I eat cannibals

I love advertising. I'm one of those people who does not fast-forward through commercials. I actually enjoy watching commercials. I like the clever ones. I like the creative ones. I even like the stupid ones, in a "what not to do" capacity. I suppose it's because I've been in the marketing/advertising field for so many years, I feel I need to keep on top of my industry, making myself aware of current trends and not becoming complacent to rest upon my proverbial laurels.

I like to research and trace the history of advertising, especially for a product that has been around for a while. It is interesting to see how the methods have changed (or haven't changed) for the same product over a period of years or even decades. I often wonder who was the lucky ad agency representative that was able to convince a stuffy corporate executive to loosen up a bit with their ad campaigns. Who was able to get Charles Grigg to stop calling his carbonated elixir "Bib-Label Lithiated Lemon-Lime Soda," shorten it to "7Up" and brand it as a psychedelic alternative to cola? It turned out to be excellent advice. See? Some courageous company decision-maker has to be the one to take a chance. To change for the benefit of company growth.

Consumer foods giant General Mills has been a leader in product and product marketing for over a century and a half. They didn't become a twenty-three billion dollar-a-year company by accident. Considering they produce staple goods similar to those produced by other companies, marketing was key in General Mills growth and staying power. That's why core brands like Gold Medal remain number one choices among consumers, along with acquired brands like Pillsbury and Green Giant.

Of course, General Mills is synonymous with "cereal." Names like Wheaties, Cheerios and Chex have been around — gosh! — nearly forever. Clever marketing has elevated brands like Trix, Cocoa Puffs and Lucky Charms to lofty levels, nearly untouchable by competitors. Each of these cereals, introduced in the mid-twentieth century, featured a fun mascot, instantly endearing to the younger target market at which they were aimed. General Mills used this same strategy with subsequent breakfast food introductions — The "Monster" cereals in the 70s, and, my personal favorite, Cinnamon Toast Crunch in 1984.

The evolution of Cinnamon Toast Crunch is an interesting journey through marketing trends and changes. Cinnamon Toast Crunch came along in much the same way as many of its predecessors. It was a crunchy wheat/rice combo coated with cinnamon and sugar. The box initially featured a happy little drawing of a cinnamon-kissed slice of bread and his pal, a smiling cinnamon shaker. These characters soon gave way to three happy, yet bumbling, animated bakers, all decked out in pristine kitchen whites. There was jolly Wendell, the obvious leader of the trio. He was flanked by two unnamed colleagues, although they were inexplicably referred to as "Bob" and "Quello." The group appeared in a series of commercials and their likenesses were emblazoned on box fronts for association and recognition (them there are marketing words!). In 1991, however, Wendell's associates were shown the door and the white-haired baker was flying solo. His visibility was increased and his adventures became the focus of commercials and promotions, including send-away premiums, like plush dolls. Wendell was prominently featured on every redesign of the Cinnamon Toast Crunch box as well as spin-off versions like French Toast Crunch, Peanut Butter Crunch and Frosted Toast Crunch.

But in 2009, after a solo run of eighteen years, the venerable Wendell disappeared. He was replaced by strange little creatures known as "The Crazy Squares." I can only imagine the conversation, and eventual convincing, that took place in the advertising strategy meeting up in the Minnesota corporate headquarters of General Mills. Seated at a long, dark-wood table in the center of a conference room lined with matching dark-wood paneling, the General Mills executive board gathered to be pitched to. A slick, nattily-dressed young man from the contracted ad agency — his head full of outside-the-box creativity and his hair full of mousse — clicked along a PowerPoint presentation while the stuffy seniors stoically sipped water from glasses wet with condensation.

Just after the first few slides displaying growth charts and boring facts and figures, the slick ad man unleashed this guy  — 

A collective gasp from the board members cut the air. Sure, this little character is smiling. Sure, he's full of whimsy and mischief. Sure, he's dusted with sparkly sugar and inviting cinnamon, but there's something... something.... off about him. Something malevolent. As the presentation offered more detail, the true horror was revealed.

Look! The little guy is playful! How cute!

Look! Oh, he's so funny, just floating in the bowl!

Ha! He's a little dickens! Getting silly with another Cinnamon Toast "Crazy Square."

Oh, this is a little weird, but I guess it's fun and those guys are adorable!

Wait! WAIT! What the fuck? What's going on here?

HOLY SHIT! THEY'RE EATING EACH OTHER!

