The Forgotten Story of Generic Brands

In the late 1970s, grocery stores across America began stocking something radically different from the colorful logos and flashy designs consumers were used to. Rows of stark black-and-white packages appeared on shelves, labeled only with plain words like “Cola,” “Beer,” or “Peanut Butter.” These generic brands were born out of an era of rising inflation and economic uncertainty, when shoppers were hungry for cheaper options and retailers were looking for ways to strip out unnecessary costs.

While their run at the top was relatively short, the impact of generic brands was anything but forgettable. They stood out precisely because they rejected the rules of branding—minimal packaging, no mascots, no slogans, no emotional appeal. For a generation of shoppers, they became both a symbol of thrift and a quiet rebellion against consumer culture. Even today, decades after most of those plain-wrap products disappeared, people remember them vividly.

At Kleur, we’re fascinated by stories like this because they show how design choices, sometimes made out of necessity, can ripple through culture and change expectations. The history of generic brands is more than a quirky retail experiment. It is a case study in how branding works, how it fails, and how it evolves. Looking back on their rise and fall gives us insights that modern marketers and designers can still learn from today.

The Origins of Generic Brands in the 1970s

The generic brand was born out of crisis. By the mid-1970s, the United States was caught in the grip of stagflation, with inflation rising even as economic growth slowed. Food prices in particular were climbing at a pace most families had never experienced. Shoppers who once compared brands based on taste or loyalty suddenly cared most about what they could afford to put in their carts. Retailers saw the shift and realized there was room for a new category of product—one that cut out marketing costs and delivered only the bare essentials.

Ralphs, a California supermarket chain, was among the first to move boldly into this space. In 1977, they launched a line of generics that immediately stood out: packages were stripped of color, design, and logos, reduced to stark white backgrounds with black block lettering. Cans simply read “BEER.” Boxes were marked “CORN FLAKES.” Bottles said “COLA.” What might have seemed like a desperate shortcut was in fact a deliberate strategy. By removing everything but the name of the product, Ralphs signaled to consumers that they were buying value—nothing more, nothing less.

Other grocery chains quickly followed, including A&P, which at the time was one of the largest retailers in the country and a bellwether for American shopping culture. A&P had already been known for introducing private-label goods under its own brand, but the move into plain-wrap generics represented a different kind of experiment. It wasn’t about building loyalty to the store’s name—it was about competing on price alone. When a giant like A&P embraced the trend, it validated generics as a legitimate retail category rather than a regional novelty.

The visual impact of these products was just as important as the savings. For decades, packaging design had been a battlefield of logos, mascots, slogans, and bright colors meant to catch a shopper’s eye. Generic brands flipped that logic on its head. The absence of design became the design. A shelf full of black-and-white products created its own kind of spectacle, almost daring consumers to choose frugality over the emotional comfort of a brand. This stripped-down approach not only saved money on printing and design, it disrupted the expectations of what a “real” product should look like.

In hindsight, the launch of generics was both a reaction to a moment of economic pressure and a provocative statement about consumer culture. They showed that branding could be turned off like a light switch, and that shoppers would respond, even if reluctantly, when their wallets demanded it. Ralphs and A&P may not have set out to spark a cultural conversation, but their generic lines became part of a national story about value, identity, and the role of marketing in everyday life.

Why Consumers Still Remember Generic Products

Generic brands were never subtle. Walking into a supermarket in the late 1970s or early 1980s, shoppers were greeted with entire aisles of packaging that looked more like military rations than consumer goods. The shock value was undeniable. At a time when branding was all about bright colors, cartoon mascots, and upbeat slogans, the sudden appearance of black-and-white “plain wrap” products felt like a visual protest.

That contrast is part of why generics stuck in people’s memories. A child standing in front of the cereal aisle didn’t see Tony the Tiger or Toucan Sam—just a stark box labeled “Corn Flakes.” On the soda shelves, familiar reds and blues gave way to rows of white cans stamped only with the word “Cola.” The absence of branding was so extreme that it became its own form of identity. Even if consumers didn’t always buy them, they couldn’t forget the way they looked.

Beyond their visual punch, generic products carried cultural weight. For thrifty households, filling a cart with plain wrap items was a practical decision. But for others, the choice took on a symbolic edge. To some, generics represented rebellion against consumerism, a refusal to pay for jingles and ad campaigns. They embodied a kind of anti-brand minimalism long before minimalism was a design trend. Shoppers who embraced them sometimes did so with pride, as if to say, “I don’t need a logo to tell me what’s good.”

Media and pop culture amplified this image. News outlets ran stories about the phenomenon, often showing photos of entire shelves dominated by generic packages. Comedians and sitcoms poked fun at the starkness, using “BEER” or “COLA” cans as props. The imagery was so distinctive that it entered the broader cultural vocabulary. Even today, decades later, references to generic products pop up in nostalgic conversations, retro art projects, and design discussions.

