I'll be honest - I never thought I'd have strong feelings about salt. It's the most basic ingredient in any kitchen, a commodity that's been traded for thousands of years. You sprinkle it on food, the food tastes better, end of story. But then I started wondering: do heritage brands like Morton actually mean anything to consumers anymore? Or has salt become so commoditised that brand storytelling is completely irrelevant?
I ran a study with six US home cooks to find out. The answer was surprisingly clear: salt is mostly just salt, and heritage doesn't change that fundamental reality.
The Participants
I recruited six personas from across the US through Ditto's synthetic research panel - home cooks aged 28 to 55 who actually use salt regularly in their cooking. Geographic distribution was deliberately diverse, including humid Gulf markets like Louisiana (where clumping is a real issue), the Midwest, Texas, Missouri, Ohio, and California. Income ranged from entry-level to over $120,000 annually.
I wanted to know: does Morton's 1848 heritage and iconic umbrella logo actually drive purchasing decisions, or is this category purely about price and function?
The Brutal Truth About Heritage
One participant summed up what I heard across the board with characteristic bluntness:
"Salt is salt. I've been using the same brand for years, but honestly? If it was out of stock, I'd grab whatever was on the shelf without thinking twice. The Morton umbrella girl is cute, but she doesn't make the salt taste any different."
That's the consumer insight in its purest form. Heritage storytelling is nice to have in commodity categories, but it's not a purchase driver. Morton's umbrella logo and long history provide what respondents called "baseline trust: safe, consistent, fine" - but "fine" doesn't justify a premium. It's functional trust without any emotional pull or willingness to pay more.
What actually matters to these home cooks:
Grain type and size: Kosher for cooking because of easier pinching, iodized for baking where dissolution matters.
Packaging performance: Does it clump in humid conditions? Does the container seal properly between uses?
Price: Salt shouldn't cost more than private label alternatives. There's no flavour justification for premium pricing.
Availability: Is it reliably on the shelf when needed? Switching to whatever's available is frictionless.
Notice what's missing? Brand storytelling. Marketing campaigns. Heritage positioning. None of those factors appeared in purchase decision discussions.
The Real Differentiator: Packaging
Here's where the research gets genuinely useful. Clumping and poor seals - especially in humid markets like the Gulf Coast - are actual switch triggers that move consumers between brands. People resort to workarounds like transferring salt to mason jars or adding rice packets to absorb moisture when their packaging fails.
One participant from Louisiana explained the frustration:
"Down here, humidity is brutal. My salt turns into a solid brick if the container doesn't seal right. I don't care about heritage or the umbrella girl when I'm chiseling chunks off a salt block with a knife. I care about whether the packaging actually works."
Moisture-resistant, resealable packaging emerged as a true differentiator. Not heritage. Not the umbrella girl. Not 1848 founding dates. Functional packaging that actually works in real-world conditions is what consumers are willing to value and potentially pay slightly more for.
Specialty Salts: Mostly Marketing
I asked about premium pricing for specialty salts - the pink Himalayan, truffle-infused, black volcanic, and other exotic varieties that cost three to four times regular salt prices. The verdict was consistent: "mostly a gimmick" and a "fancy tax" driven by marketing rather than genuine functional benefits.
The exceptions where premium pricing found some acceptance:
Flaky finishing salts: Defensible because there's an actual texture benefit that affects the eating experience. Maldon flakes on a steak provide crunch that regular salt can't replicate.
Smoked sea salt: Narrow but legitimate use case for adding smoky flavour without a smoker. Functional benefit is real, even if the applications are limited.
Pink Himalayan and truffle salt? Skip them unless you can prove a functional benefit beyond "looks pretty" or "sounds fancy." Consumers see through the marketing and question the value proposition.
Where Loyalty Actually Exists
A minority of participants do show genuine loyalty to their kosher salt brand - but not because of marketing or heritage. It's because they "know how it dissolves." After years of cooking with the same salt, they've calibrated their intuition to that specific grain size and dissolution rate. Changing brands would require recalibrating their cooking instincts.
Consistency engineers loyalty. Brand storytelling does not. The loyalty that exists in this category is functional and practical, not emotional or aspirational.
Consumers also segment their salt by use case, typically keeping a small kit of two to three varieties:
Kosher salt for cooking: Predictable dissolution, easy to pinch and control.
Iodized salt for baking and boiling: Fine grain for even distribution in batters and pasta water.
Flaky finishing salt: For occasional texture enhancement on finished dishes where the crunch adds value.
What This Means for Salt Brands
If I were running a salt brand, here's what I'd take away from this research:
Invest in better packaging, not heritage marketing. Moisture resistance and resealability are actual differentiators.
Price at parity with private label. Heritage doesn't justify premium pricing in commodities.
Provide clear use-case guidance. Cook, bake, finish - help consumers understand which salt for which purpose.
Focus specialty salts on functional benefits. Texture and flavour differences that consumers can actually experience.
