Promotions

There’s a moment in most promotional budget conversations where a cashback and a discount get treated as the same thing. Both are “$100 off”, so both get costed at $100 a unit. Anyone who has run a cashback knows that’s not how it plays out — and the difference runs in the brand’s favour. A meaningful share of the people who buy on the promise of a cashback never get around to claiming it. A discount, by contrast, is applied at the till every single time, whether the shopper even noticed the promotion or not.

That gap has a name, it has decades of research behind it, and it’s the single most important number in a cashback budget. It’s also routinely left out of the planning conversation, which is how brands end up either overpaying for a promotion or — worse — getting a nasty surprise when claims come in higher than the finance team assumed.

What is slippage in a cashback promotion?

Slippage is the percentage of eligible buyers who never claim the cashback they’re entitled to. Because unclaimed cashbacks cost the brand nothing, a cashback’s true cost is its face value multiplied by the redemption rate — not the face value itself — which is why a cashback almost always costs less than a discount of the same headline amount.

In The Shelf Truth we treat slippage as one of the core Budget Hacker levers, and it’s worth being clear-eyed about what it is and isn’t. It isn’t a loophole, and it isn’t something you should be trying to maximise. It’s a behavioural reality: people buy with good intentions, then life happens. The receipt goes in the bin, the claim window closes, the form gets abandoned halfway. Your job as a marketer isn’t to engineer that outcome — it’s to forecast it accurately and budget accordingly.

Why a cashback costs less than a discount of the same size

The arithmetic is simple: a discount reaches 100% of buyers, a cashback reaches only the ones who claim. What surprises most people is how far below 100% claim rates actually sit.

The best public data comes from a 2023 study by Tremendous and The Decision Lab, which found digital rebates of $20 or less were claimed only around 38% of the time, rising to roughly 50% for $50 rebates. Even generous offers leave a substantial share unclaimed. The academic literature backs this up: a Marketing Science paper on slippage in rebate programs ties the effect to present-biased preferences — the purchase happens now, the claiming effort comes later, and later is where good intentions go to die.

In the appliance cashback campaigns Trevor Services runs, we see the same pattern from the other side: actual claim volumes routinely land well under the pre-campaign forecast — sometimes at half of it or less. That’s not a failure of the promotion. It’s what cashbacks do, and it’s precisely why a $200 cashback on a $2,000 appliance can be materially cheaper to fund than a 10% discount — while looking just as generous on the shelf ticket.

There’s a second-order effect worth knowing about too. The same Tremendous study found the payment method changes what the offer is worth in the shopper’s head: mailed cheques and store credit shaved anywhere from $16 to $130 in perceived value off a $300 rebate compared with cash or a prepaid card. Pay people slowly and awkwardly and you’re funding a promotion the shopper mentally discounts before they’ve even bought.

How do you forecast a redemption rate?

You forecast a redemption rate from four inputs: the claim value, the effort required to claim, the length of the claim window, and the payment method — benchmarked against comparable past campaigns rather than gut feel.

Claim value is the strongest driver. The Tremendous data above shows claim rates climbing steadily with the amount at stake, which passes the common-sense test: nobody forgets a $500 cashback on a kitchen bundle the way they forget a $10 one on a kettle. Effort is the counterweight — every extra step between “I bought it” and “I’ve been paid” pushes some claimants out. This is the same mental maths shoppers run at the shelf, which we’ve written about as the 3-Second Equation, just applied at the claim stage instead of the purchase stage. The claim window matters more than most brands assume: a short window increases slippage but also increases complaints, and an overly long one makes the liability hard to close out. And payment method shapes both the claim rate and the perceived value, per the research above — which is why instant payouts via PayID have become the default recommendation on the campaigns Trevor Services delivers, ahead of cheques and slow EFT runs.

This is also where history beats intuition. A brand running its first cashback is guessing; a platform that has processed claims across many campaigns is not. It’s exactly the problem Trevor Services built Trudy for — pulling redemption patterns from thousands of historical promotions to put a defensible number against a new campaign’s forecast, instead of a hopeful one. If you’d rather do it manually, the honest starting point is your own last comparable campaign, adjusted for anything you’ve changed about value, effort, window, or payout. If you have no comparable campaign, assume more slippage at low claim values and less at high ones, and make sure your budget still survives if claims come in well above the forecast. Slippage is a forecast, not a guarantee — the brands that get burnt are the ones who booked the savings before the claims arrived.

