Strangers is a new confectionery brand created by Valgosa, a family company dating back to 1912 and seemingly best known as purveyors of saffron. It seems an unlikely starting point for such a boldly positioned brand – and one boasting an exquisite visual identity thanks to Milan-based Auge Design (Erbert, Ginori 1735). 

According to Auge – which worked across everything from strategy and naming through to packaging, logo design, bespoke wordmark typography, 3D design, creative coding and more – the brand is “Built on over a century of expertise,” and “blends traditional knowledge with a spirit of experimentation, aiming to redefine the boundaries of flavor and challenge conventional expectations within the candy category”.

The result is a confectionery identity that feels genuinely different. It presents itself more like a niche fragrance or beauty brand than treaty sweeties; eschewing the saccharine visual shorthand that still dominates much of the sweets aisle – no syrupy colours, no weird/cute/infantilising mascots grinning out from the pack. Instead, Auge has created something moodier, stranger and as such, something which feels altogether rather more sophisticated.

Which is just as well, since Auge says the project largely set out to establish Strangers “as a disruptive player in the confectionery market”. The studio continues, “In a category dominated by predictable flavours, visual codes, and sweetness-driven narratives, the challenge was to create a brand that could break category conventions, appeal to a more mature audience, and introduce a new, curiosity-driven way of experiencing candy.”

That ambition is evident immediately in the packaging system, which uses richly airbrushed gradients and grainy, distorted textures to evoke the flavours within without ever spelling them out too literally. I love these gradients, and I think they reveal the conclusion of something I’ve been pondering for a while: just as I think we’ve all finally realised that like black, white and grey, leopard print is in fact a neutral (goes with everything, never looks bad, never not appropriate – praise be, Kat Slater et al) – gradients are, or have become, a neutral too.

We’ve long discussed gradients in terms of them being a ‘trend’, or being/not being ‘in’. But I’d argue we’ve now transcended such labels. They just are, in the way that singular hues are accepted to be. Here, Auge uses them brilliantly: colours bleed and bloom into one another with a soft-focus haziness that feels simultaneously digital and tactile. The effect is vaguely psychedelic but never gimmicky, nodding perhaps to experimental print processes, heat maps or even the blurry abstraction of early CGI.

Importantly, the gradients don’t merely decorate the packs; they perform a semiotic role. Auge explains that “a proprietary generative system translates each blend’s sensory profile – spice, acidity, intensity, complexity – into a unique visual pattern, making every pack a direct expression of what’s inside.” It’s a clever move that transforms flavour into something almost data-driven and coded, while still maintaining an emotional, sensorial quality. In doing so, it all very much leans into that central idea of a more grown-up sensibility around curiosity: it’s subtle – showing, rather than telling.

And discovery is very much the point. Strangers positions itself around unusual flavour combinations including raspberry, pepper and lychee; saffron, orange blossom and cinnamon; and strawberry, acerola and tarragon. I – and I’m guessing a fair few other less-than-’foodie’-type-people – haven’t even heard of a few of these, so safe to say, these are combinations that deliberately challenge the conventions of what sweeties are and taste like.

The products are sugar-free, vegan and gluten-free too, though mercifully the branding avoids leaning too heavily into the occasionally joyless visual and verbal language of such wellness-leaning products. Instead, it retains a sense of indulgence and intrigue.

Auge describes the brand as being “built on a simple dare: do you take candy from strangers?” which is where things become slightly more divisive. Perhaps I’m being far too serious here, but honestly, while I appreciate the intention to make the whole thing feel a bit naughty and edgy, making an act we’d usually associate with predatory child-snatchers the main foundation of a brand feels a bit… odd. It leaves something of a bad taste in the mouth (or at least my mouth), pun only half-intended. When the word ‘Yewtree’ springs to mind when pondering an otherwise beautiful sweets brand, something isn’t quite working, is it.

That’s not to say I don’t think the name works overall – it does, if only because it connotes the strangeness of the flavours and the positioning of the brand and its audience. Let’s just avoid the copy that veers too close to the wound-down van window of a leering creep chirpsing Year 8s.

And that’s really my only criticism. I love the art direction – classy, sassy, sort of tongue in cheek – sexy and racy and sort of smoky in that way that late nights look like they were in the 1980s when everyone reeked of Martin Amis-ish arrogance (and/or cocaine) and the sort of blithe optimism and hubris that went on to floor the Gordon Gecko types eventually.

That atmosphere comes through not only in the imagery and colour handling but also in the typography. The custom logotype is elegantly condensed and sharp-edged, carrying just enough tension to feel disruptive without tipping into novelty. Supporting typography comes courtesy of Berlin-based type foundry ABC Dinamo’s Diatype, a warm yet sharp grotesque. It’s an astute choice here: Diatype has enough neutrality to anchor the otherwise expressive visuals, but enough personality to stop the system from ever feeling too cold, serious or minimalistic.

That balance between experimentation and restraint is perhaps the project’s greatest success. Despite the intentionally disruptive positioning, Auge never allows the identity to descend into chaos. The typography remains structured and controlled; the layouts are disciplined; the embossing and material finishes add tactility without veering into overt ostentation. Even the more chaotic visual textures feel carefully calibrated.

The confidence in ambiguity feels refreshing in a branding landscape still overly reliant on prioritising clarity at all costs. Strangers trusts consumers to be curious enough to engage with uncertainty – a truly refreshing approach in a world of miniscule attention spans; it whispers instead of bellowing into your face.

Whether the central conceit entirely lands is perhaps debatable. But visually, at least, Auge has created a beautifully arresting and genuinely forward-thinking, original brand identity: tactile, provocative and gloriously strange in all the right ways.