EPIC jerky quietly holds its own in a crowd of shiny, bright red and black packaging, the usual look of jerky bags.

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It comes in little bars…

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…and larger pouches.

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It looks like a relic from an era long past, a piece from the big country (the animal engravings), Stetson hats (the sandy color), and dusty boots (the matte finish).

The typeface used for EPIC appears to be Monotype Engravers, a name that speaks for itself in matching the animal illustrations and background lines. The squattiness of this serif typeface contrasts well with the super condensed sans serif face; they are even used side-by-side in the white portion of the individual bars describing the product.

As for that area, the horizontal arrangement reminds me of telegrams and apothecary labels. It’s a look now not uncommon on alcohol labels for whiskey, bourbon, and such.

Their website continues the look, with fine lines, and faded earth tones. Sepia splash images take the backdrop, dark gold social icons sit in the corner like nuggets in the rough, and speculative questions are placed on top in a style that reminds of old bills or wanted ads. This slide…

 

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…rotates to this.

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The second one isn’t conjugated correctly (what if there were a grammatically adept cowboy?) and it’s not centered. The logo (a branding mark?) also isn’t as epic as it could be…at a distance it looks like a crown or a checkered flag, and close-up looks more like an Egyptian hieroglyph. Just not as strong and elegantly historical as the logotype.

I confess the copy also isn’t doing much for me, but this might be an implicit bias from my junior high days when boys at my school would go around saying, “EPIC. That’s EPIC.” “Yeah, dude, SO EPIC.” It was the cool thing for guys to say, drawing out the word (“EPICCCCC, man!”) a trend that fizzled out before high school, when it became suddenly lame. Dude, that’s so lame. (Meanwhile, girls were busy developing their “likes,” like, you know how it soon becomes, like, a thing that, like, takes over, like, most of their sentences, and like, doesn’t occur to them that, like, they are even saying “like” like all that much, except maybe when they ask questions like, “Like, do you, like, like-like him? Or do you, like, just, like, like him??”)

I digress; my apologies. Junior high wasn’t, like, that epic.