Budget for slippage — don’t engineer it

Here’s the uncomfortable part. Once you understand that unclaimed cashbacks are free, there’s an obvious temptation: make claiming harder, and slippage goes up. Long forms, obscure claim portals, receipt requirements designed to trip people up, 14-day windows. It works, in the narrowest sense. It’s also a bad trade.

The shoppers who do fight through a deliberately awful claim process arrive at the payout annoyed, and the ones who give up remember why. We’ve called this the Insult Threshold — the point where the effort of claiming outweighs the reward and the offer starts costing you goodwill instead of buying it. A cashback exists to change purchase behaviour at the shelf; it does that job whether or not every buyer claims. Engineering slippage doesn’t improve the promotion, it just quietly converts a brand-building expense into a source of complaints. Where a cashback sits alongside the rest of the campaign — and what job it’s actually there to do — is a design question worth settling early, and Bamboo’s piece on campaign architecture is a good place to start on that.

The better posture: make claiming as easy as validation allows, pay fast, and let slippage be whatever honest slippage turns out to be. You’ll still come in well under the cost of an equivalent discount, and the people who claim will have had a good experience with your brand at the exact moment you handed them money — which is a rare and valuable combination.

If you’re costing a cashback against a discount and want a realistic redemption number to plan around rather than a guess, we’re happy to talk it through.

The brief lands in your inbox. The brand wants trial among new shoppers, repeat purchase from existing customers, a data capture mechanic, social engagement, and — while we’re at it — a retailer sell-in story for the upcoming range review. All from one promotion. With a modest budget.

If you’ve worked in promotional marketing for any length of time, you’ve seen this brief. You might have written it. And if you’re being honest, you probably already know the problem: a promotion that tries to do five things tends to do none of them well.

This is where the One Job Rule comes in. It’s a concept we use at Trevor Services — and one we wrote about in The Shelf Truth — because it keeps showing up as the single biggest predictor of whether a promotion will actually deliver.

What is the One Job Rule?

The idea is straightforward: every promotion should have one primary commercial objective. Not one category of objectives. One job.

In The Shelf Truth, we frame the five promotional jobs as:

• Breaker — drive trial among new buyers
• Builder — increase purchase frequency among existing buyers
• Loader — grow basket size or volume per transaction
• Harvest — capture first-party data
• Keeper — protect or reward existing loyal customers

Each of these jobs points you toward a different mechanic, a different prize structure, a different entry path, and a different way of measuring success. When you try to load multiple jobs into a single campaign, each one compromises the others.

Why does multi-objective thinking persist?

It’s rarely because the marketing team doesn’t understand focus. It’s usually because the brief reflects competing internal pressures — the brand manager wants trial, the trade marketing team needs a sell-in story, the digital team wants email sign-ups, and the CMO wants to report on all of it.

The result is a promotion designed by committee, optimised for nobody. And the numbers bear this out. Research from Accuris and historical Nielsen analysis suggests that roughly 59–60% of trade promotions in key FMCG markets don’t break even. The reasons are varied — cannibalization, stockpiling, poor measurement — but a lack of objective clarity sits underneath many of them.

When you don’t know what the promotion is supposed to achieve, you can’t design the mechanic to achieve it, and you certainly can’t measure whether it worked.

What happens when you pick one job?

Choosing a single objective isn’t about limiting ambition. It’s about giving the promotion enough design clarity to actually succeed.

Take trial (the Breaker job). If your one job is getting a product into the hands of people who haven’t bought it before, that shapes every decision. You’d likely choose a low-friction mechanic — perhaps a gift with purchase or an instant win — because you need the barrier to entry to be almost nothing. The 3-Second Equation from The Shelf Truth describes this calculation: Reward + Belief, divided by Friction. For a trial-driving promotion, you need to minimise friction above all else.