Consumers remember generic brands not just because they saved money, but because they represented something bigger. They disrupted the idea that every product needed a carefully crafted identity to succeed. They proved that design could be as loud in its absence as in its presence. And for better or worse, they forced shoppers to think about what branding really means.

The Decline of Generic Brands and the Rise of Store Labels

As quickly as generic brands exploded onto supermarket shelves, their presence began to fade. The stark packaging that once made them stand out also worked against them. Without logos, mascots, or any promise beyond low price, generics struggled to earn consumer trust. Many shoppers questioned whether the quality matched national brands, and in some cases, the perception proved true. Reports of inconsistent taste, lower-grade ingredients, or flimsy packaging reinforced the idea that generic products were “cheap” in every sense of the word.

By the late 1980s, the experiment was losing momentum. Supermarkets discovered that while generics attracted attention, they often failed to keep customers loyal. Price alone wasn’t enough. Consumers wanted reassurance that what they were buying was both affordable and reliable. At the same time, national brands doubled down on advertising, pushing harder on emotional appeals and brand loyalty, which widened the gap between plain wrap products and their polished competitors.

The 1990s marked a shift toward a more sophisticated model: private-label store brands. Instead of stripping away identity, retailers began investing in it. Chains like Costco built Kirkland Signature into a powerhouse by pairing competitive prices with consistent quality. Trader Joe’s leaned into personality, creating quirky private labels that reinforced the store’s cult following. Target took a similar path, developing in-house brands that were not only affordable but stylish and well-marketed. These labels borrowed lessons from generics—cutting costs by avoiding traditional advertising—but added a layer of trust and design that generics never achieved.

This evolution reflected a deeper truth: shoppers don’t just want low prices, they want value. And value is as much about perception as it is about cost. Modern store brands learned to occupy a middle ground between generic thrift and national brand prestige. They offered the reassurance of quality while still delivering savings, and in many cases, they built a following strong enough to compete head-to-head with legacy products.

The decline of generics wasn’t the end of the story. Instead, it laid the groundwork for a retail strategy that still dominates today. From Costco’s Kirkland to Target’s Good & Gather, store labels continue to thrive by combining affordability with identity—something generics never quite managed to master.

What Modern Marketers Can Learn From Generic Branding

The legacy of generic brands is more than nostalgia. For modern marketers, they stand as a reminder that branding decisions are never just about aesthetics—they are cultural signals. The plain wrap experiment shows how even the absence of design can become a design choice. Minimalism was not yet fashionable in the 1970s, but those stark black-and-white packages proved that stripping away the noise can cut through a crowded marketplace. Today, countless DTC brands lean on minimalist packaging and uncluttered design to suggest purity, quality, or sophistication. Generic brands showed the power of that approach long before it became trendy.

Another lesson is the value of authenticity and transparency. Generics promised nothing but the product itself. There was no cartoon mascot making exaggerated claims, no slogan promising transformation. While this honesty sometimes backfired—especially when quality failed to measure up—it also resonated with consumers who were tired of advertising gimmicks. In the modern market, where shoppers are skeptical of greenwashing, influencer marketing, and empty slogans, the appeal of straightforward messaging is stronger than ever.

The challenge, of course, is balance. Generics leaned too hard on cost savings and sacrificed the perception of value. Modern brands have to walk the line more carefully. Consumers want affordability, but they also want to believe they are getting something made with care. Private labels like Trader Joe’s and Kirkland succeeded where generics failed by combining lower prices with a consistent promise of quality. For today’s challenger brands, especially those entering crowded markets, the lesson is clear: price can open the door, but trust keeps people coming back.

DTC startups, subscription services, and emerging challenger brands can also take a page from generics by using design and messaging to challenge expectations. Generic packaging disrupted its era because it looked so different from everything else. The same strategy can work today if applied with creativity and intention. Breaking the visual norms of a category—whether that means bold minimalism, radical honesty, or playful subversion—can be the fastest way to get noticed.

In the end, the story of generic brands is a case study in how design choices ripple beyond the shelf. They remind modern marketers that branding is not just about standing out, but about creating meaning. Even when that meaning comes from plain black text on a white box.

The Lasting Legacy of the Generic Brand

Generic brands may have faded from supermarket shelves, but their influence hasn’t disappeared. They proved that design could make a statement by doing less, and that even the most stripped-down packaging could capture cultural attention. The lesson for modern branding is that bold choices—whether maximalist or minimalist—only work when they are intentional.

At Kleur, we see that legacy playing out in real time. We’ve just designed new packaging for a cannabis brand in Washington that draws directly on the nostalgia of the generic era. The packaging is as stark as it gets: black and white, with nothing but the word “Weed” across the front. In a market full of colorful illustrations, gradients, and metallic inks, this brand chose to stand apart by embracing simplicity. It’s a reminder that even in today’s saturated retail environment, clarity and audacity can be the most powerful design tools.

If your brand is ready to rethink how it shows up—whether that means embracing minimalism, pushing into bold visuals, or finding a middle path—we’d love to help. Kleur specializes in turning design decisions into cultural signals, and we’d be glad to talk about how to do that for you.