Cannabis Is Learning to Speak Consumer

Today’s typical cannabis menu sounds less like a catalog of plant genetics and more like the specials board at a dangerously ambitious bakery.

According to a study published September 12 in the International Journal of Drug Policy, that might indicate more than a naming fad.

While studying sales from 450 California cannabis retailers, researchers found products with flavor-indicating names accounted for surprisingly large shares of revenue across nearly every major product category during 2020 and 2021. They represented 95 percent of edible revenue, 64 percent of concentrate revenue, 53 percent of flower revenue, 52 percent of vape revenue, and 48 percent of pre-roll revenue.

The researchers were primarily interested in a public-health question: whether sweet- and fruit-associated names appeal disproportionately to younger adults. They found flavor-forward names accounted for roughly half or more of revenue across inhalable categories, ranging from 48 percent of pre-roll sales to 64 percent of concentrate sales. In addition, those names represented a larger share of purchases among consumers ages 21–24 than among buyers 25 and older.

But the data raise another question for the industry: What if cannabis product names are revealing a broader change in the way consumers understand the category?

From insider language to consumer language

For decades, cannabis names developed largely within a subculture.

Strain names communicated lineage, breeder history, aroma, potency, geography, inside jokes, countercultural identity, or sometimes little more than the breeder’s sense of humor. Experienced consumers learned the vocabulary. Kush meant something. Diesel meant something. Skunk meant something.

Even when the names did not communicate precise botanical information, they signaled membership in a culture whose participants largely understood the references.

That works differently in a legal retail environment serving customers who may have little interest in becoming fluent in cannabis idioms.

A longtime enthusiast may see a cultivar name and immediately connect it with genetics, expected effects, aroma, or a previous experience. A newer customer may see the same name and wonder whether buying it requires a defense attorney.

Flavor terminology solves a different problem.

Berry, peach, citrus, vanilla, cream, mint, tropical fruit, and lemonade are already part of consumers’ vocabulary. They do not require knowledge of breeders or genetics. They translate an unfamiliar category into terms shoppers encounter everywhere from sparkling water to skin care.

In that sense, cannabis may be doing what mature consumer categories often do: adding familiar consumer shorthand that lowers the barrier to entry.

When one culture becomes many

Other consumer categories have gone through similar transitions without abandoning the cultures that shaped them.

Film did not lose noir, foreign cinema, classic Hollywood, or cult movies as mass entertainment evolved. Music did not discard jazz, metal, classical, hip-hop, or country as new audiences and technologies changed listening habits. Those cultures remained important to devoted audiences and continued influencing the mainstream.

What changed was their claim on the center.

Cannabis may be following a similar path. The culture that developed around the plant during prohibition still matters deeply to many consumers, breeders, growers, retailers, and legacy operators. Lineage, provenance, cultivation methods, heritage, and authenticity can carry considerable value for shoppers who care about them.

But legalization also has created customers who never belonged to that culture and may have little interest in adopting its language or rituals. They may care more about flavor, format, dose, price, effects, and predictability than about genetics or breeder history.

That raises a subtle question for an industry that frequently invokes “cannabis culture” as a consumer value: Are the priorities of its most committed participants necessarily shared by the mass market?

Flavor-forward naming does not answer that question. But it may offer a clue.

Rather than replacing traditional cannabis culture, the legal market may be developing multiple consumer cultures at once — each with its own expectations, reference points, and vocabulary. Flavor names simply provide one language shoppers can understand without already knowing how to speak cannabis.

The shelf is already changing

Recent industry analysis suggests the California study may have identified more than a pandemic-era quirk.

In August, terpene supplier True Terpenes analyzed BDSA sell-through data covering the 50 top-selling strains in three product categories across four United States regions, representing about $1.36 billion in retail sales. The company discovered flavor-forward names accounted for about half of retail dollars in the categories it examined and nearly two-thirds among newer launches.

Because True Terpenes sells flavor and aroma ingredients, its analysis deserves the same scrutiny any other vendor-produced market research would receive. But the pattern is notable when viewed alongside the peer-reviewed California data.

The examples are even more revealing.

Powdered Donuts. Fried Ice Cream. Mango Mamacita. Watermelon Daiquiri.

None requires the shopper to know anything about cannabis genetics. Each communicates something before the package leaves the shelf.

That is merchandising.

When does a name become a claim?

The shift also creates a regulatory problem.

California prohibits cannabis marketing, packaging, and labeling that appeal to children, and the Department of Cannabis Control specifically warns that flavor names emphasizing sweetness or novelty can increase the risk of noncompliance. State rules also prohibit false or misleading labeling.

That creates an awkward question for brands: When does a cultivar or product name stop functioning as a name and start functioning as a flavor claim?

If a product called Watermelon does not contain watermelon flavoring and lacks a terpene profile reasonably associated with the name, what exactly is the shopper being promised?

The authors of the California study suggested regulators could consider requiring flavor names to be supported by validated terpene testing. They also acknowledged more research is necessary before determining the best regulatory approach.

For operators, however, the issue goes beyond compliance.

The more successfully a name communicates flavor or expected experience, the more likely consumers are to treat the name as useful product information. And the more consumers rely on the name having experiential significance, the more difficult it becomes to argue the terminology is merely decorative.

A category grows up

Cannabis spent much of the early legal era teaching consumers how to speak cannabis. Increasingly, the market may be learning how to speak consumer.

That would not make traditional cultivars, heritage genetics, breeder histories, or connoisseur culture obsolete. Vinyl records did not disappear when streaming arrived.

But mass markets rarely require every participant to become an enthusiast.

As cannabis moves further from a prohibition-era subculture toward an ordinary consumer category, its vocabulary may become less about demonstrating familiarity with cannabis and more about helping people choose among products.

The shift may not have been planned. Markets do not require a planner to evolve.

Sometimes all they need is a customer standing in front of a shelf, deciding that Banana Bread sounds pretty good.