Now consider loyalty (the Keeper job). The design looks completely different. You might run a collect-to-win or a tiered cashback that rewards repeat purchase over a sustained period. Higher friction is acceptable — even desirable — because you’re filtering for committed buyers, not casting a wide net.

Try running both mechanics in the same campaign and you get a muddy experience. The entry path is either too easy to reward loyalty or too complex to attract trialists. The prize pool gets split. The messaging tries to speak to everyone and connects with no one.

How to apply the One Job Rule in practice

Start by asking the question that matters: what commercial outcome justifies this promotional spend? Not what would be nice to achieve. What has to happen for this promotion to be worth the investment.

If the answer is “we need to shift 10,000 units of a new SKU into first-time hands,” that’s trial. Build a trial promotion. If the answer is “we need our top 20% of buyers to increase frequency by one occasion per quarter,” that’s frequency. Build a frequency promotion.

Here’s a practical framework for pressure-testing your brief:

Does the objective pass the measurement test?

If you can’t define exactly how you’ll measure success before the campaign launches, the objective isn’t clear enough. “Build brand awareness” is not a promotional objective — it’s an advertising objective. Promotions are tactical, transactional instruments. They should connect to a measurable commercial outcome: units sold, new buyers acquired, data captured, basket value increased.

As the IPA’s Marketing Effectiveness Roadmap emphasises, the choice of objectives and metrics is crucial to effectiveness. A tight focus makes progress more likely — and makes it possible to know whether you got there.

Does the mechanic match the job?

Once the job is clear, the mechanic should follow naturally. The Shelf Truth maps this relationship through the lens of Hope vs. Greed — what we call the Two Pilots. The Gambler wants dopamine: instant wins, prize draws, the thrill of chance. The Accountant wants certainty: cashback, guaranteed gifts, known value.

A trial promotion often benefits from a Gambler mechanic. A big, attention-grabbing prize creates the initial interest needed to get a new buyer to engage. But a frequency promotion usually needs an Accountant mechanic — something that rewards sustained behaviour, not a single lucky moment.

Mismatching the mechanic to the job is one of the most common errors in promotional planning, and it almost always traces back to unclear objectives.

Can you explain it in one sentence to a retailer?

This is the practical test. In The Shelf Truth, we call this the S.O.S. Framework — Simple, Operational, Sales. If you can’t explain to a category manager at Coles or Woolworths what the promotion does, how it works operationally, and why it will drive their sales, the brief is too complicated.

Promotions that try to achieve multiple objectives tend to fail this test. “It’s an instant win that also collects data and drives repeat purchase through a secondary mechanic” makes a category manager’s eyes glaze over. “Scan the code, see if you’ve won” — that’s a promotion they’ll support.

What about secondary benefits?

Picking one job doesn’t mean you ignore everything else. A well-designed trial promotion will naturally capture some data through the entry process. A frequency campaign will produce useful insights about purchase patterns. These secondary benefits are real, but they shouldn’t drive the design.

Think of it this way: the primary objective shapes the mechanic, the prize architecture, the entry path, and the measurement framework. Secondary outcomes are welcome byproducts, not design inputs.

This is especially relevant when it comes to data capture, which has a habit of muscling its way into every brief. Yes, first-party data is valuable. But adding three extra form fields to capture it can increase friction to the point where the primary objective — whether that’s trial, frequency, or basket loading — is materially undermined. As a general principle, every additional form field costs roughly 10% of entries in compounding drop-off. That’s a steep price for data you may or may not use.

The Kill Sheet test

At Trevor Services, we use what we call the Kill Sheet — a 15-minute diagnostic that stress-tests whether a promotion will work before a dollar is spent. The first question on it is always: what is the one job this promotion needs to do?

If the answer takes more than one sentence, or if it includes the word “and,” the promotion isn’t ready to build. That doesn’t mean the ambition is wrong — it means the brief needs to be split into separate campaigns, each with its own job, its own mechanic, and its own budget.

Two focused promotions will almost always outperform one unfocused one, even on a smaller per-campaign budget. The economics of promotional marketing reward clarity.

