Similarly, two hand dryers vary their heights in the Mountain View Public Library.
The Santa Cruz amusement park includes one sink with a footstep among a row of basins.
These height variations comply with accessibility codes to accommodate a broader range of users, including children and individuals with disabilities. They are specified in the California Building Code (CBC), Chapter 11B.
According to Section 11B-605.2 of the CBC, urinals must be either stall-type or wall-hung, with the rim positioned no higher than 17 inches (432 mm) above the finished floor. Additionally, urinals are required to have a minimum depth of 13½ inches (343 mm), measured from the outer face of the urinal rim to the back of the fixture.
In all the cities I have visited including Toronto, Seoul, and Copenhagen, I have never encountered men’s restrooms with urinals at varying heights. It was only after being exposed to this design in California that I became aware of how some individuals might struggle with standard urinals.
Certainly, ideal height for urinals is arguable. However, regardless of the practical effectiveness of the height variations, California’s effort to accommodating different people is psychologically effective. This enforced inclusivity encourages me to be more considerate of others including children or individuals in wheelchairs. Design can reveal aspects of the world we overlook.
Inclusive design considers the needs and capabilities of the whole population to decrease the actual or perceived mismatch between the user and the design object. We review the inclusive design literature across multiple disciplines to conceptualize inclusive design, identify who should be included in the inclusive design process, present an overview of the evolution of design approaches, and summarize best practices on how organizations can facilitate inclusive design. We posit three levels of inclusive design based on the diminishing degree of mismatch between the user and the design object: providing accessibility (Level 1), engaging participation by creating equitable experiences (Level 2), and facilitating empowered success via flow experiences (Level 3). We introduce our Design, Appraisal, Response, Experience (DARE) framework to explain the complex cognitive appraisals and emotional responses that each of these three levels of inclusive design elicits and underscores the notion that inclusive design works best when it’s not intended for a specific need, but rather benefits anyone who uses it. We conclude with a call for future research in this rich and important domain of investigation that seeks both to understand consumer response to inclusive design and to incorporate inclusive design into brand strategy, practice, and policy.
After arriving in California, I was struck by a coffee pod brand completely unfamiliar to me: Keurig. Despite owning a Nespresso coffee machine at the office and a De Longhi espresso machine at home, I was surprised that I had never seen or heard about Keurig before.
In California, Keurig machines are everywhere. The brand holds 41% of the single-serve coffee machine market in the United States and is estimated to have three times the sales of Nespresso nationwide.
However, Nespresso is the leading coffee capsule brand in most other markets. In Korea, it dominates the coffee machine market with a 52% share.
The biggest advantage of Keurig is that many coffee companies produce pods or capsules compatible with its machines. Brands like Starbucks, Peet’s Coffee, and Dunkin offer options for Keurig users. Additionally, Keurig machines and K-Cups are generally more affordable than Nespresso machines and capsules.
Does this mean cultural differences explain their dominance in different markets? Do Californians value variety and quantity, while Koreans appreciate premium experiences?
Cultural differences are unlikely to be reasons. The real explanation is much simpler: people rarely switch from the brand they first encounter. Californians often start with Keurig because it is the most accessible option, while Koreans are introduced to Nespresso through advertising. Once preferences are formed, they tend to stick.
Each brand’s popularity may not be driven by taste or luxury but by who enters the market first. This is why Uber holds an advantage over Lyft in ride-hailing services and why Waymo continues to thrive while Cruise failed in the self-driving car industry.
Examined whether pioneering advantage could arise from the process by which consumers learn about brands and form their preferences (PFs). In 2 experiments with 103 MBA students, hypothetical emerging markets were constructed, varying the order of brand (computer software packages or down quilts) entry across Ss and the types of competitors that subsequently entered the market. Analysis showed that PFs were influenced by the order of brand entry. Moreover, the PF formation process produced a PF structure that made a pioneer’s market share largely invulnerable to competitors, even if switching costs were minimal and brands could reposition.
It is hard to find souvenirs in California that are not available in Korea. Because of this, I do not usually feel drawn to specific stores. However, Jupiter & Main at Half Moon Bay caught my attention. This store carefully selects items made from natural materials and hand-crafted designs. The collection includes leather goods and handmade decor.
