From antipathy to affinity: what soap taught me about brand loyalty (and my own fickleness)

I made a discovery recently that surprised me. Not just a little, but quite a lot. And at the root of it was something rather ordinary.

Soap.

If you just read the word soap and got ready to bounce out of this article, bear with me a moment, as I promise this gets more interesting.

Soap is something I’ve given little thought to over the years. It’s always been there, in some form or another, part of the background landscape of my life, but not something that’s occupied any place in my thoughts.

And even with the arrival of COVID, it’s not something I’ve ever spent any time talking about. Because, well, it’s soap.

And yet, in one serendipitous moment (both for me and a particular brand) it became the only thing I could talk about for a while.

[This may have you questioning how interesting my life is right now, which you’d be well within your rights to question, but that’s not the point…]

For the past two years I’ve lived with my best friend who, I quickly discovered, has a passion for Pears soap. The little amber bars were resident in every room with running water, and the walls of the laundry cupboard were lined with Pears soap boxes, waiting in the wings for their moment of use.

It was surprising to me for two reasons; firstly, who in the heck needs that much soap ready to go, and secondly (mainly) because Pears soap itself was something that (in my mind) belonged to the past.

Just seeing the soap took me back three decades to my grandmother’s house and memories of a freezing cold bathroom, a scalding hot shower and a very scratchy set of towels.

And trying it out just reminded why I’d never used it much; it left a coating on my hands that felt sticky and the scent wasn’t one that my nasal passages embraced with joy. So much so that on my next outing to the shops, I purposefully secured alternative soap and body wash to ensure I didn’t have to repeat the experience.

From that moment on, Pears soap occupied a place in my mind alongside anchovies and escargots. Something to be avoided. It even became the subject of mickey-taking (likening my 6ft4-Rugby-playing best friend to a little old lady) and the occasional (hide all the soaps) prank.

[Note: during times of COVID one takes one’s humour where one can get it].

And then one day it all changed.

Our weekly grocery delivery arrived, and as we were unpacking it, we noticed an absence of the little white boxes of soap and in their place, two bottles of Pears liquid hand soap.

“Bugger, Sainsbury’s have substituted my soap for this stuff” my best friend declared whilst brandishing one of the plastic bottles in the air.

“What in the feck am I supposed to do with this?”

After biting my lip trying not to laugh, I took the bottles and stuffed them under the sink, relegating them to post-washing up hand soap.

A few days later, when the incumbent hand soap had run out, out came one of the amber bottles. And with one quick pump, I began my journey from brand antipathy to adoration.

Because, to put it simply, the liquid hand soap was really rather special.

It lathered beautifully, and as it did so, it released the most aromatic scent into the air. And as I dried my hands, I discovered not only were they clean and non-sticky, but that they smelled amazing. So much so that I did something rather odd (blame the behaviourist in me for this degree of self-observation), I lifted my hands to my nose and stood there for a good moment just sniffing, breathing in the scent and, believe it or not, smiling.

I was sold. I loved this soap.

Fast forward a month and every sink in the house had a bottle of the stuff.

The laundry cupboard was filled with a little army of amber bottles and when Sainsbury’s then substituted it for something else, I actively went to another supermarket to track it down.

And it didn’t stop there.

A few weeks ago, when I dropped off a parcel at my parents, in went a bottle. Last week when I stayed at my partner’s place, in went another bottle. And yesterday when I popped into the office to pick up a laptop charger, I sneaked one into the bathroom there too.

I’ve been telling everyone about this amazing soap and been delighted each time someone tells me they’ve used it and loved it.

It’s become a thing. I’m in love. Brand love.

And like with many cases of true love, it so nearly didn’t happen. A chance meeting, an opportunity I didn’t actively seek.

And with my love has come loyalty. True brand loyalty. Overnight I’ve became committed and convicted. Advocating for it almost from the first sniff.

What’s fascinating to me is that a brand relegated to the realm of anchovies and escargots is now one of the very few brands I actively talk about, search for and recommend.

And it’s just soap. Just flipping soap.

Conventional wisdom would suggest that (active) brand loyalty is built up over time, a compounded collection of positive experiences that continuously reinforce both the functional and emotional benefits of the brand.

That the post-purchase experience continuously repeated and improved on over time is what will lead someone into a loyalty loop of habitual purchasing behaviour, served up with a side dish of referrals and recommendations.

My experience with this soap has taught me this is not necessarily the case.

Active loyalty can be fast-tracked.

It can be triggered, expanded on and compounded in any number of ways.

It can even be generated in relatively low-engagement categories, normally System 1 driven categories.

And my experience with this soap has also taught me about the power of disruption.

How one chance substitution created an opportunity for trial that not just led to a new brand habit, but the formation of a hand washing ritual. A hand washing ritual that is now inextricably linked to the brand.

And that’s why I say I found it both surprising and interesting (and I’m throwing in a powerful here too).

Surprising for what it’s shown me about my own psychology and behaviour (and yes, relationship with soap) that’s challenged pre-existing beliefs.

Interesting for the questions it’s raised around the formation of new habits and rituals and their role in creating and deepening active loyalty with a brand.

Powerful for reinforcing just how significant ‘openness to trial’ moments are for brands, and how being there at the right time, in the right way, should never be left to serendipity.

As a human behaviourist and a marketer, it’s opened my mind to a number of possibilities for brands that I must admit, weren’t quite so evident or compelling before ‘the soap’.

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If you’ve made it this far into my monologue, thank you for reading.

If you never want to hear about soap ever again, I understand!

If you’ve a similar experience, or evidence to point to the absolute contrary, I’d love to hear from you. You can reach me at elizabeth@thesoundhq.com