Why We Buy

by Paco Underhill

My first thought was that the stores should put in fake beer taps, like props, for men to play with. We ended up advising them to pull together all the glassware into a barware section and to put up on the wall some big graphic, like a photo of a man pulling a beer or making some martinis in a nice chrome shaker. Something so that men would walk in and see that there was a section meant for them, somewhere they could shop. All the bottle openers in the different patterns, say, would be stocked there, too. And because men prefer to get their information from reading, the store could put up a chart showing what type of glass is used for what—the big balloons and the long stems and the flutes and the rocks glasses and steins.

  And by doing all that, you could take the man—who had been seen as a drag on business and an inconvenience to the primary shopper—and turn him into a customer himself. Or at least an interested bystander.

  We did a study for Thomasville, the furniture maker, and thought that there, too, getting the man more involved would make it easier to sell such big-ticket items. The solution was simple: Create graphic devices, like displays and posters, showing the steps that go into making the furniture, and use visuals, like cross-sections and exploded views, to prove that in addition to looking good, the pieces were well made. Emphasizing construction would do a lot toward overcoming male resistance to the cost of new furniture, but the graphics would also give men something to study while their wives examined upholstery and styling.

  One product for which men consistently outshop women is beer. And that’s in every type of setting—supermarket or convenience store, men buy the beer. (They also buy the junk food, the chips and pretzels and nuts and other entertainment food.) So we advised a supermarket client to hold a beer-tasting every Saturday at three p.m., right there in the beer aisle. They could feature some microbrew or a new beer from one of the major brewers, it didn’t matter. The tastings would probably help sell beer, but even that wasn’t the point. It would be worth it just because it would bring more men into the store. And it would help transform the supermarket into a more male-oriented place.

  But an experiment run by Envirosell Brazil for Brahma, the country’s leading beer brand, teaches a different lesson. In the experiment, they focused on making the beer section more female-friendly on the premise that women buy beer for someone other than just themselves. They took out all the buxom babe stand-ups (what’s the exact connection between suds and cleavage anyway?) and put up graphics of a family meal with adult men and women drinking beer. Sales went up 20 percent overnight. Here in the USA, women make up a tiny segment of beer-buying patronage, but when they do buy it, they tend to buy beer in larger quantities. Thus, while the guy is more likely to buy a six-pack, the woman is more likely to buy the twelve. Conclusion: She’s buying for the party, the guy is buying for the party of one.

  Smart retailers should pay attention. All aspects of business are going to have to anticipate how men’s and women’s social roles are changing, and the future is going to belong to whoever gets there first. A good general rule: Take any category where women now predominate and figure out how to make it appealing to men without alienating women.

  Look, for instance, at what’s happened to the American kitchen over the past decade or so. Once upon a time Mom did all the grocery shopping and all the cooking. Now Mom probably works as much as Dad. As a result, men also have to know how to cook, clean and do laundry—it’s gone from being cute to being necessary.

  Is it a coincidence that as that change took place, kitchen appliances have become so butch? Once upon a time you chose from avocado and golden harvest when selecting a refrigerator or a stove. Now the trendiest stoves are industrial-strength six-burner numbers with open gas grills, and the refrigerators are huge, featureless boxes of stainless steel, aluminum and glass. If you go into a fancy kitchenware store like Williams-Sonoma you’ll see that a popular gadget is the little blowtorch used for crystallizing the top of crème brûlée. Have Americans just now fallen in love with preparing elaborate, fatty French desserts? Or does cooking just seem more appealing to men when it involves firing up your own personal flamethrower?

  (Similarly, as women stay single longer and sometimes become single more than once, the old-fashioned, boys-only hardware store is being killed off. Our Ace Hardware and True Value hardware clients have done a great job transforming their businesses to become places where female homeowners can become tool-happy do-it-yourselfers in a nurturing, non-gender-specific environment. One of the simpler ways that transformation happens is by hiring more female staff.)

