Insights on Health, Beauty & Wellness Convergence

Sarah sits in her car after her annual physical, staring at her phone. Her doctor mentioned she should probably get a colonoscopy—she just turned 50. She opens her health system's app. She finds a phone number to call. She calls and gets a menu. She waits on hold. She gets transferred. The scheduler asks which location she prefers, but Sarah doesn't know the locations. The scheduler asks if she has a preference for which gastroenterologist, but Sarah doesn't know any gastroenterologists. The scheduler mentions there's a prep process but doesn't explain it. Sarah asks about cost. The scheduler says it depends on her insurance and she should call the billing department.

Sarah hangs up. She'll deal with it later.

Three years later, she still hasn't scheduled it.

This is not a story about a patient who doesn't care about her health. This is a story about a system that has made it nearly impossible for her to decide with confidence.

Healthcare calls this an access problem. It is not. Sarah has access. She has insurance, transportation, proximity to care, and a physician's recommendation.

What Sarah doesn't have is clarity at the moment of decision.

This is a merchandising problem.

What Merchandising Actually Means

Healthcare leaders hear "merchandising" and think retail, transactions, commoditization. That's not what this is about.

Merchandising is the strategic discipline of helping people decide. Not just become aware of options, but actually choose with confidence.

Retailers understand this instinctively. They don't just tell you a product exists. They position it in your life. They show you when to choose it and why. They surface alternatives and explain tradeoffs. They make pricing logic visible. They design the path from consideration to commitment.

Healthcare does almost none of this.

We spend enormous energy on innovation—new care models, new technologies, new partnerships. We invest heavily in marketing—brand campaigns, reputation management, service line promotion. But we consistently fail at the moment that matters most: when someone is trying to decide whether, when, and how to engage.

Marketing creates awareness. Merchandising enables decision.

The gap between those two things is where patients like Sarah quietly disappear.

The Five Questions Healthcare Avoids

There are five questions people are trying to answer every time they encounter a healthcare decision. When these questions go unanswered, people don't feel informed. They feel at risk. And they disengage.

1. Is this for me?

Not in general. Not statistically. For me—given my age, history, symptoms, and goals.

What bad merchandising looks like:

Generic content that explains what a colonoscopy is, why screening matters, and population-level guidelines. No acknowledgment of Sarah's specific situation, her family history, her prior reluctance, or what makes this the right choice for her specifically.

What good merchandising looks like:

Personalized guidance that says: "At 50, with your family history, screening is recommended. Here's why this matters now, and here's what to expect based on what we know about you." Context that makes the recommendation feel relevant rather than standardized.

2. Why now?

Why is this the right moment? What changes if I wait? What improves if I act today rather than next month?

What bad merchandising looks like:

"You're overdue for a colonoscopy." No explanation of what "overdue" means, what risk increases with delay, or what benefit comes from acting now versus later.

What good merchandising looks like:

Clear sequencing that explains, "Screening at 50 catches issues early when they're most treatable. Waiting another three years increases your risk by X. If we find polyps now, we can remove them before they become a problem. Scheduling within the next month means you're covered under this year's deductible."

3. What happens next?

After this appointment, this test, this prescription—what comes next? Who owns that next step? How will I know?

What bad merchandising looks like:

Sarah schedules the colonoscopy. She receives no information about prep until three days before the procedure, when she gets a call telling her to pick up a prep kit from the pharmacy. No one explains what the prep involves, how long it takes, or what to expect during recovery. After the procedure, she gets a call with results but no clear next step. "Everything looked fine. See you in ten years."

What good merchandising looks like:

A sequenced pathway that's visible from the start: "Here's what happens at each step. You'll receive prep instructions one week in advance. The prep takes one day. The procedure itself takes 30 minutes. Recovery is minimal—most people return to work the next day. If we find anything, here's what happens next. If we don't, we'll schedule your next screening in ten years and send you a reminder."

4. What are my alternatives?

What other paths exist, and what are the tradeoffs between them? Not just clinical alternatives, but practical ones.

What bad merchandising looks like:

Sarah isn't told that she could do a stool-based test first, or that different prep options exist, or that some gastroenterologists have evening appointments. She's given a single path with no visibility into why it was chosen or what else she might consider.

What good merchandising looks like:

Options presented with clear tradeoffs: "Colonoscopy is the gold standard and allows us to remove polyps immediately. A stool-based test is less invasive but requires follow-up if anything is detected. Here's how to think about which is right for you. We have locations downtown and in the suburbs—here's what to consider about each."

5. What will this cost—and why?

Not just the number, but the logic behind it. Not just the price, but the value.

What bad merchandising looks like:

Sarah calls billing. She's told it depends on her plan. She's told to call her insurance company. Her insurance company tells her it depends on the provider's contract. No one can give her a number. She decides she can't afford the uncertainty.

What good merchandising looks like:

Transparent pricing that says: "For your insurance plan, screening colonoscopies are typically covered at 100% as preventive care. If we find and remove polyps, it may be billed as diagnostic, which means you'd pay your standard deductible. Here's the range you should expect. Here's why the cost varies. Here's how to confirm your specific coverage before you schedule."

