n konsultant -endokrinoloog by Galway University Hospitals en NUI Galway


Hoe supermarkte ons mislei om ongesonde kos te koop, en wat ons daaraan kan doen

Kyk u ooit na die bordjies wat in die supermarkte oor die gange hang om te sien hoe u moontlik die laaste drie dinge wat u nodig het, kan kry sonder om terug te gaan na die begin van die gevreesde renbaan?

As u net soos die meeste mense is, begin u waarskynlik ordentlik. Met grimmige vasberadenheid kom u deur die 'dekompressiesone'-die niemandsland van kerse en rietmandjies en lelies wat kleinhandelkundiges noukeurig ontwerp het om u van straatspoed tot inkopiesnelheid te vertraag, na die 'mark' wat die moederliefde van varsheid.

U is verenig rondom die 'omtrek' van die winkel: die rande wat die deli, bakkery en slagter huisves, en waar die meeste wins gemaak word. Dan word dit 'n bietjie meer ewekansig. Halfpad in die gang verlaat jy jou trollie, draai jy om die “einddop” -skerms wat bedoel is om jou te lok om goed te koop wat jy dalk nie op jou lys gehad het nie. (Wat doen 'n ontbytkroeg langs 'n ketelpromosie?)

Met 'n vae paniek wat begin toeneem, begin u na die kategorieë kyk vir leiding en gesonde verstand - vertel my asseblief waar die bakpad is. Kleinhandelontwerpers skat (en hulle het baie ondersoek ingestel na die mikrogedrag van kliënte) dat ons na ongeveer 25 minute in die supermark oorskakel van rasionele na emosionele besluitneming. Dit maak ons ​​meer vatbaar om 'n pakkie sjokolade rosyne langs die eiers te gryp.

Voedselkategorieë - die manier waarop ons die basiese groepe voedsel sien - vrugte, groente, korrels, olies, suiwelprodukte en so meer, is ongelooflik kragtig. Hulle rig die manier waarop ons die inkopielys afmerk af, en verstandelik verreken die lede van die gesin en die stadiums van die dag. Ontbyt, bosluis. Kosblikke, regmerkie. Aandete, regmerkie. Die Voedselveiligheidsowerheid van Ierland het baie interessante studies gedoen oor die voedingsinhoud van voedsel in Ierse supermarkte. Dit het bevind dat die meerderheid yoghurt nie 'n gesonde keuse is nie, en ook nie ontbytgraan nie. Die meerderheid van die "baba -skyfies" was hoër in versadigde vet as volwasse "verminderde vet" -chips, terwyl die meeste babakoekies suiker hoër was as gewone spysverteringskoekies. Kategorieë kan misleidend wees, selfs gevaarlik.

Verwante

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In die lig van 'n vetsugkrisis wat verborge maar sistemiese lyding en lewensverlies veroorsaak het, is die enigste kragtigste teenmaatreël wat ons kan onderneem om nie advertensies teen gemorskos vir kinders te verbied nie, en nie belasting op suikerhoudende drankies, of om kitskoswinkels 100 m te plaas nie. van die skoolhekke af, maar om voedselprodukte te herkategoriseer, sodat dit makliker is vir verbruikers om te sien hoe gesond hulle is. As hierdie stap geneem word, sou die meeste ontbytgraan in die snackgang verskyn, die meeste gebak in die nagereggang, die meeste yoghurt in die koeldrankgang en die beskuit by die uitklokgoed. Dit lyk dalk triviaal, maar die akkurate en deursigtige indeling van voedselprodukte is 'n belangrike stryd in die oorlog teen vetsug.

Dit is omdat 'perseptuele kategorisering' 'n kragtige verskynsel is. Elke voorwerp, elke ervaring wat ons het, word gekoppel aan 'n kategorie wat ons mettertyd in ons gedagtes opgebou het. Ons reageer op die wêreld deur dinge in kategorieë te plaas, nie deur dinge as individuele gevalle te beskou nie. Daarom hardloop ons nie na elke persoon in Graftonstraat wat ons nog nooit gesien het nie en groet hulle in verwondering oor hul unieke uniekheid. Ons skandeer die omgewing: "persoon", "persoon", "persoon", "winkel", "persoon", "rommelbak", ens. Hierdie "heuristieke" vorm die basis van verbruikersgedrag en die ruggraat van bemarkingsteorie.

Aangesien ons hard werk om gesofistikeerde kategorieë in ons gedagtes op te bou, bestee ons ook baie daarvan aan voedselondernemings uit en vertrou ons dit toe. Onthou jy nog die lemoensap Sunny Delight? Dit is aan die einde van die negentigerjare in die Verenigde Koninkryk bekendgestel, met 'n bemarkingsveldtog van 'n miljoen pond, en het gou een van die grootste drankies ter wêreld geword. Dit was 'n gesonde alternatief vir gaskoeldranke. In sy advertensies het Ma die yskas met Sunny D opgegaar sodat die kinders en hul vriende kon sien hoe 'n gawe gesin hulle was. Die sentrale boodskap was dat die drank in die yskas gebêre moet word. Dinge wat as yskaswaardig geklassifiseer word, is aan die hoë tafel van gesondheid.

