Category: Honesty7883a9b09e

Some Good Payout for John Krasinski

5/31/2020

by David Hagenbuch, founder of Mindful Marketing & author of Honorable Influence

Life for Dunder Mifflin paper salesman Jim Halpert revolved around two things: pleasing Pam and pranking Dwight; it was never about the money. Now some suggest that John Krasinski's acting is even better than we believed after he surprisingly cashed-in on his homespun, positivity-in-the-face-of-a-pandemic YouTube program. Millions enjoyed watching Some Good News, and many people contributed content, so should Krasinski pocket millions for selling the series?

It was seven years ago when Krasinski first had the idea for Some Good News (SGN), but he only decided to capitalize on the concept after an isolation-induced tweet on March 25, in which he asked his followers to share things that made them feel good or smile. The tweet astoundingly received over 3,000 comments and nearly 20,000 likes.

Seeing the virus-plagued public’s voracious appetite for feel-good stories, the actor/director/producer launched SGN on March 29, with production partner Allyson Seeger. Together they aired eight YouTube episodes, overflowing with pleasant programming from regular people, as well as occasional celebrity cameos by the likes of Oprah Winfrey, Brad Pit, and former Krasinski coworkers from The Office.

In the first episode, former Dunder Mifflin manager Steve Carell (aka Michael Scott) stopped by to chat about favorite Office memories, which garnered over 17 million YouTube views. The other seven SGN installments also drew big audiences, each in the millions.

That kind of instant internet success rarely goes unnoticed, especially when featuring a star like Krasinski. Soon corporate sponsors such as AT&T and the Boston Red Sox entered the action with giveaways, while others floated a much bigger proposition—purchasing the series.

At first, Krasinski resisted the “wave of incoming calls from a wide variety of suitors,” but at some point, in the midst of a “massive bidding war,” the paper salesman conceded and decided to close “an expansive deal with ViacomCBS,” the value of which “has yet to be reported,” but is very likely “rich.”

For many, Krasinski’s media contract changed the narrative from Some Good News to One Big Sellout. Fueling the social media storm were tweets of disappointment and anger, some snarky, others more serious:

So he made 8 YouTube videos comprised largely of unpaid contributions from fans, sold the brand to a major conglomerate, and isn't even going to make it anymore? Just cashed out? Does this rub anyone else the wrong way, kinda? (@Lons, May 22)
Remember when he created this free feel good YouTube show to “make people feel good” and now he is................selling it for $$$? really cool, 100% honorable (@lindseyweber, May 21).
Super awesome how you found a way to take a genuinely heartwarming viral series and sell out to the highest bidder (@kswa1987, May 22).
This whole 'Some Good News' sh-- was so transparent. John Krasinski basically monetized feel good stories when there was an opportunity to do so. It's just all about money while, appearing relatable to the unwashed masses, and it's super obvious (@EckhartsLadder, May 26).
You are profiting off Some Good News!?! I bought you hook like me and sinker... believed you were just trying to bring goodnesses to light. Going from YouTube (free) to a pay service...so disappointed...sellout!!! (@hydenson, May 22).
The "Good News" that @johnkrasinski had on his program is that he is now a sell out and putting his program behind a paid service so way less people can see it. He has made money off his "Good News" program while people are dying, laid off, can't get food, etc. Smart, John (@JustAHikerinVA, May 22).

When so much harsh criticism is hurled at one of America’s most admired celebrities, one has to wonder if maybe there’s some merit to the sentiment: Did Jim Halpert’s biggest sale come at the people’s expense? Answering four key questions may help clarify the controversy:

1) Was creating SGN part of some diabolical plan? Lest we forget, the same actor who played Jim now portrays a more cold and calculating character, CIA analyst Jack Ryan. In fact, Krasinski has blamed Jack Ryan for selling SGN; although, it’s not exactly like it sounds—more to come below.

It's hard to know for sure, but there’s little to suggest that it was Krasinski’s original intent to build up SGN only so he could sell it to the highest bidder. In fact, most evidence points to the opposite, for instance:

He launched the first episode saying, “I am John Krasinski, and if it isn’t clear yet, I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.”
Among the show’s “low production values,” his daughters drew the SGN signage behind the ‘news desk’ and his own hand held the spinning globe used in the show’s opening.
The Hollywood Reporter claims that “His original plan was to continue to make SGN for the free and wide audience that YouTube provided” and that he “initially resisted the urge to sell the series.”

2) Did Krasinski ‘use’ people to make the program? There’s little doubt that SGN wouldn’t have succeeded without the voluntary contributions of a wide variety of regular people. Did the unpaid populace get a raw deal in that exchange? Probably not, for these reasons:

It’s unlikely that anyone was promised compensation for their participation, i.e., they did so eagerly for free.
Those whose content SGN featured enjoyed what was likely for them a very exciting once-in-a-lifetime experience.
No one needed to pay to watch SGN. People could view it for free on YouTube.
Krasinski gave far more to SGN than anyone else. For instance, he “self-financed and self-produced” the show from his own home; he utilized his considerable professional talent; he leveraged his own fame to attract followers and his personal connections to enlist other A-List celebrities. Which of us can get the casts of Hamilton or The Office to show up on our Zoom calls?

3) Did Krasinski have a right to sell the series? It certainly seems like he was entitled to monetize his investment for the reasons suggested above and because of the following two points:

The show was his baby. He created and developed it through much of his own time, talent, and resources.
He made no promises about what he would do or not do with the show. A few of the negative reactions shared above suggest there was some sort of implied social contract: “John, you keep producing SGN at your expense, a few of us will contribute content to each show, and millions of people will watch if for free, indefinitely.”

4) Did his reasons for selling make sense? Most people, understandably, have focused on the considerable cash Krasinski will likely collect from the sale. As the first point below expounds, there’s nothing inherently wrong with making money, but there are also other reasons why selling SGN was the sensible thing for him to do.

This blog has suggested many times: If you can give someone good value in an exchange and make money for yourself, it's a good thing. Furthermore, unless someone else is supporting us, we all need to make money in order to take care of our own needs and hopefully help others in need. Even if Krasinski doesn’t need more money, it doesn’t mean he shouldn’t earn more and maybe use it to benefit others. The fact that he had the conscience to create SGN suggests he’s the type of person who is likely to do so.
Krasinski is a busy man. Besides being an actor (e.g., Jack Ryan), a director, and a producer, he’s a husband and a father, and he probably plays several other significant life roles. So, we can believe him when he recently explained that continuing to produce SGN “wouldn’t be sustainable with my prior commitments.”
More people may be exposed to good news. In justifying his decision to sell, Krasinski added that he was excited about the potential for SGN to be seen by “so many more people.” Of course, millions were already watching the show for free on YouTube, but his suggestion is more than a convenient excuse or wishful thinking. It’s reasonable to believe that an organization with the experience, resources, and reach of ViacomCBS could carry the concept of SGN much further than a guy (even a top celebrity) working out of his living room. Plus, if SGN gains even broader appeal, it’s likely to attract knockoffs from other media, which wouldn’t be a bad thing for a society desperately needing to focus more on the positive.

