When we are curious about value of an unknown object, we often consider how many people surround it. If it is alone, we believe it is expensive. If it is surrounded by many others, we believe it is cheap. This is because, according to O’Guinn’s et al. (2015), as the social density of a given space increases, “inference of the subjective social class and income of people in that space” fall. Although we like different degrees of crowdedness (D&Department in Tokyo) and even view the same degree of crowdedness differently (Kronen Vanlose in Copenhagen), crowdedness decreases the value of a product.
This article is about social space and material objects for sale within that space. We draw primarily on Goffman’s (1971) concepts of use space and possession territories to predict that as the social density of a given space increases, inferences of the subjective social class and income of people in that space fall. Eight studies confirm that this is indeed the case, with the result holding even for stick figures, thus controlling for typical visual indicators of social class such as clothing or jewelry. Furthermore, these social class inferences mediate a relationship between social density and product valuation, with individuals assessing both higher prices and a greater willingness to pay for products presented in less crowded contexts. This effect of inferred class on product valuation is explained by status-motivated individuals’ desire to associate with higher-status people. To the best of our knowledge, this research is the first to reveal the link between social density, status inferences, and object valuations. As such, it makes a novel contribution to what has come to be known in sociology as the topological turn: a renewed focus on social space.
Then, could we apply the same logic to stores where products are surrounded by other products? In other words, does “product crowdedness” decrease product value as well? This is an important question as stores display items in different ways.
Some stores display various items with a lot of stocks. For instance, at Annam Gourmet, Ho Chi Minh, only a few cans of sea food are on the shelf space with multiple stocks.
Other stores display only few items with few stocks. For instance, Decium, a Canadian cosmetic company introduces a few items without showing their stocks.
Two contrasting examples show that stocks determine the perceived value of products. Designers and marketers should decrease the number of products displayed in the store to increase their perceived value. There is a 8-minute video about an inside look at Decium to see how the company has managed to find success in the highly competitive, the multi-billion-dollar world of skin care.
This post is about whether the number of items displayed in a store changes how valuable those items look. The writer compared two stores: Annam Gourmet, which fills its shelves with lots of visible stock, and Deciem, which shows only a few items without revealing how much stock is behind them. The writer argued that “product crowdedness” lowers perceived value, just as social crowdedness does. According to O’Guinn, Tanner, and Maeng (2015), the higher the social density of a space, the lower people judge the class and value of what is in it. Applying this to stores, the writer suggested that designers and marketers should display fewer products to make each one feel more valuable.
I agree with the writer. A lonely item on a wide shelf reads as rare and expensive, while a wall of identical stock reads as cheap and common. What I find interesting is that the effect works even when the customer knows the products are exactly the same. The study found that the result held even for plain stick figures, with no clothing or jewelry to signal class, which means the inference comes purely from density itself. The same should be true for products: it is not the item that changes, but the empty space around it that does the talking.
I noticed this in myself when I bought a candle. I first saw it in the candle section of a large lifestyle store, where dozens of the same jars were lined up in tight rows, stacked two deep, with a price sticker on each lid. It looked like any other mass product, and I put it back, thinking I could buy it anytime. A few weeks later I saw the identical candle in a small select shop, this time placed alone on a wide table with nothing around it and no visible stock. It looked like an object worth displaying, almost like something I should not touch carelessly. I ended up buying it there, even though it was noticeably more expensive than at the lifestyle store. The candle had not changed at all. The only difference was how many of them I could see at once.
When I first presented this post, I assumed that abundant stock would make a store look generous and trustworthy, so I doubted that emptier shelves were always better. But after the candle, I realized that for me, crowdedness quietly turned a “special” item into an “ordinary” one. What I still wonder is whether this works for every kind of product, or only for things we buy to feel a little special. I doubt I would pay more for a lonely roll of toilet paper sitting on a wide shelf. So I agree with the writer that fewer items raise perceived value, but I think the effect depends on whether the customer is buying the product for status, or simply buying it because they need it.
The way a store displays its products is something we encounter every day, yet rarely stop to notice. The author of this post argues that this very arrangement shapes how much value we assign to a product. Unlike a grocery store in Ho Chi Minh that piles up cans of seafood with their stock fully on show, the Canadian cosmetics brand Deciem presents only a handful of items while keeping its inventory out of sight. The author grounds this in O’Guinn et al. (2015), whose research shows that as the social density of a space increases, the perceived social class and income of the people in it are judged to be lower—which in turn lowers the perceived value of the products around them. From this, the author concludes that marketers should reduce the number of products on display in order to raise their perceived value.
I agree that the way products are displayed influences how we perceive their value. What I find harder to accept is the leap to the conclusion that fewer items always mean higher value. For one, the O’Guinn study the author cites is strictly about the density of people. The finding that a crowded space makes its occupants seem lower in status has been transplanted directly onto the density of products, yet there is no guarantee that the two are read the same way. A crowd of people reminds us of an ordinary, undifferentiated mass, whereas an abundance of products can just as easily signal richness or plenty of things to choose from.
In fact, stores like Daiso and Don Quijote give me the exact opposite experience. Every aisle in these places is packed wall to wall, and that very density is what makes them so appealing. I walk in to buy a single toothbrush, get drawn to the storage containers beside it, then pick up a snack from the shelf below—walking out with things I never planned to buy. The simple act of scanning the aisles without knowing what I’ll find feels like a treasure hunt, so much so that I sometimes drop by just to browse even when I have nothing to buy.
This experience cannot be explained by the claim that dense displays merely cheapen a product. If anything, a high product density invites customers to explore, and in doing so encourages unplanned purchases. It is the same principle behind Costco deliberately scattering unexpected items throughout its store to create the thrill of a treasure hunt. Here, density is not a signal of cheapness but a source of a different kind of value—the pleasure of discovery and a sense of abundance. The same level of density, in other words, can mean something entirely different depending on the character of the store.
Of course, the author is right that luxury boutiques display their products sparsely to project scarcity and prestige. But that is not a universal law. The real question, I think, is not the one the author asks—how many products a store should display—but the one that comes before it: what kind of experience is the store trying to sell? Once that is settled, the number of products follows from it rather than dictating it. A store that sells scarcity and formality is better off showing less, while a store that sells abundance and the joy of discovery may raise its value precisely by filling its shelves. In the end, perceived value is not set by how much sits on the shelf, but by what that shelf is meant to make the customer feel.