Maar Sunny D was tegnies nie 'n sap nie, dit was 'n "sitrusverrykte drankie"-slegs 2 persent lemoensap, bygevoeg by mieliesiroop en water met hoë fruktose. Dit kan jare lank op 'n supermarkrak bestaan. Maar die konnotasies van varsheid wat die yskas geleen het, het dit stewig en onbewustelik in ons perseptuele kategorie van "gesond" bevestig. Meer onlangs het die Ierse hooggeregshof beslis dat die suikerinhoud van Subway -toebroodjiebrood so hoog was dat dit as suikergoed gekategoriseer moet word. Die hofsaak het oorweeg of metrobrood BTW-vrygestel moet wees eerder as om besorg te wees oor die feit dat verbruikers verward of mislei word in hul voedselkeuses. Pringles -chips het ongeveer 'n dekade gelede 'n soortgelyke hofsaak gehad oor die vraag of die mengsel van aartappel, koringstysel, rysmeel, sonneblom en mielieolie bestrooi met mononatriumglutamate, dinatriuminosinate, geel kleurstowwe en meer as 'n dosyn ander bestanddele 'n 'aartappel' is. chip ”, weer vir belastingkategoriseringsdoeleindes.

Die meeste verwerkte voedsel wat ons eet, kom nie uit die natuur nie, maar word in fabrieke saamgestel met laboratoriummiddels bygevoeg. Die rol van bemarking, in 'n diepe sin, is om 'n voorwerp weer te betower. Bemarking betower kos deur dit te verskuif na emosioneel kragtige beelde (die pastorale platteland, die oerwoud, die bos, die plattelandse kombuis of die bakkery). Dit is op die kategoriseringsvlak waar die meeste geld en moeite deur die vervaardigers van ultra-verwerkte voedsel bestee word.

Neem byvoorbeeld die geval van die Europese Parlement, wat die vleislobby se pogings om plantgebaseerde produkte te verbied met kategorieë soos 'burger' of 'wors' in die beskrywing van hul vegetariese plaasvervangers, verwerp het. Sy argument was in wese dat dit verwarrend vir die kliënt was. In werklikheid illustreer dit hoe die belangrikste stryd om die beheer van voedsel en die verbruik daarvan nie in die advertensies, handelsmerke, erkenning van beroemdhede of pryse is nie, maar op die baie meer subtiele, maar diepgaande maniere waarop ons perseptuele kategorieë gemasseer word. Voedselhandelsmerke, supermarkte en groepe in die bedryf weet dit.

Intussen loop die res van ons deur die “graangewas” -gang, terwyl ons wonder waar alles verkeerd loop.

Dr Norah Campbell is medeprofessor in bemarking aan die Trinity College Dublin, Sarah Browne is assistent -professor in bemarking by TCD, en prof Francis Finucane is 'n konsultant -endokrinoloog by Galway University Hospitals en NUI Galway


Hoe supermarkte ons mislei om ongesonde kos te koop, en wat ons daaraan kan doen

Kyk u ooit na die bordjies wat in die supermarkte oor die gange hang om te sien hoe u moontlik die laaste drie dinge wat u nodig het, kan kry sonder om terug te gaan na die begin van die gevreesde renbaan?

As u net soos die meeste mense is, begin u waarskynlik ordentlik. Met grimmige vasberadenheid kom u deur die 'dekompressiesone'-die niemandsland van kerse en rietmandjies en lelies wat kleinhandelkundiges noukeurig ontwerp het om u van straatspoed tot spoedsnelheid te vertraag, na die 'mark' wat die moederliefde van varsheid.

U is verenig rondom die 'omtrek' van die winkel: die rande wat die deli, bakkery en slagter huisves, en waar die meeste wins gemaak word. Dan word dit 'n bietjie meer ewekansig. Halfpad in die gang verlaat jy jou trollie, draai jy om die “einddop” -skerms wat bedoel is om jou te lok om goed te koop wat jy dalk nie op jou lys gehad het nie. (Wat doen 'n ontbytkroeg langs 'n ketelpromosie?)

With vague panic rising, you start looking up at the categories for some guidance and sanity – please, please tell me where the baking aisle is. Retail designers estimate (and they have done a lot of investigation into the micro-behaviours of customers) that after about 25 minutes in the supermarket we switch from rational to emotional decision-making. This makes us more susceptible to grabbing a packet of chocolate raisins located right next to the eggs.

Food categories – the way we see the basic groups of foods – fruits, vegetables, grains, oils, dairy and so on, are incredibly powerful. They orientate the way we tick off the shopping list, mentally accounting for the members of the family and the stages of the day. Breakfast, tick. Lunchboxes, tick. Dinners, tick. The Food Safety Authority of Ireland has done really interesting studies on the nutritional content of foods in Irish supermarkets. It found that the majority of yoghurts are not healthy choices, nor are breakfast cereals. The majority of “baby crisps” were higher in saturated fat than adult “reduced fat” crisps, while most baby biscuits were higher in sugar than plain digestive biscuits. Categories can be deceptive, even dangerous.