Do all the above bullets mean that Krasinski’s decision-making was perfect? No. Before the sale was announced, he could have clearly communicated his intentions, which wouldn’t have satisfied everyone, but it would have significantly softened the blow. As such, my own takeaway from the events are:

Good marketing communication responds considerately in a crisis.
Great marketing communication avoids a crisis by anticipating reaction and proactively shaping the narrative.

As a rule, people are much more accepting of unpleasant information when we tell them in advance, rather than letting them hear it later from someone else.

So, back at Dunder Mifflin, maybe Michael gives Jim a little grief for not telling him he had such a big deal in the works. Still, The Office’s manager is elated that Halpert scores the Scranton White Pages (it’s a hypothetical metaphor; you have to watch the show). In the end, everyone can appreciate that John Krasinski’s sale of SGN was “Mindful Marketing.”

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The Impossible 'to Stomach' Whopper

2/22/2020

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by David Hagenbuch, founder of Mindful Marketing & author of Honorable Influence

Green bumps, black specks, white fuzz. You saw the telltale signs when a piece of once fresh fruit or an edible vegetable fell to the back of a refrigerator drawer where it laid low for a few months. It took a deep breath and all the courage you could muster to pick up the nauseating produce and pitch it into the trash. So, why would one of the world’s leading fast food restaurants want consumers to see its most iconic menu item in a similarly sickening state?

Few food companies have the mettle to play with such fire, but one known for flame-broiling and often flagrant marketing does: Burger King. The fast food icon recently launched a “global, integrated advertising campaign showing its iconic Whopper® sandwich covered in mold.”

A video from the company begins with the staging of a very attractive Whopper. Then, against a music bed of “What a difference a day makes,” filming turns to a rapid time lapse and the burger ages abhorrently before our eyes.

First, the lettuce starts to wither. Then the bun sags and mayonnaise melts. Before we can look away, white fuzz flows over the beef patty and a green/blue ‘foam’ appears, making a cross-section closeup look like a storm at sea. Thankfully, the camera pans out, but only to show a bun enveloped in mold with some black substance oozing from the burger’s epicenter.

The visual agony eventually ends as a text overlay briefly appears: “The Whopper DAY 34.” The grotesque burger vanishes into an all-black screen that frames the tagline “THE BEAUTY OF NO ARTIFICIAL PRESERVATIVES,” followed by an all-white Burger King logo.

Most organizations agonize over advertisements, trying to ensure that their products are presented in the most positive light. Those in food industries seem especially attuned to their ads’ optical appeal, and for good reason: Studies have found that visual stimuli such as color, evenness, and shape “exert cognitive top-down influences that can and sometimes do alter assessments of taste and flavor.” In other words, there is truth to the old adage: ‘We eat with our eyes.’

So, why would Burger King flame-broil conventional wisdom by plating a burger that could make the Geico racoons retch?

The main reason stems from the spot’s tagline, “The beauty of no artificial preservatives.” The company wants consumers to realize that it has made a clean-break from past practice and it no longer uses nonorganic life-extenders, at least not in “most European countries and select markets in the United States.” Furthermore, according to Christopher Finazzo, Burger King’s Americas President:

“The Burger King® brand is currently rolling out the Whopper® sandwich with no preservatives, colors, or flavors from artificial sources in the U.S. The product is already available in more than 400 restaurants in the country and will reach all restaurants throughout the year.”

Unfortunately, in terms of touting “real food,” Burger is painfully late to the game. Chipotle, Panera, and a crowd of fast-casual restaurants have been making that claim for a few decades. Even many processed food manufacturers, like General Mills, have kept better pace with consumer desires for healthier food. The company has already removed artificial ingredients from most of its cereals.

So, maybe Burger King needed to do something shocking to grab the attention of a populace likely to overlook or be unimpressed by what is an increasingly common change. The promotion certainly has gained the company free media exposure and gotten marketers like me talking about it.

A similar tact also must have worked, at least somewhat, when the firm unearthed its Halloween-inspired “Nightmare King” in the fall of 2018. Although it never seemed that the green-bun burger was a big seller, it did grab headlines and likely helped keep the restaurant top-of-mind among those who frequent fast food.

It’s also possible that the Moldy Whopper promo resonates with Gen Zs and Millennials, who are used to unconventional advertising and who demand transparency from the brands they buy. These age cohorts might uniquely appreciate the combination of candor and irreverence.

Still, the avant-garde ad campaign takes an extraordinary and nearly unprecedented risk by essentially forgoing the Maslow-level-one appeal of appetizing food. Maybe having “no artificial preservatives” hits a higher tier of the hierarchy, such as safety or self-esteem, but according to the theory, people’s desires will never ascend to those upper levels if their hunger is unsatisfied.

Burger King apparently is banking on viewers remembering the pristine burger that appears at the beginning of the ad for a few seconds, rather than the progressively repulsive Whopper that fills the other forty-five seconds. “Negativity bias,” however, upends that hope: Our brains are “simply built with a greater sensitivity to unpleasant news.” Said another way, there are some things we simply can’t ‘unsee’ and a mold-covered Whopper is probably one of them.

Although few organizations are so daring as to cast their products in a negative light, many do fall into the same general AIDA-defying trap: In an all-out effort to grab attention and retain interest, they sacrifice desire and action. As evidence, recall all the commercials you can from the last Super Bowl, then try to remember the companies responsible for each of them.

Like many other restaurants, Burger King is in an existential battle with all kinds of new competitors, especially those in the fast-casual space. It’s great that the fast food icon has taken steps to make some of its menu items more user-friendly, but those health benefits will never accrue to people who are put off by what they see in the company’s stomach-turning promotion. The new burger may be better for you, but etching the image of a moldy Whopper onto people's minds must be “Simple-Minded Marketing.”

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Peloton's Psychological Problems

12/13/2019

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by David Hagenbuch, founder of Mindful Marketing & author of Honorable Influence

“If my husband gave me a Peloton for Christmas, I’d give him divorce papers.” Such raw emotion has typified reactions to the spin cycle maker’s “Gift that Gives Back” commercial. People are permitted their opinions about the ad, and Peloton is entitled to explain its position, but a few principles from psychology might help both sides see how the cycle commercial could have avoided such a controversial turn.