  Look at how microwave ovens are sold—the most prominent feature on the description sheet is the wattage. Likewise, when we interviewed men shopping for vacuum cleaners and asked which feature was most important, their (predictable) answer was: “Suck.” Read: power. As a result, vacuum makers now boast amperage. In both cases, home appliances have gotten more macho as men have gotten less so. They seem determined to meet somewhere in the middle.

  Even washday miracles and other household products are being reimagined with men in mind. I can’t say for sure how Georgia-Pacific and Procter & Gamble came to their decisions, but why else would paper towels be called Brawny or laundry detergent be called Bold, except to make themselves respectable items for men to bring to the checkout? How many women wish they had Hefty bags? Now: how many men? The manliest monikers used to go on cars; now they go on suds. The most successful soap introduction of the ’90s wasn’t anything frilly or lavender. It was Lever 2000, a name that would also sound right on a computer or a new line of power tools. I’d drive a Lever 2000 any day.

  Look beyond shopping to the most elemental expressions of contemporary male desire—just think of the difference between Marilyn Monroe and Angelina Jolie. Angie’s biceps are probably bigger than Frank Sinatra’s and Bobby Kennedy’s combined. She’s downright muscle-bound and hipless compared to the pinups of three decades ago.

  Men have always bought their own suits and shoes, but women, traditionally, shopped for everything in between, especially men’s socks and underwear. Now, though, that’s changing—men are more involved in their clothing, and women have enough to do without buying boxer shorts. In Target’s menswear department, you’ll still sometimes find a female-male ratio of 2:1 or even 3:1. But in expensive apparel stores, among more affluent men, males shopping for menswear now—finally—outnumber females. We caught a signal moment in the life of the modern American male on videotape. A man was browsing thoughtfully at an underwear display when he suddenly reached around, grabbed a handful of his waistband, pulled it out and craned his neck so he could learn—finally!—what size shorts he wears. Try to imagine a woman who doesn’t know her underwear size. Impossible. Someday soon, we can all hope, every man will know his.

  (Conversely, I am told that women frequently won’t buy lingerie without trying it on—over their own, I am assured. I don’t know if I’ll live long enough to ever see a man take a package of Fruit of the Looms into a fitting room.)

  As women stop buying men’s underwear, will men begin buying women’s? I met a jeweler who told me, “A lot of my business is with men trying to buy their way back inside the house.” Many a husband or beau would choose fancy lingerie or jewelry at gift times, but the stores that sell it, and the merchandise itself, make it daunting. If he can’t remember his own size, how can he remember hers, especially when she has bra and underpants to think about, not to mention robe, nightgown etc. And how can he be sure he’s buying the ring or necklace she wants, in a color that suits her? We frequently see men tentatively enter these lairs of femininity, cast anxious glances around, maybe study an item or two, and then flee in fear and uncertainty. Sales clerks have to be trained to lure these men in like the skittish beasts they are. Making a personal shopper available for heavy-duty hand-holding isn’t a bad idea, especially considering the costliness of jewelry or even lingerie.

  There also must be a way to simplify apparel sizes to make such cross-buying possible. Perhaps the easi
est solution would be for women to register their sizes at clothing stores of their liking, then just point their men in the right direction. The first store that tries this is going to benefit from lots of latent desire among men to buy frilly underthings. Then again, maybe they don’t want to be seen walking out the door with a pink shopping bag.

  Another gender-related problem that clothing retailers have to solve is this: How do you subtly tell shoppers where the men’s and women’s apparel is in a store that sells both? Not so long ago, it was unthinkable that men’s and women’s clothing would be sold side by side, from the same site. That wall was knocked down in the ’60s, but some of the bugs still need to be worked out. The cuing now being used, for instance, even in dual-gender pioneers such as the Gap and J.Crew, isn’t really working, as you can tell when you suddenly realize that you spent ten minutes browsing through shoes, sweaters or jeans meant for the other sex.

  Go into any woman’s closet and you’ll find something that was made for a man. A jean jacket, a baggy sweater, a T-shirt—my significant other raids my closet and drawers freely. No threat whatsoever to her sexuality. I can’t say the same for myself.