Verwante

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In the face of an obesity crisis that has caused hidden but systemic suffering and loss of life, arguably the single most powerful countermeasure we could undertake is not to ban junk food advertising to children, nor tax sugary drinks, nor place fast-food shops 100m from the school gates, but to recategorise food products so that it is easier for consumers to see how healthy they are. If that step was taken, most breakfast cereals would appear in the snack aisle, most baked goods would appear in the dessert aisle, most yoghurts would appear in the soft drinks aisle, and those rusks would appear at the confectionary check-out. It may seem trivial, but the accurate and transparent categorisation of food products is a key battle in the war on obesity.

This is because “perceptual categorisation” is a powerful phenomenon. Every object, every experience we have, is assigned to a category we have built up in our minds over time. We respond to the world by putting things into categories, not by thinking of things as individual cases. That is why we don’t run up to every person on Grafton Street we’ve never seen and greet them in astonishment of their sheer uniqueness. We scan the environment: “person”, “person”, “person”, “shop”, “person”, “litter bin”, and so on. These “heuristics” form the basis of consumer behaviour and the backbone of marketing theory.

As we work hard to build up sophisticated categories in our minds, we also outsource and entrust much of it to food firms. Do you remember the orange juice Sunny Delight? It was launched in the United Kingdom in the late 1990s, with a multi-million pound marketing campaign, and soon became one of the biggest selling drinks in the world. It was positioned as a healthy alternative to fizzy drinks. In its advertisements, Mom would stock the fridge with Sunny D so that when the kids and their friends came to visit, they’d see what a cool family they were. The central message was that the drink should be stored in the fridge. Things that are categorised as fridge-worthy are at the high-table of healthfulness.

But Sunny D wasn’t technically a juice, it was a “citrus-enriched beverage” – a mere 2 per cent orange juice, added to high-fructose corn syrup and water. It could exist for years on a supermarket shelf. But the connotations of freshness that the fridge lent ensconced it firmly and unconsciously in our perceptual category of “healthy”. More recently, the Irish Supreme Court ruled that the sugar content of Subway sandwich bread was so high it should be recategorised as confectionary. The court case was considering whether Subway bread should be VAT-exempt rather than concern for consumers being confused or misled in their food choices. Pringles crisps had a similar court case about a decade ago on whether its slurry of potato, wheat starch, rice flour, sunflower and maize oil dusted with monosodium glutamates, disodium inosinates, yellow colourings, and more than a dozen other ingredients constituted a “potato chip”, again for tax categorisation purposes.

Most of the processed food we eat is not from mother nature but assembled in factories with laboratory agents added. The role of marketing, in a deep sense, it is to re-enchant an object. Marketing re-enchants food by shifting it to emotionally powerful images (the pastoral countryside, the jungle, the forest, the country kitchen or the bakery). It is at the level of categorisation where most of the money and effort is spent by the producers of ultra-processed food.

Take for example the case of the European Parliament recently, which rejected the meat lobby’s attempts to ban plant-based products using categories such as “burger” or “sausage” in their description of their vegetarian substitutes. Its argument was essentially that it was confusing for the customer. In reality, this illustrates how the key battles for the control of food and its consumption are not in its advertising, branding, celebrity endorsements or pricing, but in the much more subtle yet profound ways that our perceptual categories are massaged. Food brands, supermarket retailers and industry lobby groups know this.

Meanwhile, the rest of us continue to trudge down the “cereal” aisle, wondering where it is all going wrong.

Dr Norah Campbell is associate professor of marketing at Trinity College Dublin, Sarah Browne is Assistant Professor in Marketing at TCD, and Prof Francis Finucane is a consultant endocrinologist at Galway University Hospitals and NUI Galway


How supermarkets trick us into buying unhealthy food, and what we can do about it

Do you ever look up at those signs hanging over the aisles in supermarkets to see how you might possibly get the last three last things you need without going back to the start of the dreaded racetrack?

If you’re anything like most people, you probably begin shopping in quite an orderly fashion. With grim determination you make it through the “decompression zone” – that no-man’s land of candles and wicker baskets and lilies that retail experts have carefully designed to slow you down from street speed to shopper speed, into the “marketplace” which delivers the motherlode of freshness.

You are chicaned around the “perimeter” of the store: the edges that house the deli, bakery and butcher, and where most profit is made. Then it becomes a little more random. Halfway up one aisle, you abandon your trolley, U-turn around those “end cap” displays that are meant to entice you to impulse-buy the stuff you may not have had on your list. (What’s a breakfast bar doing beside a kettle promotion?)

With vague panic rising, you start looking up at the categories for some guidance and sanity – please, please tell me where the baking aisle is. Retail designers estimate (and they have done a lot of investigation into the micro-behaviours of customers) that after about 25 minutes in the supermarket we switch from rational to emotional decision-making. This makes us more susceptible to grabbing a packet of chocolate raisins located right next to the eggs.

Food categories – the way we see the basic groups of foods – fruits, vegetables, grains, oils, dairy and so on, are incredibly powerful. They orientate the way we tick off the shopping list, mentally accounting for the members of the family and the stages of the day. Breakfast, tick. Lunchboxes, tick. Dinners, tick. The Food Safety Authority of Ireland has done really interesting studies on the nutritional content of foods in Irish supermarkets. It found that the majority of yoghurts are not healthy choices, nor are breakfast cereals. The majority of “baby crisps” were higher in saturated fat than adult “reduced fat” crisps, while most baby biscuits were higher in sugar than plain digestive biscuits. Categories can be deceptive, even dangerous.