Many reactions to the spot suggest that ‘no husband should surprise his wife with a piece of exercise equipment,’ regardless of her body-type. That’s a valid point; however, before dismissing Peloton’s ad as complete incompetence, Abraham Maslow’s classic hierarchy of needs may remind us that there is often more than one reason for riding a stationary bike:

Physiological Needs: Exercise doesn’t satisfy hunger or thirst; in fact, burning calories increases those needs. Similarly, anyone ‘spinning’ isn’t resting; however, exercise can lead to better sleep. That connection proves true for many, as it did recently for me: After walking around New York City one day with family for hours, I enjoyed one of my best night’s sleep in months.

Safety Needs: Exercise doesn’t immediately make us safe; however, cardiovascular fitness is an investment in long-term health, which connects to the second level of Maslow’s hierarchy. Many viewers of Peloton’s ad have bemoaned that “Grace in Boston,” an already slim woman, even needs to exercise, but they’re missing the point that working out isn’t just about losing weight. Thin people also reap health benefits from aerobic activity.

Social Needs: In one tweet about the ad, a Peloton user mentioned that she appreciates the bonding that comes with working out with others. People don’t need to be physically present to build relationships. Social benefits can also accrue when interacting in the virtual realm, which apparently happens for at least some Peloton users.

Self-Esteem Needs: All of us want to feel good about how we look and the kind of person we are. Sticking to an exercise regimen can bolster both of those self-concepts. Most viewers of Peloton’s ad don’t notice any physical change in Grace, but perhaps she experiences something intangible, like feeling more self-disciplined or self-confident.

Self-Actualization Needs: There aren’t many products that can legitimately claim to help people reach their full potential in some significant area of life, but a piece of exercise equipment used seriously might produce such top-level benefits, partly like the way basic training transforms marines. We don’t know exactly what Grace meant by the statement, “A year ago, I didn’t realize how much this would change me,” but if it wasn’t physical change, maybe a year of Pelton transformed her mentally or emotionally.

The five levels of Maslow’s hierarchy offer consumers useful lenses for processing the controversial commercial. A psychological principle can also teach Peloton an important lesson, summed up in one sentence: “Perception is reality.”

We perceive when a stimulus crosses our senses, we attend to it, and we make an interpretation, for example: “The big dog bounding toward me looks dangerous.” Sometimes our interpretations are correct; other times they’re wrong. However, whether they’re accurate or not, our perceptions determine our reactions.

As thousands of social media posts have suggested, people perceived things to be true of Peloton’s ad that the company apparently didn’t intend, for instance:

that Grace was initially overweight
that she wanted to become even thinner
that her husband pressured her to use the bike

Peloton can argue that these interpretations are incorrect, but ultimately the court of public opinion rules based on objective judgment of cues in the ad, prevailing social norms, and the broader cultural context, because perception is reality.

Some may suggest it was Peloton’s plan to cause a controversy that would capture publicity. If so, the company probably didn’t anticipate a 14% stock price decline in three days. Consumers can use Maslow to better understand what the cycle maker likely intended, but more importantly, companies like Peloton can learn to more effectively pretest their ads so corporate perceptions better align with consumer reality and don’t spin into “Mindless Marketing.”

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Promotion in Disguise?

11/3/2019

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by David Hagenbuch, founder of Mindful Marketing & author of Honorable Influence

Halloween was here and gone, but its effects live on. For kids, that may mean ongoing sugar rushes from a huge candy haul. For adults, it could be as serious as a DUI arrest after too much partying. However, one company you probably wouldn’t expect, stepped in to deter Halloween-related drunkenness.

It may come as a shock that the “King of Beers” created a unique Halloween-themed advertising campaign to discourage drinking. Budweiser, flagship brand of the iconic American beer company Anheuser-Busch, which is now a subsidiary of Belgium-based ABInBev, used the marketing firm David-Miami to develop some edgy Halloween-inspired ads to decrease drinking.

Budweiser’s promotion featured photos of several real people wearing Halloween costumes and funny looks on their faces. While there’s nothing unusual about pictures like that, especially around Halloween, what made these shots different was that they were mugshots. One of the photos, for instance, had a woman in a cat costume with black and white face-paint. Below her was the caption “Don’t let Halloween haunt you forever,” the Budweiser logo, and the tagline “Drink Wiser.”

In many ways, what Budweiser did was great. While alcohol is an important part of many people’s lives when socializing and celebrating, it’s also an addictive substance that when used in excess can wreak havoc on those using it and those who cross paths with them (e.g., physical and verbal abuse, drunk driving). Some call alcohol a drug and describe its use in the U.S. as an epidemic.

Still, it’s reasonable to ask the question: Does a company whose livelihood depends on beer sales really want people to drink less? There just aren’t many examples of organizations trying to decrease demand for their own products. The only two I can think of off-the-top are power companies asking residents to use less electricity during peak consumption times and casinos providing 800 numbers for those with gambling problems. I’m not sure the second example even qualifies.

Budweiser does, however, have a history of prodding people to ‘drink responsibly.’ Over 100 years ago, the company used the tagline “Budweiser Means Moderation,” and about 35 years ago the firm’s ads challenged consumers to “Know When to Say When.” The current “Drink Wiser” campaign, which kicked-off last year, urges customers to “hydrate between Buds.” Also, beers bought in certain locations between October 21 and November 1 on Drizly entitled drinkers to a $5 Lyft gift card “for a safe ride home.”

So, Budweiser has taken some steps to mitigate overindulgence, but do these measures really make a difference? In a 2008 study, Atkin, McCardle, and Newell found that consumers tended to perceive alcohol moderation advertisements as ambiguous and self-serving. Jones, Hall, and Kypril’s 2017 research produced similar findings: Consumers had difficulty interpreting many of the alcohol industry’s moderation messages.

The results of these studies and similar ones don’t bode well for alcohol moderation messages overall, but perhaps Budweiser’s “Drink Wiser” Halloween photo campaign was an exception. In lieu of research specific to the campaign, it may be helpful to dissect the ads and predict consumers’ likely response. So, here’s this marketer’s assessment of the campaign using communication's well-known AIDA model (attention, interest, desire, action):

The ads’ colorful and unusual photos of costumed people, probably grabbed viewers’ attention.
The curious-looking pictures likely also kept viewers’ interest, as they wondered why the bizarre subjects were posing for the camera and what they had to do with Budweiser, whose large logo was prominently displayed with the ad copy, i.e., more than just a small tag at the bottom.
The use of a humor appeal probably impacted viewer’s interpretations of the ads and ultimately their desire to accept the ads’ supposed call for drinking in moderation. The funny looking photos likely acted as “dissonant visuals,” serving to counteract the ads’ serious message. One might even say the comical pics made light of drunk driving.
What’s more, with the tagline “Drink Wiser” appearing just inches below the large Budweiser logo, it’s conceivable that consumers interpreted the ads’ call-to-action not to ‘drink smarter’ but simply to ‘drink Budweiser.’ In other words, people may have seen “Wiser” simply as an abbreviation for Budweiser, in the same way Pizza Hut is sometimes call “the Hut.”