Getting this right before you build

The best time to apply the One Job Rule is at the briefing stage — before creative is developed, before permits are lodged, before the agency starts scoping mechanics. It’s a strategic decision, not a creative one.

If you’re building a promotional calendar for the next quarter and find yourself writing briefs with three or four objectives per campaign, step back. Ask which job each promotion is really doing. Split where necessary. And measure each campaign against the one thing it was designed to achieve.

If you’d like to pressure-test an upcoming promotion against the One Job Rule, we’re happy to walk through it with you.

Most prize budgets get argued over twice. First when someone decides how much to spend, and again — usually with less rigour — when someone decides how to split it. The second decision is the one that quietly determines whether the promotion works. A brand can commit the same money to a single hero prize or to a hundred smaller ones, and end up with two completely different campaigns. Same budget. Same product. Very different number of people who bother to enter.

This is the part of promotional planning that tends to get settled by taste rather than logic. Someone likes the idea of a car. Someone else wants “lots of winners.” Both instincts can be right, but only for particular jobs. How you distribute a prize pool is a strategic choice, and it deserves the same attention as the budget itself.

What is prize pool distribution?

Prize pool distribution is how a promotion splits its total prize budget across the number, size, and type of prizes on offer — from a single grand prize to many smaller rewards, or a mix of both. It is a distinct decision from how much you spend: the same pool can be structured to feel exclusive and aspirational or frequent and attainable, and that structure shapes how many people enter and who they are.

Put simply, the budget sets the ceiling. The distribution sets the feeling. And the feeling is what the shopper actually responds to at the shelf.

The maths shoppers actually do

People are famously bad at handling probability, but they are bad in a consistent, predictable direction. Behavioural research on the possibility and certainty effects shows that the jump from no chance to a small chance carries far more psychological weight than an equivalent jump higher up the scale. Moving from a 0% chance to a 5% possibility of winning feels bigger and more exciting than moving from 5% to 10%, even though the arithmetic change is identical.

The same body of work on probability weighting shows people systematically overweight small probabilities — a genuine 1% chance tends to feel more like 3 or 4%. That single quirk is doing a lot of the heavy lifting in every prize draw ever run. It is why a promotion with a remote chance of a life-changing prize can still pull entries, and it is why the difference between “impossible” and “just possible” is worth more than any number of extra decimal places on the odds.

The Shelf Truth calls the practical version of this the Rule of Three: one prize reads as impossible, three prizes reads as possible, and a hundred prizes reads as probable. The shopper isn’t calculating odds. They’re asking a much simpler question — does someone like me actually win this? Distribution is how you answer it.

One big prize or many small ones?

Two default models sit at either end. Concentrate the pool into one large headline prize and you buy attention and share-ability — the prize does the marketing, and the story is easy to tell. Spread the same pool across many smaller prizes and you buy belief — more winners, more visible proof, a stronger sense that entering isn’t a waste of time. In the campaigns Trevor Services runs, prize pools tend to fall into one of these two shapes, and the ones that struggle are usually the ones that picked a shape by accident rather than on purpose.

The interesting answer is often neither extreme. The Shelf Truth calls the combination the Dopamine Sandwich: a big prize headline to create the fantasy, wrapped around frequent small wins to make participation feel rewarded. The headline speaks to the part of the shopper that wants to dream about the car. The regular small prizes speak to the part that wants some certainty the effort will pay off. You are, in effect, running two promotions to two different mindsets inside the same budget — which is exactly what a tiered structure is for.

What you should not do is split the difference into mush. A pool sliced into a moderate number of moderate prizes tends to be too small to make headlines and too thin to feel winnable. It satisfies no one in particular. Deciding who the distribution is for — the dreamer or the pragmatist — is more useful than deciding how many prizes sounds nice.

Match the distribution to the one job

Distribution only makes sense once you know what the promotion is actually for. This is where the One Job Rule earns its keep: a promotion built for trial has different needs from one built for frequency or data capture, and each implies a different shape of pool.

