Sulking from the front of the queue

The jam with the best shelf in the shop is often the one complaining loudest.

It has the eye-level spot in every supermarket from Nasr City to the coast. Its name is the word people use for the whole category. And when a small newcomer turns up with a cheaper jar and a cheeky line on the label, the big brand behaves as though it has been robbed. It leans on the newcomer's distributors, sends a stiff letter about the shape of a lid, and tells anyone who will listen that the market is unfair.

Nobody outside the building feels sorry for it. The shopper, the shopkeeper and the trade all hold the same plain view: you already have most of what there is to have. Playing the injured party from that position buys no warmth. Mostly it makes people want the small one to win.

There is a second cost, and it is quieter. The people running the big brand know the complaint is thin. They know they are ahead. Sulking from the front of the queue is a sour feeling precisely because there is no real wrong to put right, and so nothing that will ever make it go away.

The alternative is cheap and rarely tried. Say the newcomer had a good idea. Leave room on the shelf. Keep making the better product and let size speak for itself. Shoppers notice generosity from the strong far more than they notice it from the weak, because the strong did not have to offer it.

It does not always work. A gracious leader still loses some share to a hungry challenger. But I cannot think of another posture that works better, and I can think of plenty that work worse.