The Bigger Picture
Heritage gets you on the shelf. Heritage gets you baseline trust. But heritage doesn't get you a premium price or emotional loyalty in commodity categories. For a product like salt, the path forward is all about functional execution: better packaging that actually works, clear use-case guidance that helps consumers choose correctly, and price parity with private label alternatives.
Sometimes the most useful insight is the simplest one: salt is salt. The umbrella girl is charming but irrelevant to purchase decisions. Act accordingly and compete on the functional attributes that actually matter to consumers standing in the grocery aisle making real decisions about which container to put in their cart.
What the Research Revealed
We asked real consumers to share their thoughts. Here's what they told us:
Himalayan pink salt, smoked sea salt, finishing salts, truffle salt - when you see these premium varieties at 3-4x the price of regular salt, what is your honest gut reaction? Marketing gimmick or gen
Keith Jasper, 50, Unemployed Adult, Amarillo city, TX, USA:
Gut says mostly gimmick at those prices. I cook simple. Chili, eggs, beans. Regular iodized does the job.
Pink salt: Pretty color, same salt taste to me. Not paying 3x for looks.
Smoked salt: Only one I might use. Tiny pinch on eggs can be nice if I do not fire up a grill. But I can get smoke flavor cheap with chipotle or a splash of liquid smoke.
Finishing salts: Flaky is fine on a steak. I do not buy steak often. Coarse store salt works for rubs just fine.
Truffle salt: Smells fussy, tastes muddy to me. Hard pass.
If I find a jar on clearance or get it in a pantry box, I will use a pinch now and then. Paying 3-4x out of pocket? Nope. Salt is salt for my kitchen. Price decides.
Jarred Roos, 34, Unemployed Adult, Rural, MO, USA:
Gimmick. Salt is salt. 3-4x for color and a story. Hard pass.
Pink: Tastes same. Those grinders jam. I had one. Gritty. Trash.
Smoked: If I want smoke, I use wood. Not dusty salt. Eggs tasted weird.
Finishing: Just big rocks. I can smash kosher with a spoon if I want crunch.
Truffle: Smells like feet. Makes stuff muddy. No thanks.
I buy cheap. I dump it in a mason jar with rice. Works fine. If someone gives me fancy salt, I’ll use it on fries till it’s gone. Then back to regular. What’s the catch?
Kayley Sauceda, 35, Operations Specialist, Lafayette, LA, USA:
Gut reaction: mostly a fancy tax. If I’m paying 3-4x the unit price, it better do something my trusty kosher can’t. For me, only texture at the finish earns its keep. The rest is cute on Instagram, not a pantry staple in this Louisiana humidity. Here’s how I slice it:
Finishing salt - sometimes worth it. Big, clean flakes on a steak or roasted veggies hit different. I buy a small jar, keep it sealed tight, and only use it at the plate.
Smoked sea salt - fun but not essential. I’ll grab a tiny tub for grilled shrimp or deviled eggs when I’m feeling extra. It clumps here and the smoke fades, so small size only.
Himalayan pink - pretty rock, same song. The color is vibes, not flavor. Coarse grains make me recalibrate, which I hate mid-gumbo. I skip it. La mayor parte es marketing.
Truffle salt - mostly a no from me. Smells loud, goes stale fast, easy to overdo. If I want that note, I’d rather do a micro hit at the table on fries or popcorn, then hide it in the pantry.
Net: I’ll spend a few bucks on a good flaky finisher because it changes mouthfeel. Everything else at 3-4x? Hard pass. I’d rather put that money into better shrimp, fresh herbs, or citrus that actually moves the needle.
Brian Doucet, 51, Construction Manager, Cleveland city, OH, USA:
Gut check: mostly marketing with a couple narrow exceptions.
Himalayan pink: Looks pretty, tastes like salt. Hard pass. I’m not paying extra for Instagram color in my stew.
Smoked sea salt: Maybe if you don’t own a smoker and want a whisper of campfire on eggs or popcorn. I’ve got a grill and a smoker, so I’d rather make real smoke. Easy to overdo and it goes from nice to ash fast.
Flaky finishing salt: The one I’ll buy. It’s about texture, not magic. Tiny sprinkle on a steak or summer tomatoes, done. A small tin lasts forever, so I don’t feel fleeced.
Truffle salt: No thanks. Expensive funk that bulldozes everything. Smells synthetic to me, and I don’t need my eggs wearing cologne.
Day to day, I stick to coarse kosher because grain size and feel are what matter. If you’re charging 3-4x, you better give me something I can actually taste without squinting. On a wet, blustery Cleveland night like this, anything going in chili or a braise drowns out the fancy stuff anyway. Save the premiums for a quick finish, otherwise it’s just pricier salt in a cute outfit.
Morton Salt has that iconic umbrella girl logo and has been around since 1848. When you see a brand that old and established, does that make you trust it more, or does it feel dated and out of touch?