I could not pass by another store, Makers Market at Santana Row in San Jose. This store also features handcrafted goods made from natural materials. The range includes leather, wood, and textiles, all showcasing expert craftsmanship.
I am attracted to these stores likely because of a psychological association between the material of a product and the perception of its authenticity. For example, when a material like leather is local, I may assume that the finished product is also local. While this perception is not always accurate, it becomes stronger when handmade or hand-crafted elements are involved. This association makes handmade crafts using leather or natural materials particularly appealing as souvenirs. As someone who values authenticity, these products feel local, and stores featuring them create local experience.
Drawing from image-elicited depth interviews, we investigate whether consumers pursue the consumption of authentic objects with specific personal goals in mind. We find that consumers are motivated to focus on those particular cues in objects that for them convey authenticity (what is genuine, real, and/or true) and that this decision-making process is driven by a desire to draw different identity benefits (control, connection, virtue) from authentic objects. Our interpretive analysis elaborates contributions to theorizing related to consumer agency in seeking authentic consumption experience. We provide cultural explanations for the desire to assert the authentic self in these particular ways.
At Santana Row in San Jose, the Blue Bottle Coffee store captures attention with its European-inspired design. A shaded patio under a huge tree, cozy seating, and a fountain create the ambiance of a European plaza.
What struck me, however, was my assumption that Blue Bottle was a Japanese brand due to its minimalist design and precise brewing methods. To me, this coffee brand felt synonymous with Balmuda, a Japanese Electronics brand that prioritizes simplicity.
However, the truth surprises me. Blue Bottle is neither Japanese nor European. It was founded in Oakland, California, in 2002. While it embraces Japanese style, the brand’s actual roots are Californian. In 2017, Nestlé acquired a majority stake, expanding its reach to over 100 locations worldwide, including Japan, South Korea, and China.
Despite its true origins, Blue Bottle seems to benefit from the misconception of being Japanese. Although research shows that authenticity of origin enhances value, my observation flips this insight: when a brand’s origin is incorrectly perceived but aligns with its narrative, it can still elevates value. For Blue Bottle, the misperception of Japanese origins strengthens its image of precision and sophistication. Authenticity may not matter as much as perception.
It is well established that differences in manufacturing location can affect consumer preferences through lay inferences about production quality. In this article, the authors take a different approach to this topic by demonstrating how beliefs in contagion (the notion that objects may acquire a special aura or “essence” from their past) influence perceptions of authenticity for everyday consumer products and brands. Specifically, they find that due to a belief in contagion, products from a company’s original manufacturing location are viewed as containing the essence of the brand. In turn, this belief in transferred essence leads consumers to view products from the original factory as more authentic and valuable than identical products made elsewhere.
I recently visited Las Vegas to attend CES 2025. While many exhibitions were exciting, it was a gondola ride at the Venetian Hotel that kept me thinking afterward.
I was surprised to see people willingly pay premium prices for fabricated experiences. The ride costs $39 for a 10-minute journey along an indoor canal under a painted sky. A private gondola for two costs $156! Why would anyone pay so much for something artificial?
The answer probably lies in the power of social status. These fabricated experiences are designed to be visually stunning. They create shareable moments for platforms like Tiktok or Instagram. I saw many visitors took gondola selfies under the “Venetian sky.” Authenticity may matter less than the emotions people gain from the experience.
How do economies change? The entire history of economic progress can be recapitulated in the four-stage evolution of the birthday cake. As a vestige of the agrarian economy, mothers made birthday cakes from scratch, mixing farm commodities (flour, sugar, butter, and eggs) that together cost mere dimes. As the goods-based industrial economy advanced, moms paid a dollar or two to Betty Crocker for premixed ingredients. Later, when the service economy took hold, busy parents ordered cakes from the bakery or grocery store, which, at $10 or $15, cost ten times as much as the packaged ingredients. Now, in the time-starved 1990s, parents neither make the birthday cake nor even throw the party. Instead, they spend $100 or more to “outsource” the entire event to Chuck E. Cheese’s, the Discovery Zone, the Mining Company, or some other business that stages a memorable event for the kids—and often throws in the cake for free. Welcome to the emerging experience economy.
