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Tag: millennial pop culture

  • Millennial Mindfuck, Or: Quiet on Set: The Dark Side of Kids TV

    Millennial Mindfuck, Or: Quiet on Set: The Dark Side of Kids TV

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    For many millennials living in the U.S., Nickelodeon wasn’t just a staple of growing up…it quite literally raised a generation. With the curtain presently being pulled back on what went into making the shows (or “creating the content,” as it would now be said) that formed the millennial mind, it seems just another “house of horrors” (as one child actor’s mom put it) to reckon with (along with Britney Spears’ conservatorship being a needless sham). Another unmasking that proves everything that was once presented to the public on the surface is a lie. But it’s an unmasking that has been slowly peeled back over the years, whether via speculation about the inappropriate relationship between Amanda Bynes and Dan Schneider or the slew of viral compilation videos from Schneider-produced shows that feature overtly sexual innuendos (among the most blatant being Jamie Lynn Spears getting squirted in the face in a manner that mimics a cum shot and Ariana Grande stroking a potato like a penis and demanding, “Give up the juice”). 

    In Mary Robertson and Emma Schwartz’s four-part docuseries, Quiet on Set: The Dark Side of Kids TV, these are among the topics explored, along with the urgent need to overhaul the entertainment industry and its handling of child actors. For, despite certain “rules” being in place, like the requirement of a parent or appointed guardian to be on set at all times when their child is working, there remain far too many ways for a child to be abused or taken advantage of. As was the case for many child actors working on Schneider’s sets. Among the most shocking revelations is Drake Bell of Drake & Josh (a series that ran from 2004 to 2007) revealing that he was the one who was sexually assaulted by Nickelodeon-employed dialogue coach Brian Peck during the period between The Amanda Show and the filming of Drake & Josh. Bell was fifteen and sixteen during the time when it happened. 

    Although the court sealed the documents with the name of the child star in question, certain key people (particularly the higher-ups at Nickelodeon and Schneider himself) were aware of the “incident” (a word that puts things mildly). Which was hardly limited to one occasion, but rather, ongoing and relentless. With little opportunity to escape from Brian’s clutches as he had maneuvered his way into every aspect of Bell’s existence, even managing to oust his father, Joe Bell—the only person who could see Peck for what he was (i.e., a creep and a pedo)—from his life by convincing him that Joe would ruin Bell’s career. Naive and inexperienced enough to believe Peck had more knowledge about succeeding in Hollywood, the management of Bell’s career was then deferred to his mother, who let Brian handle most of it, including driving Bell to auditions and then suggesting he simply spend the night instead of being driven all the way back to Orange County and then have to wake up extra early to get to another audition in L.A. 

    As Bell begins to slowly unravel his horror story, he reaches the moment of truth in describing his inevitable abuse. Unable to put into words what happened, Bell told Schwartz, who interviewed him for this portion, “Why don’t you do this? Why don’t you think of the worst stuff that someone can do to somebody as a sexual assault, and that’ll answer your question.” Schwartz was, indeed, instrumental to getting Bell to finally share his story, with Bell remarking, “She was very sensitive, and we kind of became buddies before [the docuseries], and I could tell that she was coming from a genuine place. When we started our back and forth and it wasn’t [from] an angle of, ‘Okay, what do I have to say to get him involved’ and ‘I’ll just say what I need to say to convince him.’ I really felt a comfort with her.” 

    The type of comfort that was obviously lacking from Schneider’s sets. Not only because no one felt safe telling him “no,” but because overtime was frequently an expectation. Especially on the “all-new” All That, with former cast member Kyle Sullivan stating, “The set on All That was dysfunctional. You could just kind of get away with more. Like going overtime in ways that were sort of pushing the envelope.” Former cast member Bryan Hearne adds to that, “They’d be like ‘Hey, can you stay an extra however-long?’ ‘I guess, sure.’ You kind of look at your mom like, ‘We’re ignoring child labor laws again, do you know that?’ All right, let’s shoot.” Indeed, Hearne’s mother, Tracey Browne, is the one who brands the network a house of horrors in Quiet on Set, both upset that Hearne was ousted from the series after just one season, but relieved to see him released from the toxic environment that would turn out to be more toxic than she ever could have fathomed. In fact, it was parents like Brown who often “ruined” their kids’ careers for being “too involved” or “too concerned.” That isn’t something Schneider could abide on his dictatorial sets. And since many parents wanted their children to succeed, they went along with it. Much as the parents who let their children sleep over at Michael Jackson’s house. 