  Speaking of which, where does the gay shopper fit into this increasingly blurry retail environment? And what differences might there be between what a gay guy or lesbian woman is after versus his or her straight-world counterpart?

  Needless to say, most generalizations about homosexual culture are just that—generalizations. There are gay women who feel at home in flannel button-down shirts and khakis, and lesbian princesses who like nothing more than glamming it up on Saturday night. There are gay guys who ego-idealize Brando in The Wild One, gay guys who are slobs and gay guys who assemble their wardrobe every morning with the kind of care and attention you don’t see outside a West Point plebe barracks. This same wide spectrum shows up in the straight world.

  The difference is the gay community has always been a cultural weathervane, with the foresight and instincts and taste to tell us what’s in and what’s out, what’s hot and what’s yesterday’s news. Where gay culture leads, the rest of us generally follow, as any chiseled, Prada-clad metrosexual would be the first to admit.

  At the same time many members of the heterosexual world don’t really like to acknowledge this. Straight guys shopping the underwear section come up against a series of crotch-hugging pictorials on the boxes that make them feel as though they have to sneak their new boxer-briefs over to cash/wrap inside a brown paper bag. They feel embarrassed, but their embarrassment just may spring from the fact these sultry male gym pictures have found their target. Gay or straight, show me a teenage boy who hasn’t wanted a six-pack or an aging Generation X guy who hasn’t looked in the mirror at his tired-looking eyes, swelling flanks and loss of muscle mass, and I’ll show you a retail world that hasn’t taken into account the fact that a lot of heteros want to look as sharp and pulled together as a lot of their gay-world counterparts. Thing is, few of them want to admit it or show that they give a damn. It goes against the typical male’s self-image to admit he cares.

  In general, the retailing environment hasn’t made allowances for this schizoid sensibility. Lesbians face the same confusion in the marketplace, except unlike their gay male counterparts, a lot of them have to cross over to the other gender’s section to find what they want. The retail world generally creates less leeway for most gay women than it does for gay men. A lesbian of my acquaintance who describes herself as butch has a hard time finding even the most rudimentary clothing items and accessories. It’s probably why she hates shopping and does most of it online. Most of what’s on display is just too girly—coltish and pointy and designed to seduce. Pants are another big issue. There’s rack after rack of low-riders, which aren’t her style. Shoes? Another dead end. What she typically ends up doing is drifting over to the men’s department in search of basic men’s loafers—any style, so long as they’re utilitarian and don’t make her look like Glinda the Good Witch. Her wardrobe is mostly made up of classic casual clothes—baggy khakis, clothes created for women but designed to look like what your older brother might wear. At work, she’ll suck it up by wearing one of the two black Eileen Fisher suits she owns, but if she could spend her days attired in baggy pants and a T-shirt she’d be the happiest person on earth. What I hear through her words is that even though she came out in her early twenties, when she’s shopping she still finds herself living a double life.

  It’s worth noting that a lot of gay women can be pretty square, especially lesbian couples with kids. They’re conservative, not politically but socially. Many of them don’t like to make a fuss over shopping or the latest gowns dripping from store mannequins. Like guys, they just want to get the ordeal over with.

  Gay men and women already came out once, which was brave. Retailers shouldn’t make them have to dive back into the closet a second time. The gay market is real—and the people who pay attention to it will reap the rewards.

  But back to the traditional family guy. Remember when the only men who saw babies being born were obstetricians? Today the presence of Dad in the delivery room is almost as mandatory as Mom’s. Men are going to have to be accommodated as they redefine their roles as fathers. It’s a seismic change that’s being felt on the shopping floor just like everywhere else.

  For example, almost no man of my father’s generation had the habit of loading Junior, a bottle or two and some diapers into the stroller and going out for a Saturday-morning jaunt. Today it’s almost a cliché. That’s why progressive men’s rooms now feature baby-changing stations, and it’s why McDonald’s commercials invariably show Dad and the kids piling in—sans Mom, who’s probably spending Saturday at the office. (Mom won’t let them order Big Macs anyway.) This isn’t just an American phenomenon, either—my informal Saturday observation of Milan’s most fashionable districts detected that roughly half of all baby strollers were being pushed by Papa. Papa likes to drive.

