Lacto Calamine’s latest addition to the moisturiser aisle with its Super Light Gel has reignited a familiar debate in India’s personal care industry: where does the line between inspiration and imitation lie? The product’s light-blue jar, glossy gel texture and visual identity echo the look of Pond’s Super Light Gel so closely that the resemblance could be instantly pointed out. It’s not the first time the market has seen such mirror-image packs, and it certainly won’t be the last. Cases like Emami Navratna vs Dabur Cool King Thanda Tel, Marico Parachute vs Cocoplus, Parachute vs Parajet or Boroline vs Borobeauty show that the pattern is not incidental, it is structural. But why do brands continue to risk legal battles, consumer backlash and reputational damage? And do buyers genuinely mistake these lookalikes for the originals, or do they knowingly pick the cheaper twin because it communicates “same benefit, better price”?
For strategy experts, the starting point is consumer psychology. As Swarali Halepeti, Senior Director – Strategy, Media, dentsu India, frames it, “In fast-moving consumer categories, packaging isn’t just decoration, it’s a cognitive shortcut. Challenger brands often mimic market leaders because the leader has already done the heavy lifting of educating consumers on what ‘the right product’ should look like. When a blue gel jar already signals lightweight hydration thanks to Pond’s, any new entrant using the same cues immediately taps into that mental availability. It’s not always about deception; it’s about reducing friction in a chaotic retail environment.”
But are shoppers truly confused, or are they leveraging packaging familiarity as a heuristic? Halepeti believes it’s the latter. “We tend to overestimate consumer confusion and underestimate consumer pragmatism. In many cases, shoppers aren’t being fooled; they are making a conscious trade-off. They see a familiar-looking pack, assume functional parity, and choose the one that fits their budget. For a challenger brand, mirroring the visual codes of the leader simply accelerates this decision.”
This idea of “accelerated entry” is echoed by designers too. Radhika Dhuru, Creative Director, OPEN Strategy & Design, argues that mimicry is often a strategic shortcut rather than a creative lapse. She explains, “Challenger brands mimic leaders largely because it gives them instant entry into a category without the cost of product or design innovation. When you borrow from the ‘big brands’ — colours, gradients, pack formats, even naming, you’re tapping into years of consumer conditioning built by the market leader. It shortcuts the need for testing and reduces perceived risk.” Dhuru also mentions, “From a consumer standpoint, this works because shoppers don’t usually get ‘confused’; they get ‘reassured.’ A product that looks like the premium option signals safety, efficacy and value — especially in skincare, where early trials are driven by familiarity cues.”
Look at any crowded kirana shelf or quick-commerce thumbnail and the pattern becomes obvious: colour, silhouette and texture do most of the heavy lifting, not the brand name. Trade dress becomes a semiotic language. And in a country where price sensitivity is high, consumers often interpret similar-looking packs as indicators of functional similarity. Halepeti summarises, “There are three motivations at play. First, familiarity. Second, salience. And third, value signalling,” adding that many consumers “knowingly pick the ‘cheaper version’ of a product that looks similar.”
But how much of this is insight, and how much is opportunism? Shekhar Badve, Director, Lokus Design, points out that mimicry thrives in low-involvement categories. “Challenger brands very often operate in categories where purchase decisions are impulse or quick, low-involvement and heavily visual.” This makes packaging the battleground of first impressions. “Some brands use visual similarity for leveraging existing brand equity. Familiar colour blocks, layouts or descriptors or patterns reduce perceived risk for consumers due familiarity and make the new product recognisable, hence faster decision,” he says. At the same time, he acknowledges an uncomfortable truth: “Heuristic based selection drives the brain: At the shelf, many shoppers rely on fast visual cues rather than brand names. Unfortunately look-alike packaging, though short term, benefits from this ‘perceptual/ visual familiarity,’ or ‘deception’ increasing chances of being bought.”