So, were Budweiser’s Halloween-themed mugshot ads effective in deterring irresponsible drinking? I don’t know, but to the Gen Ys and Gen Zs to whom to the campaign most likely appealed, the ads probably just seemed like another application of the irreverent humor brands often try to use to attract young consumers to their products. In other words, the supposed deterrent actually may have acted more as a purchase stimulant.

It’s hard to judge motives—Did Budweiser really want to keep people from irresponsible alcohol consumption, or was it secretly banking on higher Halloween-holiday beer sales? We don’t know, but analysis of the ads makes it seem improbable that people were inspired to “drink wiser” as much as they were reminded to ‘drink Budweiser.’ As a result, the company’s likely misinterpreted mugshots are a snapshot of “Single-Minded Marketing.”

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Kidfluencers

10/5/2019

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by David Hagenbuch, founder of Mindful Marketing & author of Honorable Influence

Do you remember doing ‘connect the dots’ as a kid? You probably liked seeing a picture appear as you drew lines from one number to the next. Today’s online influencer marketing makes it difficult even for adults to connect the dots between product users and corporate sponsors. Imagine how hard it is for kids, who some companies intentionally target, to put together a picture of that influence.

Influencer marketing, or influence marketing, “is a form of social media marketing involving endorsements and product placements from influencers, people and organizations who possess an expert level of knowledge and/or social influence in their respective fields.”

Although influencer marketing has been around for ages with celebrities (movie stars, TV personalities, famous athletes, etc.) endorsing products, it’s different now because social media have democratized the process. Now anyone with a significant following on Instagram or other popular platform can become a paid product ambassador.

One of the most popular influencers is a 7-year old named Ryan Kaji who has an astounding 32.3 billion views on his YouTube channel Ryan Toy Review. His 21.7 million subscribers ‘tune in’ to watch him unpack and play with a wide variety of toys provided by sponsors such as Hasbro and Walmart.

However, Ryan’s YouTube channel is just part of his ever-expanding commercial influence. His parents also record Ryan and his younger siblings’ visits to commercial tourist attractions, like Legoland California, for Ryan’s Family Review. In addition, Ryan stars in a Nickelodeon cable and online series called Ryan’s Mystery Playdate. Other signs of his great popularity are branded products, including a “a Ryan Kaji action figure, T-shirts and a plastic dinnerware set.”

Ryan Kaji is far from the only “Kidfluencer”; however, and he’s not close to the youngest. For instance, a four-year old named Samia has over 203,000 YouTube subscribers and 143,000 followers on Instagram, where she attracts paid promotions from HomeStyle Harvest chicken nuggets and Crayola, among other brands.

Then there’s Kyle Fisher’s two-year-old identical twins, Taytum and Oakley, who have over 2 million Instagram followers. Advertisers like Mattel pay between $10,000 and $20,000 to sponsor a single post featuring Fisher’s daughters.

Of course, children have long been cast in commercials, which many of us older adults remember when we were kids. Who can forget young actor Tommy Okon asking Pittsburgh Steeler Mean Joe Greene, “Do you want my Coke?” There are some important differences, however, with today’s Kidfluencers.

First, the Internet is still like the ‘Wild West’ in terms ‘lawlessness.’ Thanks to the Federal Trade Commission (FTC), advertisers on television and radio must abide by rules that separate program content (the show) from commercial content (the ads) and that limit a character’s or program host’s use of promotions or product placement, but the Internet has no such restrictions.

So, there’s not much to stop the families of Kidfluencers from blurring the lines between programs and ads. Unlike when we watch traditional television that has distinct commercial breaks, online media often blend the two together such that influencers like Ryan Kaji are playing with and promoting sponsored products at the same time.

That blending leads to the second issue, mentioned above. Even adults can have a hard time distinguishing an unbiased product user from a paid endorser. Kids often have no concept that another child might only be playing with a toy online because his/her family received it for free or because they’re being paid to promote the product.

Children tend to take what they see and hear at face value. They’re unfamiliar with the notion of ulterior motives. As a result, kids can be easily misled.

I gained a sense of this vulnerability while teaching classes in Advertising Ethics for about a decade. Each year I was able to have my college students spend a little time talking with much younger students (sometimes just 4-6 years old) about advertising. Although the kindergarten-age kids could recognize almost any consumer-products brand from its logo, very few could explain what advertising was or why we had it.

Josh Golin, the executive director of the Campaign for a Commercial-Free Childhood, affirmed those observations by saying that it’s not until they’re 8 or 9 years old that most children recognize advertising. Similarly, in a complaint it filed against Ryan Toy Review, the nonprofit organization Truth in Advertising contended that preschoolers can’t differentiate an unbiased product review from a commercial.

Deception of young consumers isn’t the only potential ethical issue involving Kidfluencers. There’s the question of whether it’s right for parents to make their children promote products and whether such promotion constitutes work that might be subject to child labor laws.

But, back to the original issue: Although, Kidfluencers are very effective at ‘moving product,’ the deception used to accomplish those ends plays on the inexperience of some of society’s most vulnerable consumers--children. So, connecting the dots, the use of kids to influence the consumer behavior of other kids makes a picture of “Single-Minded Marketing.”

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Artificial Endorsers

7/26/2019

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by David Hagenbuch, founder of Mindful Marketing & author of Honorable Influence

Have you ever thought you saw someone you knew, went to talk to them, but found it wasn’t them? That’s embarrassing. Or, have you ever thought ‘someone’ was a real person, only to realize they weren’t? This second kind of mistaken identity will become more common if one particular promotional trend continues.

In an age of artificial intelligence and deepfakes, it’s not surprising that some brands are promoting themselves using people who aren’t people. Enter “virtual influencers”—digitally-developed endorsers who plug products not because they like the brand and want the money but because they were programmed to promote.

Perhaps the best known virtual spokesperson is someone/thing named Miquela Sousa, or Lil Miquela. From the splattering of freckles across her youthful face to her complaints of cold temperatures outside, Miquela looks and acts like a real person; however, she’s actually an avatar, the creation of Brud, “a mysterious L.A.-based start-up of ‘engineers, storytellers, and dreamers’ who claim to specialize in artificial intelligence and robotics.”