At that point, I assume, the CEO stood up at the table, cleared his throat and leaned forward. He was prepared to send slick ad guy and his crazy new campaign on the quickest route to the elevator. But then, suddenly, he had a moment of clarity. A vision. An epiphany. "If this campaign riled me up," he thought, "imagine how it will make kids feel! Kids love this shit! And, if kids love it, they'll beg Mom to buy those Crazy Squares!" A smile beamed across the CEO's face. He blotted his dampened brow with a monogrammed handkerchief and commended the slick ad guy. "Genius, my boy!," he bellowed, "Genius!" The slick ad guy smiled smugly. The board members applauded.

And so, the stalwart, reliable, friendly Cinnamon Toast Crunch became edgier and more aggressive in its advertising, taking a somewhat dangerous route. But, it worked! They took a gamble and it worked out great. It was no longer about "gee, our cereal is good and it tastes good and it's good for you" and hundreds of testaments that have been repeated over and over. It was now a shocking, attention-grabbing surprise with very little to do with the actual cereal. The Crazy Squares have been shilling for Cinnamon Toast Crunch for seven years, even appearing on new holiday-themed versions of the cereal, as well as a new chocolate version and reintroduced peanut butter variety.

But what ever became of Wendell? I'd be willing to bet those Crazy Square bastards ate him.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

that kind of luxe just ain't for us

As a belated holiday gift, my wife and I took her parents out to dinner. We went to a small, nondescript, storefront place at the far end of a strip mall in desolate Northeast Philadelphia. After dinner, my father-in-law said he wanted to pop over to a nearby supermarket for a dozen eggs. The supermarket to which he was referring was an ominous-looking Aldi next door.

I've seen Aldi markets here and there, mostly, from what I can tell, in lower income areas. There is one, actually not too far from my suburban home, but it's just over the county border and within the Philadelphia city limits. I have never actually been in an Aldi market, but, from the outside, it looks like a warehouse-style store, offering unknown "off" branded products at low prices. So, when the opportunity arose to actually enter an Aldi, to do a little first-hand, face-to-face investigation while my father-in-law was on his little egg quest, I jumped!

The entrance to the store is guarded by scores of shopping carts, all locked together by a short length of chain between each one. Customers must insert a quarter into the large locking mechanism to release a cart. Your quarter is returned when the cart is returned. This system eliminates the need for a kid to scramble around the parking lot, collecting and organizing abandoned shopping carts. And the savings are passed on to you!

Not what you think.

It turns out that the majority of products that Aldi stocks are their own versions of national brands. There are a few products that you've seen in other supermarkets, but those are few and far between. Also, the products are displayed in open cardboard cartons stacked high and tightly along side each other, thus creating aisles of cardboard shelving. We entered the store in the potato chip/candy/cereal aisle — an unusual grouping of foods and an even more unusual starting point for a grocery shopping trip. As I made my way down Aisle One, I looked carefully at all of the package designs. Most were obvious attempts at copying the well-known brands, using similar product "beauty shots," similar typefaces and positioning on the package. It was as though I discovered the source of all of those products you see in the kitchen cabinets on TV sitcoms or pulled from the Mystery Ingredient Basket on Chopped. (Ah, hard shell coated chocolate candy drops! I wonder what they're supposed to be?) Just past a display of Aldi's rectangular, frosted "Toaster Tarts" (a thinly-veiled version of PopTarts), was the breakfast cereal section. I saw box after box of slightly-skewed renditions of General Mills' "Cheerios" and Kellogg's "Raisin Bran." There was even a near-clone of "Raisin Bran Crunch" in a box that smacked of copyright infringement. All of the cereal was presented under the fabricated "Millville" brand. They weren't fooling anyone.

Fake rolls.

We may need a warrant.

Aisle after aisle, brand after faux brand was presented. I felt like we were shopping in a carnival fun house, each family of products exhibited by way of one of those distorted mirrors. I picked up and replaced dozens of items, but not before examining and chuckling at the blatant plagiarism of the packaging. Mrs. P, now carrying a small shopping basket, had chosen a couple of "Bake House" brand crescent rolls. Clad in a slender, navy blue cardboard tube and looking a little too close to its Pillsbury counterpart, these rolls, surprisingly, carried a pretty reputable kosher certification, something Poppin' Fresh's line sorely lacks. (I believe their ad slogan is "Lard Makes It Great!") Mrs. P also selected several individually-boxed cherry pies from the folks at the made-up "Bakers Treat."  These were defiant affronts to our beloved Philadelphia bakery treasure Tastykake, but they were 49¢ versus Tastykake's hefty buck and a half.

