I’m so embarrassed. The following admission will be one of the most self-deprecating I have made to date. But it must be done. By sharing, I’m hoping for a catharsis. Here goes…
I have a love hate relationship with Coles right now. While I am still fuming about forgetting to bring my reusable bags for a shop and totally hating on those impractically cavernous free ones they’re peddling, they have stopped me in their tracks with two words.
An amazing marketing strategy (and distraction from the plastic bag debacle) in the form of tiny, plastic collectable versions of 30 Coles products.
I have lots of things, and then I have two kids and a fur baby, so multiply those many things by 10. I don’t need any more things, and I definitely don’t need mini versions of things. Yet here I am.
At first, I told myself that the cherubs needed wanted them, but when I opened that first little foil packet and pulled out the most adorable jar of Vegemite ever, I was hooked. Who was I kidding? #obsessed.
While my beloved and the cherubs looked on with mixed reactions of disbelief and disgust (that was the 13-year-old, of course. *insert eye roll for good measure) I actually clapped my hands. Yes. I barely found the interest to clap at the cherubs’ last performing arts concert, yet here I was, swooning over mini plastic Vegemite. Every marketer’s dream.
I must have been in denial in the beginning; I told myself ‘I’ll just take what I get’, ‘I’m not spending money just to get a mini’, ‘I’m not fussed on collecting the set’ and it wasn’t a topic I chose when making polite conversation. But just like that, something changed. Why? I’ll use the baby analogy; I mean, mini humans are generally cuter than their larger counterparts, thus it stands to reason that a mini version of pink washing powder is cuter than its larger, more useful version.
Then things turned dark.