Packaging Takes the Edge off Lockdown

Life in lockdown has not been easy. As I watch the weeks pass and the seasons change from the perched view of my balcony, one thing is strikingly clear: mankind is a social creature. There’s just something innate about our desire to congregate, to share meals and pass along stories of our triumphs and tribulations. A Zoom cocktail party is a poor substitute. But we’ve suffered through it and will be able to do it again if needed, for one simple reason: we’re in it together. That said, it didn’t make things any easier when the editor of this fine publication asked me to write the Checkout column for the June issue. With the majority of stores closed and my options limited, my only solution was to examine the products and packaging that helped me get through the tougher aspects of this new normal.

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As the novel coronavirus was becoming more than just a blip on the radar, I recall asking my wife if she’d thrown out the face masks that were taking up precious space in our storage area. Being Japanese, she’d return from visits home with a box here and a box there for use during cold season or deep cleaning expeditions. Facial masks have been gaining popularity in Japan since before the onset of SARS. Fast-forward a decade-and-a-half and those germ blockers became ubiquitous, joining the ranks of other fashion accessories. Back in December I’d asked her to give a box or two away to make room for some essentials. Well, I’ve never been so happy to be ignored, because as shocking news of the deaths in Wuhan, China, began piling up, a frantic search uncovered a gold mine of Clean Mom disposable masks, from Tokyo-based Yisu Trading Company. The 30-piece pack of non-medical-grade masks come in a typical rectangular cardboard package adorned with a cartoon mother, the aforementioned Clean Mom, and lots of colorful fonts and graphics, while an easy-to-open perforated lid tapers at one end to allows for effective resealing. Designed for the Japanese unilingual market, the package has ample room for product copy, as well as detailed instructions for how to apply the masks properly. Another interesting feature is its redundant graphics, designed in two orientations to allow for both horizontal and vertical product display—something shop keepers might find useful, if they could keep them on the shelves.

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By mid-March, when businesses began closing their doors, I counted myself lucky to be one of those who could work from home. For some people it’s the dream, but I miss going in to work, seeing the faces of my colleagues, and participating in the office rituals. I also dearly miss the ergonomics of my office workstation. Without it, I’ve contracted a kink in my right shoulder that cries out every time I click my mouse. Writing this article was actually killing me physically, until I took refuge in my 3D Shiatsu & Vibration Massage Pillow from the Mississauga, Ont.-based Homedics Group Canada. Sure, the product works well enough, but what really intrigued me was something about the recycled paperboard box it came in. With clean and simple graphics, a soothing brown-teal-and- red colour palette, and a wise use of white space, the package design definitely had a lot of thought put into it, as underscored by a convenient plastic handle at the top and a snug-fitting lid that securely fastens via paperboard latch. Essentially, it was made to be kept around to store the device when it’s not being used. However, the most intriguing aspect for me was the odd 14-centimeter-long f lap that hangs off the right side of the main panel. The peel-away graphic bids you to “Look Inside!”, while two small Velcro patches make opening it just difficult enough to build excitement. Once opened, it reveals a glimpse into the pillow’s “3D Kneading Technology,” as well as other advanced features. I’m not so convinced the f lap was necessary, as the same information appears on the back panel, but it seems to add a small touch of class and help to distinguish the product as something high-end.

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My heart really goes out to restaurant workers who, like so many, have been completely upended during this pandemic. They truly make my downtown Toronto neighborhood the vibrant community it is, providing a variety of fare for all occasions, at all hours, even during this pandemic. I have made a point of getting take-out every once in a while, both to support local business and for a little culinary adventure. One of my new-found faves has been the fine fare from Toronto-based Butter Chicken Roti, a relative newcomer to the franchised fast food industry. If you’ve never heard of Indian-style roti, imagine a bounty of rich, spicy curry, wrapped in a thin type of naan bread, served steaming hot … pure deliciousness! While BCR’s roti is definitely fantastic, what really struck me about the presentation was the branded cardboard serving container it came in. Traditionally, Roti typically comes in a generic aluminum container with a cardboard lid kept in place by the folded edges of its aluminum bottom. These edges can be pretty sharp and have led to more than a few finger cuts while trying to open and reseal the lid. Not so with BCR’s roti box, which folds and locks at the top to deliver their signature “How Spicy do you like it?” mantra. The lively brown-orange-and-yellow color scheme of the branding graphics also works remarkably well to add a bit of spice to an otherwise boring paradigm of fast-food delivery containers.

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June brought some wonderful weather at a time in need, but in the early weeks of April, things certainly looked bleak. It was gut-wrenching to watch as the case load and death toll from COVID-19 skyrocketed. Each time things started feeling unbearable, I just turned on my Sony Play Station 4 Star Wars Battlefront Limited Edition console and went to a galaxy far, far away, where I could vent on some laser-brained Stormtroopers. I wouldn’t say I’m addicted to video games, but they sure provided an avenue of escape. I have actually kept the original box from 2015 in perfect condition, because I love the graphics and want to one day retire the console with its original packaging. The front panel, which shows the limited-edition Vader-embossed console and controller, are only outdone by the rich graphics of the Imperial assault group found on the back. The inner packaging isn’t quite as glitzy, but uses an intricate, origami-like folding system with the box f laps to provide compartmentalization for the game controller and the plethora of connection cords that come with it. All of this sits adjacent to the console compartment, which is protected by a pair of cardboard bumpers. I love the PS4 so much that I still can’t get rid of it to this day to open up some space in my cramped storage.

Paul Pethick is a healthcare communications editor currently working from home in downtown Toronto.