The company crafted Miquela’s persona to be that of a “19-year-old Brazilian-American model, musical artist, and influencer” who appears to hang out in hip New York and Los Angeles locales, with real-life celebrities. The avatar’s carefully curated personal brand has made her alluring to millions of real-life fans, including more than 43,000 subscribers on YouTube and over 1.6 million followers on Instagram.

That large of a following also makes Miquela highly marketable, which, after all, is her reason for existence. Although, a computer generated influencer (CGI) can’t really use brands, she showcases ones such as Coach, Balenciaga, Ouai, and Proenza Schouler. The promotional potential of Miquela and her fellow avatars (e.g., Blawko) certainly is real, as further evidenced by Brud recently raising $6 million in venture capital and Time placing Miquela among its “25 Most Influential People on the Internet” along with the likes of Kayne West and Kylie Jenner.

But, potentially big fan-bases are not the only attractive attributes of virtual influencers compared to real ones. Digital beings don’t need to be paid. Contrast those zeros to the seven-year $75 million sneaker endorsement deal basketball phenom Zion Williamson just signed with Nike.

Virtual influencers also can be precisely controlled to do and say exactly what advertisers desire, ‘on- and off-camera.’ Contrast that certainty with the risk inherent with real human endorsers, such as Tiger Woods, whose 2009 sex scandal caused two of his biggest sponsors, Gatorade and AT&T, to bail.

There seems to be real value in using unreal influencers, but as this blog always suggests, just because marketers can, doesn’t necessarily mean that they should. So, the question: Is it ethical for organizations to employ virtual influencers?

The thought of “employment” raises an immediate concern: Will digital endorsers put real ones out of work? It seems that some displacement is inevitable: If Miquela is promoting Coach, the brand probably doesn’t need as many flesh-and-blood models or actors.

On the other hand, there are also now new jobs. Someone needs to create and manage the digital personas. So, an argument about unemployment can be countered by the age-old logic that people always need to adapt their job skills in order to keep pace with new technology and not be displaced by it: To stay employed, people who dug holes with shovels needed to learn to drive backhoes and bulldozers.

For what it’s worth, my prediction is that virtual influencers will proliferate to a point of saturation, after which the pendulum will swing back in the opposite direction, at least somewhat, as consumers reaffirm their appreciation for real people’s authenticity, genuineness, and unmanipulated humanity.

For me, the biggest ethical concern surrounding virtual influencers is the potential for deception. As consumers, it’s critical that we recognize when someone is sharing an objective, unbiased recommendation versus one with some corporate connection. There’s not necessarily anything wrong with paid endorsement, but consumers need to know when they’re experiencing it so they can raise their perceptual defenses and properly interpret the message.

For example, as a college professor, I often speak with prospective students and their families about their college choice. They expect me to describe my school in a positive light and understand that I can’t be completely objective. However, if in some social setting I happened to have a conversation with a family, without revealing my association, they might gain an unreasonably favorable impression of my school because they didn’t know that the institution I described was my employer.

For virtual influencers, the potential for deception is different in one way but very similar in another. For instance, when Prada used Miquela to promote its 2018 collection, people probably recognized the ads as corporate messages, not an average consumer’s unbiased recommendation. However, to the extent that viewers didn’t realize Miquela was 100% digital, they may have been deceived.

The reason is that there’s a reasonable expectation that endorsers, whether paid or unpaid, either use the product they’re promoting or have some special knowledge about it that makes them reliable sources of information. For example, I earned my bachelor’s degree from Messiah College and have taught there for nearly 20 years, which should give me some credibility as an endorser. It’s impossible, however, for a virtual influencer to use or otherwise experience the brands they advocate because virtual influencers are not real.

When we see a human endorser in an ad, we assume they’re getting paid, which lessens their perceived objectivity. Still, even if they’re like Zion Williamson and receiving a boatload of money for their support, it’s reasonable to think that they wouldn’t risk their reputation with a brand in which they didn’t believe. People who can command significant sponsorship dollars usually have various endorsement options and can choose reputable ones.

Although Miquela can be pictured wearing or holding Prada products, she can never experience them because she isn’t human. But, if people believe she is real, they can incorrectly assume that her actual interaction with the brand allows her to make sound judgments about it. In short, consumers can be deceived.

Some may be thinking, “But, virtual endorsers really aren’t new, so hasn’t the potential for deception existed for decades?”

It’s true that companies have been using various types of animated endorsers for a long time, e.g., the Pillsbury Dough Boy, Tony the Tiger, the Energizer Bunny. In the 1950s, Pepsodent created Susy Q, an original cartoon character, to promote its toothpaste. More recently, some companies are offering to create unique animated spokespeople that even small businesses can afford.

The difference is the technology used to create Miquela and similar virtual influencers is much more sophisticated, making it increasingly difficult for consumers to distinguish who’s human and who’s not. Therein, again, lies the problem.

When we can tell that animated brand ambassadors aren’t real, we’re under no illusion that they use the products. However, when we believe a spokesperson is human, we assume that they use the product or have some special knowledge about it, which may give us unwarranted confidence in their recommendation.

It’s fine for organizations to use animated beings to promote their products, but they should be careful not to mislead consumers by making the influencers so real that they seem human when they’re not. That kind of deception may sell products but it is really “Single-Minded Marketing.”

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What Does "Meat" Mean?

6/1/2019

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by David Hagenbuch, founder of Mindful Marketing & author of Honorable Influence

Girl Scout: “Is this [lemonade] made from real lemons?”

Wednesday and Pugsley, seated at their lemonade stand: “Yes.”

Girl Scout: “I’ll buy a cup, if you buy a box of my delicious Girl Scout cookies.”

Wednesday: “Are they made from real Girl Scouts?”

This dark humor from the 1991 comedy movie The Addams Family may scare up a few laughs, but it’s actually a good example of the product name debate that has many people asking, “Does a burger have to be meat?” and “What makes milk, milk?”

Hamburgers are to blame for the most recent round of debate. A few weeks ago, Burger King started testing a “meatless Whopper,” a vegetable-based patty that contains heme, “a protein cultivated from soybean roots that mimics the texture of meat.”

Veggie burgers have been around for a long time, but thanks to business partner Impossible Foods, founded in 2011 by Stanford biochemistry professor Patrick Brown, the newest generation of vegetable patties not only taste much more like meat, they even bleed like beef.

Burger King isn’t the only fast food chain seeing potential in a plant-based future. McDonald’s has started selling a McVegan burger and vegan McNuggets in Europe, Del Taco will begin to offer meatless tacos, and White Castle and Red Robin are already serving meatless burgers.

