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Loading page contentCase 01 · Ceremonial matcha · 2025
A ceremonial matcha brand built on one idea: the packaging should be as still as the ritual it belongs to.
Ceremonial matcha in western retail tends to arrive as one of two things: a wellness supplement in a clinical white tub, or an imported curio wrapped in borrowed ornament. Neither describes what the product actually is: a slow, deliberate morning. SORA needed an identity that reads as premium without raising its voice, and that a small team could apply across tins, pouches, cups and cards without a designer in the room.
Drew the mark from the moment rather than the plant: a sunrise breaking over two leaves. Sora means sky, so the mark reads as dawn before it reads as tea.
Set the wordmark in a high-contrast serif with wide letterspacing so the name sits still on the pack instead of competing with it, with one line of copy underneath and never more.
Split the range by light. A cream, silver-lidded tin for daylight retail, a deep green tin with gold foil for gifting and dark shelves. Same layout, same margins, different temperature.
Wrote the photography rules into the system itself: natural daylight, soft shadows, no clutter, no artificial colour. Every future shot has a spec to meet.
Ran a black-and-white typographic campaign as counterweight. The name repeats until it becomes texture, which lets the packaging stay quiet while the campaign carries the volume.
A complete identity system: mark, wordmark, four-colour palette, a ten-icon set, photography direction, packaging across five formats, full stationery, and retail and gifting collateral. All of it documented in a guidelines book that can be handed to any printer or photographer without a briefing call.

The morning ritual, in the light the brand specifies

The mark is drawn on a single stroke weight so it holds at 6mm on a hang tag and at 300mm on a shopfront. The wordmark never sits closer to it than the height of the sun.









Both tins carry the same grid: mark at the optical centre, wordmark below, one rule, one line of copy. Only the temperature changes.






The kit is the one place the range is allowed to be generous: whisk, scoop, bowl and tin in a box that opens flat. Everything else here is made to be bought again. This is made to be given once, which is why it gets the foil.



The same system, after dark
The packaging holds still, so the campaign does the shouting. One compressed grotesque, the name repeated until it stops being a word and becomes a pattern.








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SORA taught me that restraint only reads as confidence when something else is carrying the volume. For most of the four weeks I thought the quiet was the whole idea. Then I mocked the cream tin onto a shelf beside coffee bags and chocolate bars and saw that quiet, on a shelf, is just invisible. The campaign came out of that, not out of the brief. It exists so the packaging can afford to stay still. The part I would still want to test is the part a concept project cannot answer. Everything here depends on things a screen flatters: the deboss, the foil, the weight of an uncoated stock. None of it has met a printer. Until it does, this is a set of decisions rather than a finished system, which is why I wrote the photography and the margins down as rules instead of leaving them to taste.