If consumers are not always duped, they are certainly nudged. And this is why the legal machinery repeatedly steps in. Yet imitation persists. Why? Because the commercial payoff is immediate and the legal cost is delayed. Halepeti bluntly states, “Imitation persists because the commercial upside is immediate, and the legal downside is delayed. A brand can gain distribution, quick trials, and initial momentum long before a legal notice lands.” In the meantime, it secures precious retailer acceptance. She adds that India’s enforcement landscape is blurry, “Trade dress protection exists, but it’s subjective and slow. The legal boundaries are blurry. This grey zone gives challenger brands room to push visual similarity right up to the edge.” And India’s fragmented retail ecosystem makes early detection nearly impossible.
Dhuru offers a parallel observation rooted in economics, “The pattern persists simply because the gains are bigger than the risks. India’s personal care market is huge, and most mass consumers care more about credibility and price than whether the design is original.”
She cites The Minimalist as a key case study, “They got a lot of flak for ripping off The Ordinary’s aesthetic, but their targeting, pricing, and product quality worked and today they enjoy massive scale and valuations. That success reinforces the template for others.” The implication is striking- imitation becomes a commercially validated playbook. And the rise of quick-commerce, where packs shrink into 1-inch icons, reinforces sameness rather than punishing it.
But this isn’t just about economics or semiotics, it is also about the law. Lawyer Medha Banta explains how courts assess whether similarity crosses the line,“Elements such as colour palette, layout, shape, font style and imagery are assessed collectively to determine whether an average consumer who has imperfect recollection and makes quick, low-involvement purchases in the FMCG/beauty space might assume a trade connection with an established product.” Courts allow generic cues but draw the line when “the combination of non-functional features becomes deceptively similar to a market leader’s get-up.” She adds, “Key considerations include: the distinctiveness and reputation of the original packaging; the degree of overall similarity; prominence of the house mark; the nature of the consumer; and any evidence of confusion or intent to imitate.”
The challenge, she notes, is that FMCG shoppers have “imperfect recollection” and buy quickly, making confusion more likely. Enforcement, however, remains uneven. “High Courts, especially Delhi, grant swift injunctions in clear cases. At the same time, factors such as the high cost of enforcement for smaller brands, constant packaging refreshes and uneven timelines create a grey zone that some entrants exploit.”
This legal ambiguity intersects with another reality: the power of retailer influence. Nisha Sampath, Managing Partner, Bright Angles Consulting, stresses the role of the shelf itself. “In the Indian mass market, packaging functions as a powerful visual heuristic—consumers recognise categories as much as brands. Market leaders establish these visual codes, and challengers mimic them to signal functional equivalence and reduce perceived risk for the buyer.” She adds a retail-level nuance, “As we go down the pop strata, retailers can leverage lookalike packaging to pass substitute brands to consumers who may not be able to read labels.” The interplay between consumer heuristics, retailer interpretation and brand intent creates a uniquely Indian context where imitation almost becomes infrastructure.
But does imitation stifle creativity? Dhuru cautions against painting all challengers with the same brush. “It’s also important to call out that not every challenger brand is copying. Some are genuinely pushing the category forward. Brands like d’you, Hibiscus Monkey and Arata have experimented with new pack formats, bold naming, and fresh graphic styles.” Their success suggests that originality can coexist with commercial viability; it simply requires a longer runway. Badve, too, notes that legal strictness is increasing: “This is changing and becoming more stricter, so the days of pass-offs are numbered.” If enforcement tightens and consumers become more design-literate, will brands still take the shortcut?
The bigger question the industry must grapple with is, if consumers aren’t truly confused, but instead are consciously choosing based on heuristics, is mimicry still unethical or simply market efficiency? And if lookalikes continue to drive trial, distribution and value perception, what incentive remains to invest in bold, distinctive packaging? As long as “commercial upside outweighs legal downside,” as multiple experts suggest, the Indian shelf may continue to be a place where familiarity overshadows originality. But the rise of brands that are breaking this mould hints at another future, one where design becomes a differentiator again, not just a shortcut.
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