Verwante

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In the face of an obesity crisis that has caused hidden but systemic suffering and loss of life, arguably the single most powerful countermeasure we could undertake is not to ban junk food advertising to children, nor tax sugary drinks, nor place fast-food shops 100m from the school gates, but to recategorise food products so that it is easier for consumers to see how healthy they are. If that step was taken, most breakfast cereals would appear in the snack aisle, most baked goods would appear in the dessert aisle, most yoghurts would appear in the soft drinks aisle, and those rusks would appear at the confectionary check-out. It may seem trivial, but the accurate and transparent categorisation of food products is a key battle in the war on obesity.

This is because “perceptual categorisation” is a powerful phenomenon. Every object, every experience we have, is assigned to a category we have built up in our minds over time. We respond to the world by putting things into categories, not by thinking of things as individual cases. That is why we don’t run up to every person on Grafton Street we’ve never seen and greet them in astonishment of their sheer uniqueness. We scan the environment: “person”, “person”, “person”, “shop”, “person”, “litter bin”, and so on. These “heuristics” form the basis of consumer behaviour and the backbone of marketing theory.

As we work hard to build up sophisticated categories in our minds, we also outsource and entrust much of it to food firms. Do you remember the orange juice Sunny Delight? It was launched in the United Kingdom in the late 1990s, with a multi-million pound marketing campaign, and soon became one of the biggest selling drinks in the world. It was positioned as a healthy alternative to fizzy drinks. In its advertisements, Mom would stock the fridge with Sunny D so that when the kids and their friends came to visit, they’d see what a cool family they were. The central message was that the drink should be stored in the fridge. Things that are categorised as fridge-worthy are at the high-table of healthfulness.

But Sunny D wasn’t technically a juice, it was a “citrus-enriched beverage” – a mere 2 per cent orange juice, added to high-fructose corn syrup and water. It could exist for years on a supermarket shelf. But the connotations of freshness that the fridge lent ensconced it firmly and unconsciously in our perceptual category of “healthy”. More recently, the Irish Supreme Court ruled that the sugar content of Subway sandwich bread was so high it should be recategorised as confectionary. The court case was considering whether Subway bread should be VAT-exempt rather than concern for consumers being confused or misled in their food choices. Pringles crisps had a similar court case about a decade ago on whether its slurry of potato, wheat starch, rice flour, sunflower and maize oil dusted with monosodium glutamates, disodium inosinates, yellow colourings, and more than a dozen other ingredients constituted a “potato chip”, again for tax categorisation purposes.

Most of the processed food we eat is not from mother nature but assembled in factories with laboratory agents added. The role of marketing, in a deep sense, it is to re-enchant an object. Marketing re-enchants food by shifting it to emotionally powerful images (the pastoral countryside, the jungle, the forest, the country kitchen or the bakery). It is at the level of categorisation where most of the money and effort is spent by the producers of ultra-processed food.

Take for example the case of the European Parliament recently, which rejected the meat lobby’s attempts to ban plant-based products using categories such as “burger” or “sausage” in their description of their vegetarian substitutes. Its argument was essentially that it was confusing for the customer. In reality, this illustrates how the key battles for the control of food and its consumption are not in its advertising, branding, celebrity endorsements or pricing, but in the much more subtle yet profound ways that our perceptual categories are massaged. Food brands, supermarket retailers and industry lobby groups know this.

Meanwhile, the rest of us continue to trudge down the “cereal” aisle, wondering where it is all going wrong.

Dr Norah Campbell is associate professor of marketing at Trinity College Dublin, Sarah Browne is Assistant Professor in Marketing at TCD, and Prof Francis Finucane is a consultant endocrinologist at Galway University Hospitals and NUI Galway


How supermarkets trick us into buying unhealthy food, and what we can do about it

Do you ever look up at those signs hanging over the aisles in supermarkets to see how you might possibly get the last three last things you need without going back to the start of the dreaded racetrack?

If you’re anything like most people, you probably begin shopping in quite an orderly fashion. With grim determination you make it through the “decompression zone” – that no-man’s land of candles and wicker baskets and lilies that retail experts have carefully designed to slow you down from street speed to shopper speed, into the “marketplace” which delivers the motherlode of freshness.

You are chicaned around the “perimeter” of the store: the edges that house the deli, bakery and butcher, and where most profit is made. Then it becomes a little more random. Halfway up one aisle, you abandon your trolley, U-turn around those “end cap” displays that are meant to entice you to impulse-buy the stuff you may not have had on your list. (What’s a breakfast bar doing beside a kettle promotion?)

With vague panic rising, you start looking up at the categories for some guidance and sanity – please, please tell me where the baking aisle is. Retail designers estimate (and they have done a lot of investigation into the micro-behaviours of customers) that after about 25 minutes in the supermarket we switch from rational to emotional decision-making. This makes us more susceptible to grabbing a packet of chocolate raisins located right next to the eggs.