For years, nutritionists have been telling us to eat less meat and more vegetables, so what’s not to like about the growing selection of ‘plant food’? The concern is that the new nomenclature, like the word meatless, confuses consumers.

For instance, Nebraska’s farm groups have lobbied for a more restrictive use of the word meat: “any edible portion of any livestock or poultry, carcass, or part thereof.” As one of the nation’s leaders in commercial red meat production, the state has a real “steak” in ensuring that consumers do not migrate away from ‘real’ meat.

Last October, Missouri became the first state to legislate that anything that doesn’t come from “harvested production livestock or poultry” cannot be called meat. That goes for lab-grown meat, like Finless Foods is creating by taking cells of dead fish, putting them in pretri dishes, and cultivating their division into edible protein.

The dairy industry has faced similar and even more far-reaching name-related challenges. For about the last two decades, producers of traditional cow’s milk have witnessed a surge in competition from the likes of almond, cashew, hemp, oat, rice, and soy “milk.” According to Mintel, dairy milk sales declined by 15% from 2012 to 2017, all while non-dairy milk sales increased by more than 60%, with almond milk grabbing a 64% share of the market.

It was in this context that the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) Commissioner Scott Gottlieb remarked that almond milk shouldn’t be called milk since “an almond does not lactate.” Shortly thereafter, the FDA opened a public comment period, inviting consumers and industry members to share their opinions on the milk-naming debate.

The FDA is justified in asking whether there’s been slippage in the “standards of identity” that ensure consumers understand exactly what they’re purchasing. That’s its job. However, the agency would do well to look back much further than the last 20 years, for instance, to 1626 when Francis Bacon observed that certain plants “have milk in them when they are cut.” Likewise, in the late 1700s, the Encyclopedia Britannica published that “the emulsive liquors of vegetables may be called vegetable milks.”

The fact is, people have been using the word milk to refer to similar-looking white liquids for centuries, if not much longer, from a wide variety of sources. Consider, for instance, milk from coconuts, as well as milk from other animals like goats and camels. Indeed, “nondairy milks [have] abounded in many other cultures across the globe.”

Furthermore, meat and milk are far from the only names that have been extended to describe a broader range of products. Take another common dairy product—butter. Peanut butter is entirely plant-based (no dairy), yet the FDA carved out an exception because the product's creamy texture resembles butter and because few people would be eager to purchase “peanut paste.”

It’s not to say that anything goes, i.e., that industries and companies can feel free to call their products whatever they’d like. However, names needn’t be limited to one narrow product category, provided that they serve at least one of the following legitimate functions:

Identify who makes or sells the product, e.g., Avocados from Mexico, Starbuck’s
State for whom the product is intended, e.g., Children’s Tylenol, Dove for Men
Describe what’s in the product, e.g., wheat bread, whole grain pasta
Identify key product features and/or benefits, e.g., fat-free yogurt, Sketcher’s Relaxed Fit
Describe the product’s consistency, e.g., chunky peanut butter; Silk Soy Milk
State the product’s intended use, e.g., Hamburger Helper; Liquid Plumber

Most importantly, neither the product category name nor the brand name should mislead a reasonable consumer. The labels listed above probably aren’t confusing to you or the vast majority of people who read them because marketers and our culture in general have done good jobs educating us about the words’ meanings

So, most Americans know “meatless” means a product does not contain meat. Likewise, as attorney Justin Person has said, “If a consumer is confused about the source of a product labeled ‘almond milk,’ then he has bigger problems than being confused about which milk to buy.” Reasonable people also know that Girl Scout cookies don’t contain Girl Scouts.

It’s not surprising that the beef and dairy industries want to preserve exclusivity for their product category names. However, given that consumers aren’t confused by broader-based naming and may even be helped by it, it looks like the two industries are doing little more than protecting their own livelihoods, which makes their name-related lobbying “Single-Minded Marketing.”

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Preying on Older People

4/5/2019

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by David Hagenbuch, founder of Mindful Marketing & author of Honorable Influence

As I chatted with prospective students and their parents at a luncheon in our college’s cafeteria, I suspected that something wasn’t going well for one of the families. While others talked and laughed around the table, one mom seemed distracted, checking her phone and whispering with her daughter. Then suddenly she stood up, apologized for needing to make a call, and walked quickly from the room, leaving us to wonder what was wrong.

Sometime later, she returned to the table with a look of relief. After others left, she told me what had happened. Her own mother, a senior citizen, had received a ‘distressed’ phone call from someone claiming to be her grandson, who said he was sick and needed money. Confused but ready to act, the grandmother called and left messages for her son and for her daughter, the mom at our table, who fortunately was able to explain to her mother that someone was trying to trick her.

I told the mom I was very sorry to hear what had happened and was glad she was able to intervene. I also said I could empathize because the same thing had happened to my mother just a couple of years before! Then the real irony of the situation hit me. Here was a family, attending a luncheon to talk with a professor about marketing, all while they became the victims of a ‘telemarketing scam.’ How could their college visit and any interest in marketing be redeemed?

People do some terrible things under the auspices of “marketing.” Granted, most people are probably quick to differentiate this type of telephone scam from any legitimate business; still, these calls and others involving more or less manipulation form a continuum that many likely lump together as telemarketing. Allow me to paint a picture of that spectrum as I see it, then I’ll return to the targeting the older consumers.

On one end of the scale, call it the left, are calls like the one described above, or worse. Some extremely ruthless individuals conduct “virtual kidnappings” in which they contact victims by phone or social media messaging and pretend they have abducted one of their loved ones in order to collect a ransom. Kidnapping is illegal and considered immoral by most rational people, so it’s nonsensical to support it as legitimate business or valid telemarketing. The practice also involves blatant deception and coercion in that the perpetrators lie to their victims and exert pressure to try to force them to act.

On the opposite, or right, end of the continuum are examples like this one: Your bank calls to ask if you’d be interested in a home equity loan or a great rate on a certificate of deposit, etc. You may or may not appreciate such calls, but you do know your bank is a legitimate business that can follow through fairly on its offerings. Furthermore, if product descriptions are accurate and you don’t feel forced to accept them, there is no deception or coercion.

Occupying the middle of the spectrum are a variety of other phone calls with different degrees of deception or coercion. For instance, at our home we regularly receive calls “about our electric bill.” The voicemail messages are vague enough to make me wonder if they’re from our current utility provider, wanting to correct some kind of billing mistake. However, I realize it’s actually some other company, hoping to gain our business.

Those types of calls are probably not coercive, i.e., if I ever spoke with one of their representatives, I could freely choose whether or not to make a switch. The initial calls, however, are deceptive and, therefore, unethical, which is not a good way to begin a business relationship or any other relationship.