This paper investigates whether including authentic information on the back labels of wine bottles enhances consumers’ confidence and purchase intentions about wine; it also assesses the moderating role of involvement and knowledge about wine. We conducted two experimental studies. Study 1 generated three findings. First, when the back label had authentic information, subjects showed higher confidence levels. Second, this effect was hold for subjects with low levels of involvement. Finally, we did not observe this effect for subjects with high levels of involvement. Study 2 extended study 1’s findings and identified the moderated mediation effect of confidence. The findings highlight the important impact on wine choice of authentic information. However, the findings also suggest that authentic information may not be sufficient to attract people with high levels of involvement and knowledge. This study’s findings provide wine producers with practical marketing insights.
Public transportation in California is not as polished as in Seoul. Buses are noisier, roads are bumpier, and fares are higher. Yet, I witnessed an impressive moment that highlights a difference: how a passenger with disabilities was treated.
On a bus in San Jose, a wheelchair user boarded. The driver stopped the bus, left his seat, and assisted the passenger in fastening the seatbelt securely. The process took over five minutes. In Seoul, such a scene would be rare.
This difference likely stems from policies and norms rather than individual kindness. In California, transportation policies seem to allow drivers to prioritize care over punctuality. Moreover, passengers appear to accept delays, fostering an environment where helping others is encouraged and expected. Similar to California’s policies and norms, I hope Korea implement measures that force drivers and citizens to empathize with and care for those in need.
They presented six different fruits (lemon, apple, tangerine, pomegranate, pear, and orange) peeled, chopped, and neatly arranged in clean containers atop a bed of ice. Each container was paired with its whole fruit counterpart, visually comparing between the raw and prepared states of each fruit.
This creative presentation not only demonstrates the freshness of the fruits but also allows shoppers to imagine these fruits as part of their meals. It was shown that neatly organized and visually clear presentations increased consumers’ willingness to buy, at least, for some products.
Transparent packages are pervasive in food consumption environments. Yet prior research has not systematically examined whether and how transparent packaging affects food consumption. The authors propose that transparent packaging has two opposing effects on food consumption: it enhances food salience, which increases consumption (salience effect), and it facilitates consumption monitoring, which decreases consumption (monitoring effect). They argue that the net effect of transparent packaging on food consumption is moderated by food characteristics (e.g., unit size, appearance). For small, visually attractive foods, the monitoring effect is low, so the salience effect dominates, and people eat more from a transparent package than from an opaque package. For large foods, the monitoring effect dominates the salience effect, decreasing consumption. For vegetables, which are primarily consumed for their health benefits, consumption monitoring is not activated, so the salience effect dominates, which ironically decreases consumption. The authors’ findings suggest that marketers should offer small foods in transparent packages and large foods and vegetables in opaque packages to increase postpurchase consumption (and sales).
At the Huntington Art Museum in Los Angeles, I was captivated by a dining room table and chairs. They were not vibrant but organized. They were meticulously crafted. I could not take my eyes off these sophisticated colorful items.
Nearby, a reclining chair caught my attention as well. When I looked closer, I discovered these pieces were designed by Frank Lloyd Wright.
Suddenly, everything made sense to me. His furniture mirrored his architecture—minimalistic, harmonious, and timeless. His work, including the famous Fallingwater, follows these principles.
Fallingwater is, according to Wikipedia, a house designed by the architect Frank Lloyd Wright in 1935. Situated in the Mill Run section of Stewart township, in the Laurel Highlands of southwest Pennsylvania, about 70 miles (110 km) southeast of Pittsburgh in the United States, it is built partly over a waterfall on the Bear Run river. The house was designed to serve as a weekend retreat for Liliane and Edgar J. Kaufmann, the owner of Pittsburgh’s Kaufmann’s Department Store.
After its completion, Time called Fallingwater Wright’s “most beautiful job” and it is listed among Smithsonian’s “Life List of 28 Places to See Before You Die”. The house was designated a National Historic Landmark on May 11, 1976. In 1991, members of the American Institute of Architects named Fallingwater the “best all-time work of American architecture” and, in 2007, ranked Fallingwater 29th on its “America’s Favorite Architecture” list.