Food categories – the way we see the basic groups of foods – fruits, vegetables, grains, oils, dairy and so on, are incredibly powerful. They orientate the way we tick off the shopping list, mentally accounting for the members of the family and the stages of the day. Breakfast, tick. Lunchboxes, tick. Dinners, tick. The Food Safety Authority of Ireland has done really interesting studies on the nutritional content of foods in Irish supermarkets. It found that the majority of yoghurts are not healthy choices, nor are breakfast cereals. The majority of “baby crisps” were higher in saturated fat than adult “reduced fat” crisps, while most baby biscuits were higher in sugar than plain digestive biscuits. Categories can be deceptive, even dangerous.

Verwante

This content has been blocked due to your cookie preferences. To view it, please change your settings and refresh the page

In the face of an obesity crisis that has caused hidden but systemic suffering and loss of life, arguably the single most powerful countermeasure we could undertake is not to ban junk food advertising to children, nor tax sugary drinks, nor place fast-food shops 100m from the school gates, but to recategorise food products so that it is easier for consumers to see how healthy they are. If that step was taken, most breakfast cereals would appear in the snack aisle, most baked goods would appear in the dessert aisle, most yoghurts would appear in the soft drinks aisle, and those rusks would appear at the confectionary check-out. It may seem trivial, but the accurate and transparent categorisation of food products is a key battle in the war on obesity.

This is because “perceptual categorisation” is a powerful phenomenon. Every object, every experience we have, is assigned to a category we have built up in our minds over time. We respond to the world by putting things into categories, not by thinking of things as individual cases. That is why we don’t run up to every person on Grafton Street we’ve never seen and greet them in astonishment of their sheer uniqueness. We scan the environment: “person”, “person”, “person”, “shop”, “person”, “litter bin”, and so on. These “heuristics” form the basis of consumer behaviour and the backbone of marketing theory.

As we work hard to build up sophisticated categories in our minds, we also outsource and entrust much of it to food firms. Do you remember the orange juice Sunny Delight? It was launched in the United Kingdom in the late 1990s, with a multi-million pound marketing campaign, and soon became one of the biggest selling drinks in the world. It was positioned as a healthy alternative to fizzy drinks. In its advertisements, Mom would stock the fridge with Sunny D so that when the kids and their friends came to visit, they’d see what a cool family they were. The central message was that the drink should be stored in the fridge. Things that are categorised as fridge-worthy are at the high-table of healthfulness.

But Sunny D wasn’t technically a juice, it was a “citrus-enriched beverage” – a mere 2 per cent orange juice, added to high-fructose corn syrup and water. It could exist for years on a supermarket shelf. But the connotations of freshness that the fridge lent ensconced it firmly and unconsciously in our perceptual category of “healthy”. More recently, the Irish Supreme Court ruled that the sugar content of Subway sandwich bread was so high it should be recategorised as confectionary. The court case was considering whether Subway bread should be VAT-exempt rather than concern for consumers being confused or misled in their food choices. Pringles crisps had a similar court case about a decade ago on whether its slurry of potato, wheat starch, rice flour, sunflower and maize oil dusted with monosodium glutamates, disodium inosinates, yellow colourings, and more than a dozen other ingredients constituted a “potato chip”, again for tax categorisation purposes.

Most of the processed food we eat is not from mother nature but assembled in factories with laboratory agents added. The role of marketing, in a deep sense, it is to re-enchant an object. Marketing re-enchants food by shifting it to emotionally powerful images (the pastoral countryside, the jungle, the forest, the country kitchen or the bakery). It is at the level of categorisation where most of the money and effort is spent by the producers of ultra-processed food.

Take for example the case of the European Parliament recently, which rejected the meat lobby’s attempts to ban plant-based products using categories such as “burger” or “sausage” in their description of their vegetarian substitutes. Its argument was essentially that it was confusing for the customer. In reality, this illustrates how the key battles for the control of food and its consumption are not in its advertising, branding, celebrity endorsements or pricing, but in the much more subtle yet profound ways that our perceptual categories are massaged. Food brands, supermarket retailers and industry lobby groups know this.

Meanwhile, the rest of us continue to trudge down the “cereal” aisle, wondering where it is all going wrong.

Dr Norah Campbell is associate professor of marketing at Trinity College Dublin, Sarah Browne is Assistant Professor in Marketing at TCD, and Prof Francis Finucane is a consultant endocrinologist at Galway University Hospitals and NUI Galway


How supermarkets trick us into buying unhealthy food, and what we can do about it

Do you ever look up at those signs hanging over the aisles in supermarkets to see how you might possibly get the last three last things you need without going back to the start of the dreaded racetrack?

If you’re anything like most people, you probably begin shopping in quite an orderly fashion. With grim determination you make it through the “decompression zone” – that no-man’s land of candles and wicker baskets and lilies that retail experts have carefully designed to slow you down from street speed to shopper speed, into the “marketplace” which delivers the motherlode of freshness.

You are chicaned around the “perimeter” of the store: the edges that house the deli, bakery and butcher, and where most profit is made. Then it becomes a little more random. Halfway up one aisle, you abandon your trolley, U-turn around those “end cap” displays that are meant to entice you to impulse-buy the stuff you may not have had on your list. (What’s a breakfast bar doing beside a kettle promotion?)

With vague panic rising, you start looking up at the categories for some guidance and sanity – please, please tell me where the baking aisle is. Retail designers estimate (and they have done a lot of investigation into the micro-behaviours of customers) that after about 25 minutes in the supermarket we switch from rational to emotional decision-making. This makes us more susceptible to grabbing a packet of chocolate raisins located right next to the eggs.