Also in the middle of the scale are calls that say your computer’s software is out of date or it memory is running low, etc. Most of us recognize that those claims are untrue and there’s no way such outsiders could know if they were. So, most people see through the deception, ignore the coercion, and dismiss the calls as scams. However, not everyone does.

Not as technologically savvy as those in the younger generations, many older folks are unsure if the supposed computer issues are real or how serious they may be. So, their relative lack of knowledge makes them more easily deceived. Furthermore, concern that something bad may happen to their computer can coerce them to take unneeded action. Fortunately, however, many senior citizens will first call one of their children, grandchildren, or other trusted individual and ask their advice.

Any of us can be duped about products/services that we don’t know well. For older individuals, there’s the added challenge of declining mental and physical faculties. Their minds often aren’t as sharp as they once were. They may not process information as quickly or remember as many details, both of which can negatively affect their decision making.

In addition, declining physical skills further complicate decreased cognitive capabilities. As we age, our vision and hearing decline, which can prevent us from doing things like reading small print on product packages or catching every word a phone caller says. For these reasons older people are particularly vulnerable to illegitimate forms of telemarketing.

That last sentence and my earlier bank example point to my opinion that, despite the many bad examples, there are legitimate forms of telemarketing, namely ones that provide a fair value to consumers, that use honest communication, and that allow freedom in response, all while respecting individuals’ home lives. For instance, someone in need of extra money may appreciate a phone call from their bank informing or reminding them that it offers a good rate on home equity loans.

In contrast, telemarketing that’s fraudulent is against the law. Title 18 of U.S. Code § 1343 identifies such illegal activity as wire fraud, which involves any interstate or foreign commerce that uses electronic communication to gain “money or property by false or fraudulent pretenses, representations, or promises.” Using the phone to scam people is a “common example” of wire fraud. Those found guilty of wire fraud are subject to fines as high as $1 million and up to 30 years in prison.

However, fraudulent telemarketing is not just illegal, it’s also unethical. It’s deceptive to mislead others about who’s calling and the nature of the call. Similarly, it’s coercive to play on people’s emotions and/or to apply unnecessary time pressure in order to force quick action. It’s especially abhorrent to do those things to individuals who are more vulnerable to such tactics.

So, how did this professor try to help marketing save face with a family and young person considering a career in the field? I explained that such occurrences of coercion and deceit don't represent marketing's core tenet of mutually beneficial exchange. At the same time, such examples are good reminders that those of us in marketing need to work harder to distance such illegitimate behavior from proper practice of the discipline.

I also mentioned Mindful Marketing and the possibility of writing a piece related to the incident for the blog. We talked about more typical college visit items afterward, but as the family was leaving, the mom’s attention returned to the telemarketing scam, and she suggested it would be good if I’d write about those issues.

When Gallup presents its annual research about the honesty and ethical standards of various professions, telemarketers typically rank near the bottom of the results. There are legitimate forms of telemarketing, but phone scams aimed at our moms, grandmas, and other older people certainly aren’t among them. Given that these practices hurt those targeted and can land the perpetrators in jail, such schemes make it easy to call them “Mindless Marketing.”

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Paying with Your Personal Brand

3/23/2019

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by David Hagenbuch, founder of Mindful Marketing & author of Honorable Influence

It was shocking to hear the news: TV’s beloved “Aunt Becky” charged with fraud in “the biggest college admissions scam ever prosecuted in the U.S.” Most people understand that a business model based on bribery is wrong, but there’s another angle to this story that's relevant to each of us, as marketers of ourselves.

To summarize the scandal, Lori Loughlin, who played Rebecca Donaldson-Katsopolis on the classic ABC sitcom Full House and the Netflix sequel Fuller House, and starred in the Hallmark's When the Heart Calls, was one of fifty people implicated in the admissions scandal that also netted actress Felicity Huffman, known for her role in ABC’s Desperate Housewives. The mastermind of the manipulation was Rick Singer, CEO of The Key, which promised to help “the wealthiest families in the US” get their children into some of the country’s most prestigious colleges.

Many tutors, SAT prep courses, and other admissions aids honestly and legally help students improve their chances of acceptance to their preferred colleges. So, how did Singer run afoul of the law? He allegedly helped his clients’ children cheat on ACT and SAT tests, and he bribed college athletic department personnel so they would claim that certain students were recruits for their teams, even when some never played the sport in question.

However, perhaps the most devious thing Singer did was create “The Key Worldwide Foundation,” which was supposedly a charity that funded programs for underprivileged children in the U.S. and abroad. In reality, the Foundation served as a front for money-laundering, or a way for the wealthy to pay Singer who then channeled bribes to accomplices on college campus that included USC, Yale, and New York University, among other prestigious schools.

As someone who works in higher education, has one child who recently graduated from college, and has another who is currently making his college decision, the admissions scandal hit close to home. However, the scandal is even more unsettling to me as a marketer.

No, I’m not just talking about what Singer did. His bad decisions to build a business based on cheating and bribery and to operate a fake foundation were certainly appalling and surprising. What was even more amazing to me was the apparent ease in which he secured willing parties to the schemes, not just from the general population but from those representing high society and higher education—people who stereotypically ‘should know better.’

In addition to accomplished actresses Loughlin and Huffman, alleged scandal participants include an array of elite professionals from business, academia, and other fields. Some of the specific individuals implicated, along with their current or former positions, are:

Rudolph Meredith, head women’s soccer coach at Yale University
John Vandemoer, sailing coach at Stanford University
Igor Dvorskiy, director of West Hollywood College Preparatory School
Gordon Ernst, head tennis coach at Georgetown
Donna Heinel, a senior associate athletic director at USC
Jorge Salcedo, the head coach of UCLA men’s soccer
Gordon Caplan, New York attorney and co-chairman of the law firm Willkie Farr & Gallagher
Gregory Colburn, a radiation oncologist in Palo Alto
Robert Flaxman, chief executive and co-founder of Crown Realty & Development, and a Beverly Hills resident
Homayoun Zadeh, associate professor at USC’s Herman Ostrow School of Dentistry and director of the school’s Advanced Program in Periodontology

Why would so many smart and talented people risk their reputations and/or careers to associate with Singer. The motives were likely mixed. Of course, many of the participants were parents who may have been willing to do anything to see their children succeed. Those who accepted bribes, probably wanted the money. Some may have felt pressure to assist for the good of their institution. Maybe some saw or heard of others doing similar things and rationalized ‘there’s safety in numbers.’

