However, between you and your shot glasses, drinking is a serious affair; something not to be trifled with in the stuff's fervor. To feel reassured, we often put our money where the stamp is: In a distinctive approval from the product's heritage where no second tier ingredient can emulate. (It's not unlikely that competitors taste better, it's just that the former already looks better in taste.)
Unless, of course, everyone else promises the same damn thing.
In marketing speak, that could be brand saturation. (Hoorah!) In a consumer's mind, that's as tasting as water with a homogenous appeal (or a lack thereof, for that matter) that renders one brand from the next indistinguishable. And should everything taste as its packaging does, saturating its design packaging is equivalent to a sameness, a predictability: The same robust taste, or the same spicy notes tinkled with a needling pine flavor. Judging by how convenient and common it is to mark brand heritage across all liquor bottles, we wouldn't bother with brand packaging, in other words.
Winning a design packaging award for an illustrative definition of canoodling may, therefore, be a novel idea. But toying with it while you down the slow-burning taste of gin only makes it better, because the activity is never to be a dull one. It's a wayward impulse that should not chaste us to any old hand, like giving fresh ideas a shot (I mean it quite literally), or drinking it straight from the bottle like a sinkhole.
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