Johnson & Johnson Vision
Johnson & Johnson Vision doesn't sell contact lenses to you. It sells them to your optometrist, who then decides what to put in your eye. Which makes their marketing problem unusual: the person who chooses the product and the person who wears it are two different people, in two different rooms, who need two completely different arguments.
We were their consultant and brand design vendor through Bravely. I did both sides of that split in 2022.
One client, two audiences who share almost nothing.
The professional is a clinician. They want technology, peer-reviewed research, and specifics, and they are not moved by a nice photograph. Every product claim in front of them carries a legal requirement attached to it, so the design has to hold rigid brand guidelines and regulatory language at the same time and still be readable.
The consumer isn't shopping for a lens. They're on their phone, they've been on their phone for nine hours, and their eyes hurt in a way they've stopped noticing. They don't want a product. They want the discomfort to stop, and mostly they haven't connected the two.
Selling a lens to one of those people looks nothing like reaching the other. But it's the same brand, and it has to read that way.
On the professional side, brand guidelines and per-product legal requirements aren't obstacles between you and the design. They are the design. A catalog for clinicians that buries the research to look prettier has failed at the only thing it was for.
The consumer campaign asks people to use screens less, which nobody wants to hear from a company whose customers stare at screens. So the answer was small, specific, doable: rest your eyes after a stretch of screen time, look at something far away. Not a lecture. A habit.
Custom illustrations, deliberately reduced, one idea per poster. An eye with a charging cable. An eye chart that spells out the argument instead of testing your vision. The restraint does the work: the simpler the drawing, the harder the point lands.
The campaign's most useful deliverable was a toolkit for eyecare providers to hand their patients. That's the whole distribution model in one object: the professional work earns the clinician's trust, and the clinician passes the consumer work along. The two halves aren't parallel. They're a chain.
Johnson & Johnson Vision has to convince two people with almost nothing in common: the one who chooses the lens, and the one who wears it.
The clinician wants evidence, specifics, and regulatory precision. The person on the other end has sore eyes and has not connected them to a product at all. Same brand, two arguments, and the second one only lands because the first one earned the room.
A 24-page printed booklet with a digital companion, for eyecare professionals. It had to carry the technology and the future product line, present peer-reviewed research honestly, hold the brand's guidelines, and satisfy the legal requirement attached to every individual product statement. All at once, on a spread someone actually wants to read.
Twenty-four pages where every product claim carries a legal string attached to it. The design job is making that read as confidence rather than fine print.
A consumer awareness campaign about eye health and screen time, built to land where people already sit: the waiting room, the optical floor, the practice that hands it out. A printed poster series on custom illustrations, plus an animated short, an animated banner campaign, and the provider toolkit. Each poster takes one behavior and makes it a single image, borrowing the vocabulary of the screens themselves.
Six behaviors, six images, each one closing on the same take20 prompt. The eye chart is the one I'd point at: it uses the format people already associate with having their vision judged, and turns it into the argument.
The piece that joins the two halves together. A kit for eyecare professionals holding the research on what a year of screens did to people's eyes, the talking points for raising it during an exam, and the tips they could send patients home with.
It is the distribution model in one object. The clinician gets something worth using, and the consumer campaign arrives from the one person in the room the patient already trusts.
Audiences reached with one brand, the clinic and the consumer.
A printed catalog with a digital companion, plus a campaign that ends in the provider's hands rather than on a media plan.
A professional audience and a consumer audience needed the same brand to behave in two different registers, without the client having to maintain two brands.
That legal review makes design better, which is not what I expected to learn.
Every claim in the ACUVUE catalog drags a legal requirement behind it. My instinct was to treat that as damage to route around. It isn't. The constraint forces you to decide what you're actually asserting, and a page that survives a compliance read is a page where somebody had to be precise about the argument. Vagueness is what gets caught. Most design briefs would be improved by someone hostile checking whether the claims are true.
The other thing was the toolkit. It's the least glamorous deliverable in the project and the one that makes the rest of it work, because it's the point where the professional side hands off to the consumer side. I'd have designed the campaign differently if I'd only been given the campaign. Seeing both halves is what showed me they were one thing.
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