Whatever the motive, I doubt that many of the participants, if any, seriously thought that they would get caught. If they did, they probably wouldn’t have participated. Instead, they operated under the delusion that what could be hidden from public view didn’t matter.

That misconception is one of the biggest fallacies of marketing, in general, and personal branding, specifically. In an article I wrote a couple of years ago, I aimed to debunk that myth by suggesting that a personal brand consists of three elements: character, competencies, and communication. I likened the first two components to the layers of a cake and the last one to its icing.

Some individuals erroneously act as if they can overcome flawed character and inferior skills by spreading on a thick layer of overly flattering or even disingenuous communication. Besides being dishonest, this approach only works for so long. Eventually cracks in ‘the cake’ show through the communication. Unfortunately for them and others impacted by their indiscretions, those involved in the college admissions scandal seemed to subscribe to this hollow approach to personal branding.

As I was writing this blog post, my wife shared with me some very sad news. A good friend of ours from early in our marriage had passed away suddenly at home, at the age of 58. Mark Sneff was someone who built his personal brand the right way. Even as he developed his competencies to rise to the top of the HR profession, his character exuded integrity. Mark also was uniquely gifted at communicating “the truth in love”: He could offer an honest critique that felt like a high compliment.

As the outpouring of fond remembrances on his LinkedIn page suggests, Mark was a widely loved individual who many held in high regard. I’m not sure he thought much about personal branding. I am very confident, though, that he never would have resorted to a ruse to advance the educations or careers of his two children, who he loved greatly. Interestingly, Mark was the first person I ever invited to speak to my college classes.

It’s so nice to know people who ‘market themselves’ the right way. The recent college admissions scandal should be a reminder that it only take a moment to destroy a personal brand that took decades to build. Unfortunately, that fact means that Loughlin and all who participated in Singer’s schemes, not only injured themselves and others, they’re also guilty of “Mindless Marketing.”

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Whole Grain Isn't the Whole Story

2/8/2019

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by David Hagenbuch, founder of Mindful Marketing & author of Honorable Influence

You’re at a restaurant with friends and order a pepperoni pizza. The waiter brings the pie, which has a single piece of pepperoni in the middle. Your whole table expresses surprise, to which the server replies, “The pizza has pepperoni, so it is a ‘pepperoni pizza.’” Most people would not appreciate that response, yet that appears to be the tack some food marketers are taking in promoting their whole grain products.

You’ve probably noticed the phrase “whole grain” appearing more and more on product packages, ranging from breakfast cereals to bread. What’s your interpretation when you see “whole grain” on the front of a box? It’s reasonable to assume that all of the product’s grain content comes from whole grains, or at least that whole grain is the primary/first ingredient. However, when you turn the box around to read the Food and Drug Administration’s (FDA) required nutrition and ingredient labeling, there’s often an unsettling surprise.

Many products that promote themselves as being made from “whole grain” actually contain very little whole grain. Instead, their primary ingredient is refined flour, “a pulverized version of what may, at some point, have been a whole grain.” Whole grain contains every part of a grain kernel, “the bran, the germ and the endosperm (the inner most part of the kernel),” whereas the process of refining flour often involves “stripping off the outer layer, where the [more nutritious] fiber is located.”

How is this potentially misleading labeling allowed? Many blame lax directives by the FDA, which last issued “draft guidance on whole grain labeling in 2006.” The FDA, which regulates food labeling, continues to allow food manufacturers to print “whole grain” on the front of their packages without any absolute or relative reference information, i.e., how many grams of whole grain the product contains or how much whole grain there is relative to refined flour.

But, does printing “whole grain” on the front of a food package really deceive consumers? Several significant stakeholder groups believe it does. The Academy of Nutrition and Dietetics has advised the FDA to “require firms to disclose either the percentage of whole grains and refined grains on pack, or the grams of both refined and whole grains per serving.” Similarly, the Center for Science in the Public Interest (CSPI), a Washington DC-based consumer advocacy group, has “urged the agency to make whole grain labeling clearer to consumers.”

Whole grain labeling becomes even more confusing when it appears on “hearty-looking, and sometimes artificially colored,” food items like multigrain or wheat bread. Such mismatched visuals are especially misleading for the elderly.

But, as consumers, don’t we bear responsibility for what we place into our grocery carts and eventually into our mouths? All we need to do is turn the package around and read the FDA-mandated list of ingredients to see where whole grain ranks into the mix.

Consumers should be expected to act rationally and make logical interpretations about product labeling. However, according to the Federal Trade Commission (FTC), it’s unfair to subject people to deceptive messages that a “reasonable consumer” would find misleading. Courts have applied this reasonable consumer standard in ruling against those employing whole grain deception.

The most notable litigation likely has involved one of the best-known snack crackers, Cheez-It, the product of one of the world’s leading food manufacturers--Kellogg’s. In December of 2018, a second circuit appeals court ruled against the packaged-goods icon in a class action lawsuit that claimed deceptive labeling on “Whole Grain” Cheez-Its, a relatively new extension to the company’s flourishing cracker line.

Printed on the front of the box, in large letters, is the phrase “WHOLE GRAIN.” Above those words, in a much smaller font, are the words “MADE WITH.” Meanwhile, a very big (4.5” x 4.5”) and unusually dark Cheez-It serves as a background image. Despite those distinct package design elements, which are very different than those of Original Cheez-Its, when one turns both boxes to the side, the nutrition facts for each list “enriched flour,” not whole grain, as the first ingredient.

It’s not surprising, therefore, that the second circuit appeals court agreed with the consumer plaintiffs, issuing a unanimous decision that said the whole grain cracker’s nutrition facts “contradict, rather than confirm, [Kellogg’s] ‘whole grain’ representations on the front of the box.”

Kellogg’s effort to include more whole grain in its crackers is good in that “scores of studies link the amount of whole grain [people consume] to better health.” So, the 8 grams of whole grain found in a serving of Cheez-Its can help get people closer to the target daily intake of 48 grams of whole grains for adults.

The problem, however, is that when the front of a package promotes “WHOLE GRAIN” in large letters, against a dark background, it’s reasonable for consumers to conclude that the product’s principal ingredient is whole grain. People might even presume that the crackers are somehow healthy, which is a hard argument to make for any snack cracker, including Cheez-Its, which have the following daily values: total fat–10%, saturated fat–8%, sodium–10%, and total carbohydrates–6%.

Consumers should read the labels and exercise good judgment for the products they use. However, food marketers also should help people make right choices and not mislead them with mixed messages on product packages. Their continued prevalence on supermarket shelves suggests that Kellogg’s Whole Grain Cheez-Its are a success, but the cracker's first ingredient really is “Single-Minded Marketing.”