Eight of Frank Lloyd Wright’s buildings – Fallingwater, the Guggenheim Museum, the Hollyhock House, the Jacobs House, the Robie House, Taliesin, Taliesin West, and the Unity Temple – were inscribed on the list of UNESCO World Heritage Sites under the title The 20th-century Architecture of Frank Lloyd Wright in July 2019. UNESCO stated that these buildings were “innovative solutions to the needs for housing, worship, work or leisure” and “had a strong impact on the development of modern architecture in Europe.”
During my visit to Sports Basement at Sunnyvale in California, I explored their Pre-Loved Section, where people share their used items with others.
This section is more than a collection of secondhand goods. It represents a community effort to extend the life of products.
The term “pre-loved” is appropriate. Unlike the utilitarian terms such as recycling, “pre-loved” speaks to the warmth and emotional bond we feel towards our belongings. This perspective resonates in today’s conscious consumerism. Each item in this section tells its own story.
Although Sports Basement operates as a company, it functions like a flea market, providing a platform where people can reliably pass along items. We often form emotional attachments to our possessions, which shape our decisions to resell them. Platforms that facilitate these exchanges play an important role in enabling such decisions, and Sports Basement’s Pre-Loved Section is an example of such a platform.
Our interpretive research treats meaningful possessions as vessels of public and private meanings. From this perspective, we unpack consumer disposition of meaningful possessions to strangers at garage sales and online auctions. We reveal how a range of valences of self-extension and self-references other than the ideal self shape a meaningful possession’s journey from self to other. We identify a new iconic transfer divestment ritual, deepen and reinterpret other divestment rituals, and uncover how a shared sense of self allows possessions to migrate across seller-buyer boundaries. We present and discuss the implications of a model depicting three paths to disposition.
Stan’s Donut Shop in Santa Clara, California, has been making fresh, hand-made donuts since 1959. It is a favorite place for many people who love classic donuts.
During a recent early morning visit, the shop was crowded with customers. Many were talking to their family members over Airpods which donuts to buy.
The menu offers a wide variety of donuts at affordable prices: classic glazed donuts are priced at $1.75, old-fashioned donuts at $1.25, cinnamon rolls at $3.00, and coffee at $1.50, with refills for just 50 cents.
The shop’s nostalgic ambiance, coupled with the sight of donuts being freshly prepared, evokes a sense of nostalgia that resonates with many customers. This connection to the past, along with the affordability of the offerings, exemplifies why nostalgia marketing is effective at In-N-Out in Long Beach and Cafe Strada in UC Berkeley.
Most marketing and branding activities are essentially concerned with enchantment—the rendering of the ordinary into something special. To create enchantment, companies are increasingly marketing past-themed brands and products. Yet, there is little research about why and how such nostalgia marketing creates enchantment for consumers. Building on different modalities of nostalgia identified in sociological literature (reluctant nostalgia, progressive nostalgia, and playful nostalgia), we analyze the creation of enchantment through a longitudinal, qualitative, multi-method program of inquiry. We find three routes to enchantment grounded in different nostalgia modes: (1) re-instantiation (symbolic retrojection into a past), (2) re-enactment (reflexively informing the present with past-themed brands and practices), and (3) re-appropriation (ludic re-interpretation of the past). By unfolding the different ways in which marketers can press rewind to create enchantment, we discern important implications for theorizing and managing past-themed brands in terms of marketing strategy, targeting and positioning, brand experience design, and marketing communications.
Despite the popularity and high quality of machine-made products, handmade products have not disappeared, even in product categories in which machinal production is common. The authors present the first systematic set of studies exploring whether and how stated production mode (handmade vs. machine-made) affects product attractiveness. Four studies provide evidence for the existence of a positive handmade effect on product attractiveness. This effect is, to an important extent, driven by perceptions that handmade products symbolically “contain love.” The authors validate this love account by controlling for alternative value drivers of handmade production (effort, product quality, uniqueness, authenticity, and pride). The handmade effect is moderated by two factors that affect the value of love. Specifically, consumers indicate stronger purchase intentions for handmade than machine-made products when buying gifts for their loved ones but not for more distant gift recipients, and they pay more for handmade gifts when purchased to convey love than simply to acquire the best-performing product.