The modern conversation about choice overload in marketing effectively began with a table of jam. In the now-canonical experiment conducted by Sheena Iyengar and Mark Lepper (2000, Columbia University), shoppers in a California grocery store were presented with tasting booths offering either 24 varieties of jam or a reduced selection of 6 varieties. The larger display attracted more attention—around 60% of shoppers stopped—while the smaller display drew fewer passers-by. But when it came to purchasing, the result inverted dramatically: only 3% of shoppers bought jam from the large assortment, compared to nearly 30% from the smaller one. The experiment did not suggest that people dislike variety. It demonstrated something subtler and more important: choice increases interest, but it reduces commitment. Engagement rose with abundance; action collapsed under evaluation pressure.
Subsequent research clarified why this happens. Choice introduces cognitive load, and cognitive load increases faster than perceived benefit. Studies published in the Journal of Consumer Research showed that when people must compare options with overlapping attributes and unclear trade-offs, they experience decision difficulty rather than empowerment. This difficulty triggers hesitation, deferral, or avoidance especially when the decision feels consequential. The same individuals who enjoy browsing variety in low-stakes categories actively seek constraint when money, identity, or future regret is involved.
This explains why consumers tolerate dozens of snack options but struggle with pricing pages, insurance plans, or subscription tiers. The brain is not rejecting choice itself; it is reacting to the responsibility of justifying a choice.
This is where defaults and recommendations become disproportionately powerful. Research by Richard Thaler and Cass Sunstein, spanning retirement savings, healthcare plans, and digital interfaces, consistently shows that 70–90% of people stick with default options. Importantly, defaults do not work because they are assumed to be optimal. They work because they lower psychological accountability. Accepting a default feels like shared responsibility; actively choosing feels like owning the risk of being wrong.
In commercial contexts, this explains why “Most Popular” or “Recommended” plans outperform neutral pricing tables by 20–35%, as reported in SaaS pricing studies summarized by Harvard Business Review and firms like Price Intelligently. Defaults reduce the cost of thinking, not the availability of information.
Choice overload also affects what happens after purchase, a dimension marketers often ignore. Research summarized by the American Psychological Association shows that larger choice sets are associated with higher regret, greater counterfactual thinking, and lower satisfaction, even when outcomes are identical. When people know they passed on many alternatives, they are more likely to question their decision later. This has direct commercial consequences: higher return rates, increased churn, and weaker brand attachment. The implication is counterintuitive but consistent restricting choice can increase long-term satisfaction, not just short-term conversion. This is one reason why brands like Apple historically limited visible configurations despite having the capability to offer more.
Digital environments amplify these effects further. According to extensive UX research by the Baymard Institute, which analyzes tens of thousands of ecommerce sessions annually, nearly 70% of online carts are abandoned, with the primary drivers being complexity and decision fatigue rather than price.
Baymard’s findings show that each additional form field, option, or ambiguous choice at checkout can reduce completion rates by 5–10%, and that simplifying decision paths can improve conversion by up to 35%. Online, choice is cognitively heavier because users must retain information in memory, compare abstract attributes, and navigate layered interfaces without physical cues. The cost of thinking rises faster on screens than in physical spaces.
What the jam experiment ultimately revealed—and what decades of follow-up research now confirm—is that choice is not neutral. It carries psychological weight. When marketing presents abundance without guidance, it transfers the hardest part of the process—the decision itself—onto the customer. People do not resist buying because they lack information; they resist because evaluation feels heavy and responsibility feels isolating. Effective marketing does not eliminate choice, but it structures it in ways that reduce cognitive strain, share perceived risk, and allow action without exhaustive deliberation. The most expensive mistake is not offering too little information. It is asking people to think harder than they want to at the moment they are expected to decide.