Food categories – the way we see the basic groups of foods – fruits, vegetables, grains, oils, dairy and so on, are incredibly powerful. They orientate the way we tick off the shopping list, mentally accounting for the members of the family and the stages of the day. Breakfast, tick. Lunchboxes, tick. Dinners, tick. The Food Safety Authority of Ireland has done really interesting studies on the nutritional content of foods in Irish supermarkets. It found that the majority of yoghurts are not healthy choices, nor are breakfast cereals. The majority of “baby crisps” were higher in saturated fat than adult “reduced fat” crisps, while most baby biscuits were higher in sugar than plain digestive biscuits. Categories can be deceptive, even dangerous.

Verwante

This content has been blocked due to your cookie preferences. To view it, please change your settings and refresh the page

In the face of an obesity crisis that has caused hidden but systemic suffering and loss of life, arguably the single most powerful countermeasure we could undertake is not to ban junk food advertising to children, nor tax sugary drinks, nor place fast-food shops 100m from the school gates, but to recategorise food products so that it is easier for consumers to see how healthy they are. If that step was taken, most breakfast cereals would appear in the snack aisle, most baked goods would appear in the dessert aisle, most yoghurts would appear in the soft drinks aisle, and those rusks would appear at the confectionary check-out. It may seem trivial, but the accurate and transparent categorisation of food products is a key battle in the war on obesity.

This is because “perceptual categorisation” is a powerful phenomenon. Every object, every experience we have, is assigned to a category we have built up in our minds over time. We respond to the world by putting things into categories, not by thinking of things as individual cases. That is why we don’t run up to every person on Grafton Street we’ve never seen and greet them in astonishment of their sheer uniqueness. We scan the environment: “person”, “person”, “person”, “shop”, “person”, “litter bin”, and so on. These “heuristics” form the basis of consumer behaviour and the backbone of marketing theory.

As we work hard to build up sophisticated categories in our minds, we also outsource and entrust much of it to food firms. Do you remember the orange juice Sunny Delight? It was launched in the United Kingdom in the late 1990s, with a multi-million pound marketing campaign, and soon became one of the biggest selling drinks in the world. It was positioned as a healthy alternative to fizzy drinks. In its advertisements, Mom would stock the fridge with Sunny D so that when the kids and their friends came to visit, they’d see what a cool family they were. The central message was that the drink should be stored in the fridge. Things that are categorised as fridge-worthy are at the high-table of healthfulness.

But Sunny D wasn’t technically a juice, it was a “citrus-enriched beverage” – a mere 2 per cent orange juice, added to high-fructose corn syrup and water. It could exist for years on a supermarket shelf. But the connotations of freshness that the fridge lent ensconced it firmly and unconsciously in our perceptual category of “healthy”. More recently, the Irish Supreme Court ruled that the sugar content of Subway sandwich bread was so high it should be recategorised as confectionary. The court case was considering whether Subway bread should be VAT-exempt rather than concern for consumers being confused or misled in their food choices. Pringles crisps had a similar court case about a decade ago on whether its slurry of potato, wheat starch, rice flour, sunflower and maize oil dusted with monosodium glutamates, disodium inosinates, yellow colourings, and more than a dozen other ingredients constituted a “potato chip”, again for tax categorisation purposes.

Most of the processed food we eat is not from mother nature but assembled in factories with laboratory agents added. The role of marketing, in a deep sense, it is to re-enchant an object. Marketing re-enchants food by shifting it to emotionally powerful images (the pastoral countryside, the jungle, the forest, the country kitchen or the bakery). It is at the level of categorisation where most of the money and effort is spent by the producers of ultra-processed food.

Take for example the case of the European Parliament recently, which rejected the meat lobby’s attempts to ban plant-based products using categories such as “burger” or “sausage” in their description of their vegetarian substitutes. Its argument was essentially that it was confusing for the customer. In reality, this illustrates how the key battles for the control of food and its consumption are not in its advertising, branding, celebrity endorsements or pricing, but in the much more subtle yet profound ways that our perceptual categories are massaged. Food brands, supermarket retailers and industry lobby groups know this.

Meanwhile, the rest of us continue to trudge down the “cereal” aisle, wondering where it is all going wrong.

Dr Norah Campbell is associate professor of marketing at Trinity College Dublin, Sarah Browne is Assistant Professor in Marketing at TCD, and Prof Francis Finucane is a consultant endocrinologist at Galway University Hospitals and NUI Galway


How supermarkets trick us into buying unhealthy food, and what we can do about it

Do you ever look up at those signs hanging over the aisles in supermarkets to see how you might possibly get the last three last things you need without going back to the start of the dreaded racetrack?

If you’re anything like most people, you probably begin shopping in quite an orderly fashion. With grim determination you make it through the “decompression zone” – that no-man’s land of candles and wicker baskets and lilies that retail experts have carefully designed to slow you down from street speed to shopper speed, into the “marketplace” which delivers the motherlode of freshness.

You are chicaned around the “perimeter” of the store: the edges that house the deli, bakery and butcher, and where most profit is made. Then it becomes a little more random. Halfway up one aisle, you abandon your trolley, U-turn around those “end cap” displays that are meant to entice you to impulse-buy the stuff you may not have had on your list. (What’s a breakfast bar doing beside a kettle promotion?)