If the job is trial — getting new shoppers to pick the product up once — a spread of attainable prizes usually does more work, because visible, believable winning is what nudges a hesitant first-timer. If the job is frequency — getting existing buyers to come back more often — many small, repeatable wins beat one distant jackpot, because the reward needs to show up as often as the behaviour you want. If the job is a headline moment or data capture at scale, a single large prize can be the most efficient way to buy attention and entries. The distribution isn’t right or wrong in isolation. It’s right or wrong for the job.

It also has to survive the shopper’s three-second glance. The 3-Second Equation weighs reward and belief against friction, and distribution feeds the belief side directly. A pool structured so that winning feels plausible does quiet, compounding work every time someone reads the pack — which is also why where the offer lands in the shopper journey matters as much as the prize itself.

Where distribution quietly goes wrong

The most common failure isn’t picking the wrong model — it’s making the small prizes too small. Spreading a pool across many rewards only works if each one clears what The Shelf Truth calls the Insult Threshold: the point below which the prize isn’t worth the effort of claiming it. A five-dollar voucher that takes two minutes of form-filling to redeem doesn’t read as generosity. It reads as a brand that doesn’t value the shopper’s time, and no amount of “500 winners!” copy fixes that. If you’re going to spread the pool, spread it far enough that each win still feels like a win.

The other quiet failure is treating distribution as a set-and-forget decision. A pool that looks balanced on a planning slide can behave very differently once entries start flowing, and the campaigns that perform are usually the ones where someone is watching the shape of participation and can adjust prize cadence or instant-win frequency while there’s still time. That’s the kind of question Trevor Services and its Trudy platform are built to pressure-test before launch — modelling how a given distribution is likely to land against thousands of comparable campaigns, rather than finding out live.

None of this requires a bigger budget. It requires deciding, on purpose, what the prize pool is meant to make the shopper feel, and then splitting the money to match. If you’re rethinking how to structure a prize pool for an upcoming campaign, we’re happy to talk it through.

Watch someone decide whether to enter a promotion and you’ll miss it if you blink. They see the flash — WIN A CAR, $10 cashback, scan to enter — and within a few seconds they’ve either reached for their phone or moved on. No spreadsheet, no deliberation. Just a fast, mostly unconscious judgement about whether this is worth the bother.

That judgement is the whole game. You can spend months on creative, media and prize budget, and it all gets compressed into the three seconds a shopper spends deciding if your offer is worth their time. At Trevor Services we’ve come to think of that moment as the 3-Second Equation — the shorthand from The Shelf Truth for the sum every shopper runs without realising they’re running it.

What is the 3-Second Equation?

The 3-Second Equation is the quick mental calculation a shopper makes when they see a promotion: Reward plus Belief, divided by Friction. How much do I want the prize? Do I genuinely believe I can win it? And how much effort will entering cost me? If the top of that sum outweighs the bottom, they enter. If it doesn’t, they scroll on — and no amount of media spend buys that decision back.

It’s deliberately crude. The point isn’t precision; it’s that all three terms have to work together. A brilliant prize nobody believes they’ll win fails. A winnable prize nobody wants fails. A genuinely appealing, winnable prize buried behind a ten-field form fails just as quietly. Most promotions that underperform aren’t broken in some exotic way — one of the three terms has quietly collapsed and taken the rest down with it.

Is the reward actually worth wanting?

Reward is the easiest term to get wrong, because it feels like the easiest to get right. Bigger prize, more appeal — except it doesn’t work like that. What matters is whether the reward clears the bar of being worth wanting at all. The Shelf Truth calls that floor the Insult Threshold: if the effort of claiming outweighs what’s on offer, you haven’t given someone a small reward, you’ve given them a small annoyance. A $2 saving that needs a receipt upload and a sign-in isn’t a modest win; it’s a reason to feel faintly insulted.

There’s also a quirk in how people value rewards that’s worth understanding. In a well-known set of experiments, Shampanier, Mazar and Ariely found that when a price drops to zero, demand jumps far more than the maths predicts — people don’t simply subtract cost from benefit, they treat “free” as a category of its own. That’s why a guaranteed gift with purchase can pull harder than a discount of similar value, and why a self-liquidating premium works at all. Reward isn’t only about size. It’s about how the brain files it.

Do people believe they can win?