We met up with my father-in-law, who was now cradling four dozen eggs in his arms. We made our way to the checkout lanes, where one lonely, yet friendly, young lady was ready to add up our purchases. We quickly learned that, in order to offer additional savings to their customers, Aldi does not accept credit cards or coupons, nor do they supply bags. "Pay with cash and carry this stuff out on your own" is their apparent company motto. Luckily, because of Aldi's ridiculously low prices, these few items only set us back a couple of dollars. Hey, the eggs were an unheard of 99 cents a dozen!

When I got home, I did a little research on Aldi and its history. (Okay, I "googled" it.) Although it can trace its origins to the 1940s, Aldi was officially formed in the 1960s in Germany, when the Albrecht brothers split up the family grocery business over a disagreement about selling cigarettes. Though legally two separate companies, they both operate under the "Aldi" banner and grew to become a global chain with 10,000 stores in 18 countries. 10,000 stores! I was shocked! (Shocked, I tell you!) I totally and unjustly underestimated Aldi. The chain was voted "Best Supermarket in the United Kingdom" two years in a row. Pretty impressive.

Is it impressive enough to get me to go back into an Aldi again? I don't think so.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

say my name, say my name, say my stupid name

When I was a kid, we only bought nationally-advertised, brand name groceries. Although it was never openly discussed or mandated, store-brand products were for poor people or worse — old people. At least that was what I gathered from my mother's supermarket purchases. Heinz ketchup, Hellman's mayonnaise, Campbell's soup — those were the names that received unwavering loyalty in the Pincus household. 

Recently, I radically changed my eating habits. For years, like 31 million other Americans, I skipped breakfast, opting instead for a cup of coffee to carry me through the day. Last year, I began eating a bowl of cereal every morning. As much as I wanted, I forced myself to avoid childhood favorites like Cap'n Crunch and Froot Loops*. Instead, I chose the more sensible Cheerios family of cereals, specifically Honey Nut Cheerios, the most popular of the many Cheerios varieties and the most popular cereal in America for several years running. Despite not having a cool prize tucked within the inner product bag, the cereal itself is pretty good. Not too sweet and not nearly as bland as the plain Cheerios that my son teethed upon as a baby. 

Under my newly-adopted eating regimen, I noticed that I was going through a big box of Honey Nut Cheerios approximately every ten days. At nearly five bucks a pop, this was getting pretty costly. So, the next time my morning meal supply was running low, I decided to try to be a little more frugal with my choices.

At Acme Market (known as Albertson's in some parts of the country), I compared the price of the national Honey Nut Cheerios to that of the store-branded "Essential Everyday" lengthy but closely-named "Honey Nut Toasted Oats." It was considerably cheaper. I know that "cheaper" usually translates to "inferior quality," but I was willing to risk it for a nearly two-and-a-half dollar savings. The next morning, I poured myself a bowl of generically-named, yet similar-looking Honey Nut Toasted Oats and doused it with milk. It was not bad. It was not Cheerios, but it was not bad. I didn't gag. I didn't toss the bowl's contents down the garbage disposal in disgust.** As a matter of fact, it tasted pretty good. Satisfied, I ate a bowl every morning until the box was empty. I could definitely taste the difference, but it wasn't so different that I wasn't able to eat and enjoy it.

I decided to try the offerings from other stores and other store brands. Guess what? Every store has their own brand of cereal that is comparable to the mighty Cheerios... and they all carry a considerably smaller price tag. As far as their taste, they are all pretty good. Hell, at 6:30 in the morning, my taste buds aren't fully awake anyway. As a humorous bonus, they all boast unimaginative and innocuous names, so as not to prompt a lawsuit from the good folks at General Mills. My personal favorite is Walmart's Honey Nut Spins. (They could have gone with "Loops" or "Hoops" or "Wheels" or even "Circles," but they chose "Spins" even though the little oat morsels remain perfectly still from the box to bowl and all through the breakfast duration. I watched. Not a single spin was detected.) Walmart, it should be noted, is the undisputed king of nearly-homophonic store-brand names, with their upstart line of sodas like "Dr. Thunder" and "Mountain Lightning" taking on national competitors. I think you know which ones I mean. 

Ancient? No thank you.

So, against everything my mother taught me about grocery shopping, I have stopped purchasing name-brand cereal in favor of the store-brand counterparts. I have even expanded beyond breakfast, choosing store-brand bagged salad over Dole or Fresh Express and store-brand pickles over brands like Vlasic. There's one place I draw the line, though, when it comes to food. I don't care if it has an affiliation with a national trusted brand or not, I refuse to purchase and consume any sort of food that proclaims its contents are "ancient." I mean aren't these things supposed to have an expiration date? 

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

*Studies have shown that Froot Loops are not now, nor have they ever been, made with real froot.
** Don't throw cereal down the garbage disposal anyway. Trust me on this. Your plumber will thank you.