With vague panic rising, you start looking up at the categories for some guidance and sanity – please, please tell me where the baking aisle is. Retail designers estimate (and they have done a lot of investigation into the micro-behaviours of customers) that after about 25 minutes in the supermarket we switch from rational to emotional decision-making. This makes us more susceptible to grabbing a packet of chocolate raisins located right next to the eggs.

Food categories – the way we see the basic groups of foods – fruits, vegetables, grains, oils, dairy and so on, are incredibly powerful. They orientate the way we tick off the shopping list, mentally accounting for the members of the family and the stages of the day. Breakfast, tick. Lunchboxes, tick. Dinners, tick. The Food Safety Authority of Ireland has done really interesting studies on the nutritional content of foods in Irish supermarkets. It found that the majority of yoghurts are not healthy choices, nor are breakfast cereals. The majority of “baby crisps” were higher in saturated fat than adult “reduced fat” crisps, while most baby biscuits were higher in sugar than plain digestive biscuits. Categories can be deceptive, even dangerous.

Verwante

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In the face of an obesity crisis that has caused hidden but systemic suffering and loss of life, arguably the single most powerful countermeasure we could undertake is not to ban junk food advertising to children, nor tax sugary drinks, nor place fast-food shops 100m from the school gates, but to recategorise food products so that it is easier for consumers to see how healthy they are. If that step was taken, most breakfast cereals would appear in the snack aisle, most baked goods would appear in the dessert aisle, most yoghurts would appear in the soft drinks aisle, and those rusks would appear at the confectionary check-out. It may seem trivial, but the accurate and transparent categorisation of food products is a key battle in the war on obesity.

This is because “perceptual categorisation” is a powerful phenomenon. Every object, every experience we have, is assigned to a category we have built up in our minds over time. We respond to the world by putting things into categories, not by thinking of things as individual cases. That is why we don’t run up to every person on Grafton Street we’ve never seen and greet them in astonishment of their sheer uniqueness. We scan the environment: “person”, “person”, “person”, “shop”, “person”, “litter bin”, and so on. These “heuristics” form the basis of consumer behaviour and the backbone of marketing theory.

As we work hard to build up sophisticated categories in our minds, we also outsource and entrust much of it to food firms. Do you remember the orange juice Sunny Delight? It was launched in the United Kingdom in the late 1990s, with a multi-million pound marketing campaign, and soon became one of the biggest selling drinks in the world. It was positioned as a healthy alternative to fizzy drinks. In its advertisements, Mom would stock the fridge with Sunny D so that when the kids and their friends came to visit, they’d see what a cool family they were. The central message was that the drink should be stored in the fridge. Things that are categorised as fridge-worthy are at the high-table of healthfulness.

But Sunny D wasn’t technically a juice, it was a “citrus-enriched beverage” – a mere 2 per cent orange juice, added to high-fructose corn syrup and water. It could exist for years on a supermarket shelf. But the connotations of freshness that the fridge lent ensconced it firmly and unconsciously in our perceptual category of “healthy”. More recently, the Irish Supreme Court ruled that the sugar content of Subway sandwich bread was so high it should be recategorised as confectionary. The court case was considering whether Subway bread should be VAT-exempt rather than concern for consumers being confused or misled in their food choices. Pringles crisps had a similar court case about a decade ago on whether its slurry of potato, wheat starch, rice flour, sunflower and maize oil dusted with monosodium glutamates, disodium inosinates, yellow colourings, and more than a dozen other ingredients constituted a “potato chip”, again for tax categorisation purposes.

Most of the processed food we eat is not from mother nature but assembled in factories with laboratory agents added. The role of marketing, in a deep sense, it is to re-enchant an object. Marketing re-enchants food by shifting it to emotionally powerful images (the pastoral countryside, the jungle, the forest, the country kitchen or the bakery). It is at the level of categorisation where most of the money and effort is spent by the producers of ultra-processed food.

Take for example the case of the European Parliament recently, which rejected the meat lobby’s attempts to ban plant-based products using categories such as “burger” or “sausage” in their description of their vegetarian substitutes. Its argument was essentially that it was confusing for the customer. In reality, this illustrates how the key battles for the control of food and its consumption are not in its advertising, branding, celebrity endorsements or pricing, but in the much more subtle yet profound ways that our perceptual categories are massaged. Food brands, supermarket retailers and industry lobby groups know this.

Meanwhile, the rest of us continue to trudge down the “cereal” aisle, wondering where it is all going wrong.

Dr Norah Campbell is associate professor of marketing at Trinity College Dublin, Sarah Browne is Assistant Professor in Marketing at TCD, and Prof Francis Finucane is a consultant endocrinologist at Galway University Hospitals and NUI Galway


How supermarkets trick us into buying unhealthy food, and what we can do about it

Do you ever look up at those signs hanging over the aisles in supermarkets to see how you might possibly get the last three last things you need without going back to the start of the dreaded racetrack?

If you’re anything like most people, you probably begin shopping in quite an orderly fashion. With grim determination you make it through the “decompression zone” – that no-man’s land of candles and wicker baskets and lilies that retail experts have carefully designed to slow you down from street speed to shopper speed, into the “marketplace” which delivers the motherlode of freshness.

