It’s not that I dislike the WHSmith brand.
But I’m not going to miss it from the high street. And I’d avoid it in airports if I could.
I used to love it.
As a kid, WHSmith vouchers were the best Christmas present you could get. Book vouchers were fine — but WHSmith vouchers could get you records. Actual vinyl. That was gold.
I even loved the bags — that tessellating logo, the weird brown and beige colour scheme. Was there a bit of orange too? Maybe. Either way, it felt properly 70s. Retro then, even more so now.
My first ever commercial project was for WHSmith. A range of recycled packaging I designed while I was on placement at Trickett and Webb, working with Andy Thomas and his legendary collection of ephemera. It was the first time I could show my mum something I’d made, right there on the shelf. She bought it, obviously.
But something changed.
The experience became terrible. Just walking in felt like a last desperate move. The destination of last resort.
The staff weren’t that helpful, probably understaffed. The stores lost all joy. The records were long gone.
Newspapers were an afterthought, shoved between overpriced chocolate, sad sandwiches, and random phone chargers. Books somewhere in the back, if you could be bothered to find them.
So yes — I’ll miss what WHSmith was. But I won’t miss what it became.
Another name added to the list — Our Price, Woolworths, BHS, Dixons.
Shops that meant something once but never found a way to mean something again.
You’ll have your favourite store that’s long gone.
Let me know what it was
Image: Recycled paper packaging designed at Trickett and Webb (c1990)
Read the Guardian article here>>