Belief is the term most brands forget they can influence. A shopper looks at a single major prize and quietly concludes: not me, never me. The odds feel like zero whether they are or not. The Shelf Truth’s Rule of Three is a useful way to think about it — one prize reads as “impossible”, three prizes as “possible”, and a hundred small prizes as “probable”. Same total budget, very different sense of whether it’s worth a go.

That’s really a question of prize architecture: how you split a fixed prize pool to change what people believe about their chances. Our colleagues at Bamboo Marketing wrote about designing a prize structure worth entering, and it’s the other half of this term. The headline prize creates the desire; the spread of smaller, more believable wins is what turns that desire into entries. Of the live Australian promotions Trevor tracks, single-prize draws are comfortably the most common mechanic — which tells you how often brands lean on one big number and hope, rather than engineering belief. The fix is rarely a bigger prize. It’s a better-shaped one.

How do you reduce friction without gutting the entry?

Friction is where good promotions quietly bleed. Every field, every step, every “create an account to continue” is a small tax on entry, and the taxes compound. The instinct is to strip everything back to a single tap — but the evidence here is more interesting than “shorter is always better”. Venture Harbour’s review of form-length studies found cases where cutting fields actually reduced conversions: one optimiser removed fields and saw a 14% drop, because he’d cut the parts people were happy to fill in and left only the dull ones.

The more useful frame comes from BJ Fogg’s behaviour model, where action happens when motivation and ability meet at the right moment. Friction sits on the ability side, and it trades against motivation. A highly motivated entrant will tolerate a receipt upload; a merely curious one won’t tolerate a second screen. So the question isn’t “how few fields can we get away with” — it’s “how much friction have this reward and this belief earned the right to ask for”. A car draw can ask for more than a $5 cashback can, because the top of the equation is bigger. Some friction is also non-negotiable: receipt validation and fraud checks protect the promotion, and the job is to make necessary effort feel proportionate, not to pretend it away.

Working the whole equation, not one term

None of these terms is hard to grasp on its own. The mistake is treating them separately — polishing the prize while ignoring belief, or obsessing over a frictionless form attached to a reward nobody wants. The 3-Second Equation earns its keep because it forces you to hold all three at once, and to be honest about which one is dragging.

It also pairs neatly with the One Job Rule: once you know the single job a promotion is doing — trial, frequency, basket, data — you know which term to weight. A data-capture promotion can carry more friction; a trial promotion can’t afford any. This is the kind of pre-launch pressure-testing Trudy, Trevor’s predictive promotional intelligence platform, is built for — running a mechanic against thousands of past campaigns before a dollar is committed.

So if you’re sketching out a promotion and something feels off but you can’t quite name it, try running it through the equation. Usually one of the three terms has collapsed and you just hadn’t spotted which. If you’d like a hand pressure-testing the idea before it goes live, we’re happy to talk it through.

Somewhere in a planning meeting right now, a brand team is arguing about whether a cashback should be $5 or $10. The $5 version protects the budget. The $10 version feels generous. What rarely gets said out loud is the question that actually decides whether the promotion works: at what point does the reward become too small for anyone to bother claiming it?

That tipping point has a name. In The Shelf Truth we call it the insult threshold, and it quietly kills more promotions than bad creative ever will. A promotion can be perfectly compliant, beautifully designed, and properly funded, and still fail because the reward on offer wasn’t worth the effort of putting your hand up for it.

What is the insult threshold?

The insult threshold is the point at which a promotional reward is too small to justify the effort of claiming it, so the customer decides it isn’t worth doing. Below that line, a shopper does a quick mental sum — what they get versus what they have to do to get it — and walks away. The offer hasn’t just underperformed; it has mildly annoyed the person it was meant to attract.

This is the same shopper maths behind what we call the 3-Second Equation: reward plus belief, divided by friction. A reward that sits below the insult threshold drags the whole equation down no matter how strong the rest of the campaign is. You can have a believable prize and a famous brand, and still lose people at the point where the number on the offer is too small to move them.