You are chicaned around the “perimeter” of the store: the edges that house the deli, bakery and butcher, and where most profit is made. Then it becomes a little more random. Halfway up one aisle, you abandon your trolley, U-turn around those “end cap” displays that are meant to entice you to impulse-buy the stuff you may not have had on your list. (What’s a breakfast bar doing beside a kettle promotion?)

With vague panic rising, you start looking up at the categories for some guidance and sanity – please, please tell me where the baking aisle is. Retail designers estimate (and they have done a lot of investigation into the micro-behaviours of customers) that after about 25 minutes in the supermarket we switch from rational to emotional decision-making. This makes us more susceptible to grabbing a packet of chocolate raisins located right next to the eggs.

Food categories – the way we see the basic groups of foods – fruits, vegetables, grains, oils, dairy and so on, are incredibly powerful. They orientate the way we tick off the shopping list, mentally accounting for the members of the family and the stages of the day. Breakfast, tick. Lunchboxes, tick. Dinners, tick. The Food Safety Authority of Ireland has done really interesting studies on the nutritional content of foods in Irish supermarkets. It found that the majority of yoghurts are not healthy choices, nor are breakfast cereals. The majority of “baby crisps” were higher in saturated fat than adult “reduced fat” crisps, while most baby biscuits were higher in sugar than plain digestive biscuits. Categories can be deceptive, even dangerous.

Verwante

This content has been blocked due to your cookie preferences. To view it, please change your settings and refresh the page

In the face of an obesity crisis that has caused hidden but systemic suffering and loss of life, arguably the single most powerful countermeasure we could undertake is not to ban junk food advertising to children, nor tax sugary drinks, nor place fast-food shops 100m from the school gates, but to recategorise food products so that it is easier for consumers to see how healthy they are. If that step was taken, most breakfast cereals would appear in the snack aisle, most baked goods would appear in the dessert aisle, most yoghurts would appear in the soft drinks aisle, and those rusks would appear at the confectionary check-out. It may seem trivial, but the accurate and transparent categorisation of food products is a key battle in the war on obesity.

This is because “perceptual categorisation” is a powerful phenomenon. Every object, every experience we have, is assigned to a category we have built up in our minds over time. We respond to the world by putting things into categories, not by thinking of things as individual cases. That is why we don’t run up to every person on Grafton Street we’ve never seen and greet them in astonishment of their sheer uniqueness. We scan the environment: “person”, “person”, “person”, “shop”, “person”, “litter bin”, and so on. These “heuristics” form the basis of consumer behaviour and the backbone of marketing theory.

As we work hard to build up sophisticated categories in our minds, we also outsource and entrust much of it to food firms. Do you remember the orange juice Sunny Delight? It was launched in the United Kingdom in the late 1990s, with a multi-million pound marketing campaign, and soon became one of the biggest selling drinks in the world. It was positioned as a healthy alternative to fizzy drinks. In its advertisements, Mom would stock the fridge with Sunny D so that when the kids and their friends came to visit, they’d see what a cool family they were. The central message was that the drink should be stored in the fridge. Things that are categorised as fridge-worthy are at the high-table of healthfulness.

But Sunny D wasn’t technically a juice, it was a “citrus-enriched beverage” – a mere 2 per cent orange juice, added to high-fructose corn syrup and water. It could exist for years on a supermarket shelf. But the connotations of freshness that the fridge lent ensconced it firmly and unconsciously in our perceptual category of “healthy”. More recently, the Irish Supreme Court ruled that the sugar content of Subway sandwich bread was so high it should be recategorised as confectionary. The court case was considering whether Subway bread should be VAT-exempt rather than concern for consumers being confused or misled in their food choices. Pringles crisps had a similar court case about a decade ago on whether its slurry of potato, wheat starch, rice flour, sunflower and maize oil dusted with monosodium glutamates, disodium inosinates, yellow colourings, and more than a dozen other ingredients constituted a “potato chip”, again for tax categorisation purposes.

Most of the processed food we eat is not from mother nature but assembled in factories with laboratory agents added. The role of marketing, in a deep sense, it is to re-enchant an object. Marketing re-enchants food by shifting it to emotionally powerful images (the pastoral countryside, the jungle, the forest, the country kitchen or the bakery). It is at the level of categorisation where most of the money and effort is spent by the producers of ultra-processed food.

Take for example the case of the European Parliament recently, which rejected the meat lobby’s attempts to ban plant-based products using categories such as “burger” or “sausage” in their description of their vegetarian substitutes. Its argument was essentially that it was confusing for the customer. In reality, this illustrates how the key battles for the control of food and its consumption are not in its advertising, branding, celebrity endorsements or pricing, but in the much more subtle yet profound ways that our perceptual categories are massaged. Food brands, supermarket retailers and industry lobby groups know this.

Meanwhile, the rest of us continue to trudge down the “cereal” aisle, wondering where it is all going wrong.

Dr Norah Campbell is associate professor of marketing at Trinity College Dublin, Sarah Browne is Assistant Professor in Marketing at TCD, and Prof Francis Finucane is a consultant endocrinologist at Galway University Hospitals and NUI Galway