Jarred Roos, 34, Unemployed Adult, Rural, MO, USA:
That umbrella girl looks fine. Old-timey. I don’t care. Old brand don’t earn trust with me. Could be steady, could be lazy, could be overpriced. Price first. Does it clump. Does the box rip. I guess old can mean they know how to make it. But it’s salt. It’s rocks. Salt is salt. Heritage means nothing here. I dump it in a mason jar with rice. Logo hits the trash. If the big box pours clean and costs less, I’ll grab it. If not, I take store brand. If the box got smaller but price stayed, I walk. So yeah... neat picture, whatever. What’s the catch?
Kristin Reyes, 40, Sales Manager, Alhambra city, CA, USA:
Honestly, a brand that old makes me kinda trust they’ll get the basics right. The umbrella girl feels classic, not out of touch - la niña del paraguas is basically my mom’s pantry in a picture. But I don’t give extra points for heritage if the spout is messy or it clumps. I care about how it pours, crystal size, and whether it stays dry, not the birth year.
Heritage = baseline trust: safe, consistent, fine.
Nostalgia: cute on the counter, reminds me of arroz nights.
Function rules: if it cakes or the container is annoying, bye.
Use-case decides: kosher for cooking, flaky for finishing, cheap iodized for boiling.
No premium just for history. If another brand handles better, I switch.
So heritage is nice background, but performance at my stove wins. Does that make sense?
Keith Jasper, 50, Unemployed Adult, Amarillo city, TX, USA:
Seeing that umbrella girl just says “been around, pours fine.” I saw it in my grandma’s cabinet and in the chow hall. So yeah, I trust it a hair more for basics like pour and grain. But the logo don’t make my eggs taste better. If it’s within a dime of the store can, I’ll grab it. If it costs more, I won’t. Salt is salt. Price decides. Heritage in salt only matters if it means simple, steady stuff: even grain, iodized like it says, the spout cap doesn’t crack, and it doesn’t cake when I’m boiling beans. I toss rice in the shaker anyway. Dated vs out of touch? It’s salt. Keep it cheap and it pours, we’re square.
Kayley Sauceda, 35, Operations Specialist, Lafayette, LA, USA:
Honest take: an old brand with the umbrella girl gets a small trust bump from me because it signals distribution and consistency over time. But if the grain size is inconsistent or the carton still has that flimsy pour spout that gums up in this swampy air, it reads dated, not dependable. Nostalgia is cute - my mom kept that blue cylinder by the stove - but nostalgia doesn’t season my pot. For salt, “heritage” only matters if it shows up in how it performs:
Consistency: same crystal every time so my pinch equals the same salinity.
Clumping control: either good anti-cake or packaging that actually seals in Louisiana humidity.
Clear labels on iodine and grain size so I don’t have to recalibrate mid-gumbo.
Fair unit price and easy to find at Rouses or Walmart.
So yeah, I give heritage a nod, but if it’s just a vintage logo with 1990s packaging, I roll my eyes and buy what behaves right in my kitchen. Si funciona, se queda. If not, cambio sin drama.
When you reach for salt while cooking, do you think about the brand at all? Or is salt basically salt to you? Be honest about whether you care.
Keith Jasper, 50, Unemployed Adult, Amarillo city, TX, USA:
Mostly salt is salt to me. I grab the cheap store can with the little pour spout, iodized, and it lasts me a long while. I don’t mess with fancy sea salt or those pink rocks - that’s wallet dressing. Only time I halfway care is pinch control: for chili or a rub I might use a coarse grain if I’ve got some left from a pantry box. Baking or eggs, regular table stuff works fine, just go easy. Price decides it.
Jarred Roos, 34, Unemployed Adult, Rural, MO, USA:
Salt is salt to me. Brand don't matter. I use fine for pots and eggs, big kosher for meat so I can pinch it. I won’t pay for fancy sea or pink stuff. I care if it clumps or the shaker lid cracks, so I dump it in a mason jar with some rice. What’s the catch?
Kayley Sauceda, 35, Operations Specialist, Lafayette, LA, USA:
Short answer: I do care a little. Depende on the type and the grain size because that changes how salty a pinch hits, and I hate having to recalibrate in the middle of a gumbo. I stick to one kosher salt for cooking because I know how it dissolves, then a flaky sea salt just for finishing; iodized stays in the table shaker, not in my pot. I don’t chase pink rocks or fancy smoked stuff unless I’m grilling and feeling extra - most of that is hype for a higher unit price. Also, with this Louisiana humidity, clumping is real, so packaging that seals or pours clean matters to me.
Kristin Reyes, 40, Sales Manager, Alhambra city, CA, USA:
Not gonna lie - salt is not just salt to me, but I don’t care about the label. I care about the grain and how it handles. If the container is annoying or clumps, ya me perdió.
Cooking: I reach for kosher. Easy to pinch, seasons evenly. One brand runs lighter and another hits harder, so I just adjust by feel.
Finishing: I keep a flaky sea salt or a little grinder for avocado, carne asada, veggies - where you want the crunch.
Baking/boiling: Plain iodized is fine and cheap. No drama.
So yeah, tipo over logo. Whatever’s on sale that pours right and doesn’t make a mess wins. Does that make sense?