Even when health systems don't set prices—and I understand the constraints of negotiated rates and payer contracts—they control how prices are communicated. That's where trust is built or broken.

Why This Is So Hard for Healthcare

I’ve spent more than 15 years consulting with health systems and working inside them working on exactly this problem. I know why it's hard.

Merchandising requires coordination across siloes that don't naturally communicate. It requires someone to own the end-to-end experience, not just individual touchpoints. It requires designing for how decisions are actually made, not how care is delivered.

It also requires confronting uncomfortable truths:

Healthcare is not good at curation. We offer exhaustive options and assume patients will navigate them. But curation—the discipline of offering fewer choices, better explained—is what builds confidence.

Healthcare is not good at sequencing. We think in episodes. Patients think in journeys. When we don't make the pathway visible, patients assume there isn't one.

Healthcare is not good at tradeoff transparency. We present recommendations as binary (do this or don't) rather than as choices with different risk profiles, convenience levels, and cost implications.

None of this is because healthcare leaders don't care. It's because the system was never designed to answer these questions. It was designed to deliver care to people who showed up, not to help people decide whether to show up in the first place. That model breaks when patients bear more financial risk, when choice expands faster than guidance, and when alternatives—telehealth, urgent care, retail clinics, direct-to-consumer services—compete on convenience and clarity.

What Good Merchandising Actually Looks Like

Good merchandising is not about "retailizing" healthcare. It's about translating complexity into confidence.

It looks like:

Curated pathways that sequence decisions in the order people actually make them, not the order care is delivered. Example: A joint pain pathway that starts with "How long have you been experiencing this?" and guides someone toward physical therapy, imaging, or orthopedic consultation based on their answers—before they schedule anything.

Bundled clarity that reflects how care is experienced, not how it's billed. Example: A maternity bundle that explains prenatal visits, delivery, postpartum care, and pediatric appointments as a single journey with predictable costs and sequenced next steps.

Visible alternatives that explain tradeoffs honestly. Example: "You can see a specialist in two weeks at our main campus, or see a physician assistant tomorrow at our urgent care clinic. Here's what each option offers and what you'd give up by choosing one over the other."

Pricing that builds confidence, even when it's high. Example: "This test costs $X because it's more comprehensive than the standard version. Here's what you get for that cost. Here's how it compares to alternatives. Here's how much your insurance typically covers."

Next steps that don't require the patient to manage them. Example: "After this appointment, we'll send your prescription directly to your preferred pharmacy and schedule your follow-up in six weeks. You'll receive a reminder three days before. If anything changes, here's how to reach us."

None of this is easy. All of it is possible.

When Merchandising Fails, Consumers Do the Work

When healthcare systems don't take responsibility for decision-making clarity, consumers step in.

They research on their own. They compare notes in forums and group chats. They assemble their own stacks of providers, products, tests, and workarounds.

This is often framed as empowerment. In reality, it's unpaid labor created by system design.

The consumer becomes the integrator not because they want to, but because no one else has claimed that role.

This is why so many people quietly abandon care pathways, decline recommended services, or seek alternatives that feel more transparent—even when those alternatives are clinically imperfect.

Merchandising Is a Leadership Choice

Healthcare's merchandising problem is not a tooling issue. It's not a data issue. It's not even a pricing issue.

It's a leadership issue.

Someone has to own the experience of choice. Someone has to decide which questions deserve answers, which tradeoffs should be explicit, and which complexities the system—not the patient—will absorb.

That requires discipline. It requires aligning incentives away from activity and toward outcomes that matter to real people. It requires designing for the patient's perspective, not the organization chart.

Most importantly, it requires asking: Who in our organization is responsible for ensuring that patients can decide with confidence?

In most health systems, the answer is no one. Or everyone. Which means no one.

Where to Start

If you're a healthcare or health tech leader wondering where to begin, start with one decision your patients struggle to make. Not the most clinically complex. Not the highest volume. The one where you see the most drop-off, the most confusion, the most quiet disengagement.

Then ask the five questions from your patient's perspective:

• Is this for me?

• Why now?

• What happens next?

• What are my alternatives?

• What will this cost—and why?

Map where those questions are answered today—if they're answered at all. Identify the gaps. Assign ownership. Design a pathway that makes the decision feel navigable rather than risky.

Do that once, learn from it, and then scale it.

Merchandising is not a campaign. It's a capability. And it's the difference between care that is theoretically available and care that is actually chosen.

Why This Matters Now

As healthcare converges with beauty, wellness, pharmacy, and consumer technology, the organizations that win will not be the most clinically innovative. They will be the ones that help people understand their options and decide with confidence.

The so-called disruptors aren't winning because their care is better. They're winning because they merchandise better. They answer the questions traditional healthcare avoids.

Healthcare doesn't need more innovation layered on top of confusion.

It needs fewer decisions that feel risky—and more systems willing to guide people through them.

Sarah is still sitting in her car. She still hasn't scheduled that colonoscopy.

Not because she doesn't have access.

Because no one helped her decide.