Here we have a mug of coffee.

Never mind that Steph, its owner, is such a rebel that she’s using it for tea; it is clearly intended by its manufacturer to be a MUG OF COFFEE. It says so, all over.

So what I want to know is what this phenomenon is called–in which a manufactured object is emblazoned with words declaring one specific use, when potentially it could be used for any of a number of things.

This rather large mug (which has a nifty silicone lid) could potentially be used for any beverage. Or soup. Or chili. Or oatmeal. So why declare it a MUG OF COFFEE? Do people who might use it for coffee really need a declaration of its contents to remind them of what they are drinking? Do they really need to announce their beverage of choice for all to see?

Kitchen canisters have traditionally done the same thing. The biggest one is always labeled FLOUR. Then SUGAR. Then, usually, COFFEE and TEA. But what if you don’t bake? Or drink tea? Sure, you could put rice in the flour canister, or coffee in the sugar canister, and use the one meant for tea to hold the Splenda packets you steal from Starbucks–but why buy a set of mislabeled canisters, then? Why settle for working around someone else’s assumptions and expectations?

And that’s why I’ve never bought a set of kitchen canisters, because even if I wanted identifying text on them, the usual imposed order has nothing to do with my own preferences (which would probably be for canisters labeled COFFEE, ALMONDS, CATNIP, and HAIR TIES, in that order).