Why small rewards quietly fail

The evidence from rebates is hard to argue with, because rebates make people do real work to collect real money. When the payoff is between $10 and $30, redemption tends to sit in the range of 10 to 30 percent, and falls below 10 percent for smaller dollar amounts. The pattern is consistent: the smaller the reward, the fewer people claim it, even though claiming is the entire point of the exercise.

It isn’t only that people forget. When Leflein Associates asked consumers why they missed out on rebates, 41 percent admitted they simply forgot and 25 percent lost the paperwork, but 20 percent made a deliberate decision that the reward wasn’t worth the effort. That last group is the insult threshold in plain sight. One in five people looked at the offer, did the calculation, and chose not to bother. They weren’t careless. They were rational.

This is also why participation rates are so wide. Consumer Affairs has noted that rebate take-up generally ranges anywhere from 5 percent to 80 percent depending on the value of the rebate. Value is the variable doing most of the work. Get it right and most eligible buyers claim; get it wrong and you’ve printed a discount almost nobody collects.

It’s not the dollar amount on its own — it’s the effort sitting next to it

The insult threshold isn’t a fixed number you can look up. A $5 reward can feel generous on a $15 purchase and insulting on a $1,500 one. The reward is always judged in proportion to two things: the price of what the customer bought, and the effort required to claim.

That second part is where promotions lose people without anyone noticing. Every extra step in a claim — another form field, a receipt photo that has to be retaken, a code typed in from a curling docket — is friction, and friction is a cost paid in lost claims. We call this friction as a cost for a reason: it compounds. A reward that would have cleared the insult threshold with a two-tap claim can fall below it once you bolt on registration, receipt upload, and a survey. You haven’t changed the dollar figure, but you’ve raised the price of collecting it, and the customer’s mental sum tips the other way.

This is the trade-off worth sitting with. Brands often try to protect a reward budget by shrinking the reward, when the cheaper fix is usually shrinking the effort. A slightly smaller prize that’s genuinely easy to claim will often beat a larger one buried behind a clumsy process. In the cashback campaigns Trevor Services has run, the programs that perform are almost always the ones where validation and payout are quick and the customer can see exactly what they’ll get and when.

How much should a promotional reward be worth?

There’s no universal figure, but there is a usable test. A reward clears the insult threshold when it is large enough that a reasonable person, looking at the effort involved, would say “yes, worth it” without hesitating. If you have to talk yourself into it, your customer won’t.

In practice that means sizing the reward against the purchase, not against your budget line. A cashback worth a meaningful share of the item’s price reads as real money. The same dollar amount on a much pricier product reads as a rounding error and gets ignored. It also means being honest about category norms. Australian shoppers are more deal-aware than ever under cost-of-living pressure, and they sit inside a mature cashback ecosystem — Cashrewards, ShopBack and others have trained people on what a serious offer looks like. A brand-direct promotion is being judged against that backdrop, not in isolation.

Prize draws play by a different rule, because there the reward is a chance rather than a certainty. A single enormous prize can still feel out of reach, which is why the Rule of Three matters: one winner reads as “impossible,” a few winners as “possible,” and many small wins as “probable.” The insult threshold there isn’t about the dollar value of one prize but about whether entering feels like it could plausibly pay off. Certainty rewards like cashback are judged on size; chance rewards are judged on believability. Most weak promotions confuse the two.

The thinking behind all of this is what Trudy, Trevor’s predictive promotional intelligence platform, is built to pressure-test — looking across thousands of past promotions to flag when a reward is likely sitting under the line before the campaign goes live, rather than after the redemption numbers come in disappointing.

The test worth running before you launch

Before a promotion goes out, it’s worth doing the customer’s sum yourself. Look at the reward, look honestly at everything you’re asking the customer to do to claim it, and ask whether the first genuinely outweighs the second. If the answer is “only just,” you’re near the line. If you’re trimming the reward to protect the budget, check whether trimming the friction would protect it more cheaply — slippage from forgotten claims already does some of that work for you, and you don’t need to insult anyone to capture it.

The brands that get this right tend not to be the most generous. They’re the ones who understood that a reward is only worth what it’s worth after you subtract the effort of getting it. If you’re rethinking how you size rewards across your promotions, we’d be happy to talk it through.