  We tested a prototype Levi’s section at a department store in Boston, part of an effort to improve the store’s appeal to men in their twenties and thirties. We caught video of a young man walking down the aisle toward the section, accompanied by his wife and baby, whose stroller he pushed. They reached the Levi’s, and he clearly wanted to shop the shelves of jeans on the wall. But there were racks of clothing standing between him and the jeans, positioned so close together that he couldn’t nudge the stroller past. You can see him thinking through his choice—do I leave my wife and child in the aisle just to buy jeans? He did what most people would do in that situation: He skipped the pants. You’d be amazed at how much of America’s aggregate selling floor is still off-limits to anyone pushing a stroller. This is the equivalent of barring a large percentage of all shoppers in their twenties and thirties.

  Two decades ago it was the rare father who ever bought clothing for the little ones; today, it’s more common to see men shopping the toddler section. Clothing manufacturers haven’t caught up with this yet, however, as evidenced by the fact that children’s sizes are the most confusing in all of apparel—guaranteed to frustrate all but the most parental of shoppers. The day that size corresponds directly to the age of the child is when men will be able to pull even more of the weight for outfitting the kids. It’ll be Dad who springs for the outrageous indulgences here, too—the velvet smoking jacket for his son or the miniature prom gown for his daughter.

  And when Saturday morning rolls around and Pop goes to pack the bottles and Cheerios and Goldfish and diapers and baby powder and ointment and wipes and all the rest of that stuff, what does he put it in? Not the big pink nylon bag his wife lugs. In fact, he’s probably disposed against any of the available options—even a plain black diaper bag, says Mommy. But what if he could choose a Swiss Army diaper bag? How about a nylon Nike one that looks just like his gym bag? Even better, what if he could push a studly Harley-Davidson-brand baby stroller that came with a built-in black leather diaper bag? The whole baby category needs to be reinvent
ed.

  Other traditional female strongholds can also accommodate men, but it’s got to be on masculine terms. You’ve got to be aware of the wimp factor. There are many stores where the floors and the walls and everything hanging on them whisper loudly to the foolhardy male trespasser, “Get the hell out of here—you don’t belong!” Near my office there’s a store that sells dishes and glasses and such, and it’s remarkable because I can actually walk in and not feel like a bull in a china shop. Whereas in Bloomingdale’s Royal Doulton section, I feel as though I’m back in my grandmother’s dining room—and it’s the grandmother who scared me.

  There are other such places that men would gladly shop—actually want and even need to shop—if only they felt just a little bit wanted. For example, there are more health and grooming products for men than ever. But if you look at how they’re sold, you’ll see that most men will never become avid buyers.

  In the chain drugstores and supermarket sections where these products are sold, the atmosphere is overwhelmingly feminine. Shampoo, soap and other products that can be used by either sex are invariably packaged and named under the assumption that women will be doing all the buying. It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. The products made especially for men, like shaving cream and hair ointments and deodorant, are stocked in a dinky little section sandwiched in among all the fragrant female goods. No man’s land, in other words, so how’s a guy to shop it?

  The traditional beauty business has always prospered by moving upmarket. Estée Lauder and L’Oreal have persuaded women that dropping a small fortune on a night cream is a worthwhile investment. Not the best approach when you’re dealing with the male market. The way for male skin-care products to succeed is through better positioning and carefully chosen words and packaging. There’s a huge, untapped market for moisturizing creams and sunblock among men who work outdoors—police, construction workers, cable TV and telephone line installers, road crews. But these guys aren’t going to traipse through the blushers and concealers to find them. And they’re not going to buy a product that presents itself as intended for women and children. If you went through your typical health and beauty section, you’d think that men don’t have skin. But they do, and it needs help.