    Amanda Bynes’ parents, Lynn and Rick, ostensibly had a go-with-the-flow attitude as well. What with Bynes instantly becoming Schneider’s “new favorite” and often spending plenty of time alone with him in his office while others remained on set. According to former All That cast member Leon Frierson, “There would be times where Amanda would just be missing, and a lot of times we would just hear that she would be with Dan pitching ideas and writing.” Regardless of whether or not Schneider managed to do something sexually inappropriate during those countless hours spent alone with her, there’s no arguing that someone of his age and power position should not have ever been totally alone with Bynes. As for the potentially sexual nature of their dynamic, resurfaced 2010 tweets from Bynes’ account when she was going by Ashley Banks state the disturbing information, “Can you imagine having an abortion at 13 because your boss impregnated you.” While not everyone is convinced that the account was Bynes’, something about that declaration rings eerily true based on everything viewers are shown on Quiet on Set—especially the clearly rampant pedophilia at Nickelodeon (side note: another documentary [released in 2020] called Happy Happy Joy Joy dissects Ren and Stimpy’s creator John Kricfalusi, and the eventual sexual allegations against him). 

    Schneider’s perverse sense of humor (if that’s what one wants to call it) was also deeply rooted in the “thrill” of getting overtly sexual innuendos past the censors. For example, one idea that Dan came up with and certainly not Amanda was to create a character named Penelope Taynt. The word “taint” being a reference to the area between the penis and the anus. Per Jenny Kilgen, one of two female writers on The Amanda Show who were illegally asked to share one salary for what would have been given readily to a male writer, Schneider told the writers of that word, “Don’t tell what this word really means. He wanted us to keep that a secret.” Which is one of many reasons why the final statement he gives to Quiet on Set for inclusion as a title card at the end of the show is total bullshit. In it, he assures, “Everything that happened on the shows I ran was carefully scrutinized by dozens of involved adults. All stories, dialogue, costumes and makeup were fully approved by network executives on two coasts. A standards and practices group read and ultimately approved every script, and programming executives reviewed and approved all episodes. In addition, every day on every set, there were always parents and caregivers and their friends watching us rehearse and film.” 

    Obviously, the approval of all his work stemmed not only from his ability to “sneak in the sex elements,” but his immense power at the network. Which was at a level that would never allow him to be questioned. After all, this was their “brilliant” hitmaker, why “intervene” with his “process” when the money kept rolling in?

    Kate Taylor, a journalist for Business Insider, paints the picture of Schneider’s increasing power at Nickelodeon in the final episode, “Too Close to the Sun.” A depiction that knocks Schneider’s response about the whole thing out of the water: “By the late 2000s, Dan had more control than pretty much any showrunner at Nickelodeon. He had created his own little fiefdom.”

    Culture writer Scaachi Koul added, “[His style] really pushed the boundaries of sexualizing young girls.” Cue the cut to a scene of Ariana Grande on Sam & Cat being surrounded by a circle of boys spraying her with their water guns while she laughs and laps it up in a bikini top and shorts, or Tori (Victoria Justice) asking Jade (Elizabeth Gillies), “Wanna get slapped with a sausage?” while holding up an actual sausage on a skewer. Jade leans her cheek toward it and says, “Sure.” Then cue another scene with a joke about being “on the wood” (“I want to be on the wood! What’s the wood? I want to be on it”).

    As the episode then pushes into the Zoey 101 era, a costumer for the show who chooses to keep her face off-camera notes, “I always thought Dan had a little bit of an arrested development and he was like that boy that wanted the cute girl to like him.” Based on this endless barrage of examples from his shows that parade these “jokes” that usually degrade the girl at the center of them, that theory holds plenty of weight. 

    In another segment, Mike Denton, a cameraman for iCarly, Sam & Cat and Victorious, commented, “In my mind, a kids’ show should be exactly what it is: a kids’ show. And sometimes there were scenes where there was a prop that was like, ‘Hmm, that could be a sexual innuendo.’” Complete with melons being held up to one’s chest, sucking on pickles, a latex glove blown up to look like a nipple-laden udder—we’re talking the gamut. And then there is Schneider’s well-known fetish for close-ups on feet and tongues licking various objects. “Was anyone able to say anything—?” “Oh no, no. This is, it’s Dan’s baby.” Again, this speaks to the immense power Schneider had over the network. Whatever he said went, and he made them too much money for them to pull at any very glaring threads. 

    “Dan was Nickelodeon’s golden boy,” Koul confirms. “And even if he and the network were at odds, he had the power to push back. It was very hard to say anything to him.” Even and especially when it came to the “online extras” that were released during the Victorious era. Namely, videos of Ariana Grande licking/biting her own foot, putting tomatoes into a bra and pouring a bottle of water all over her face (because, needless to say, Schneider likes cum shots). In effect, these videos come across more like OnlyFans content than kid-friendly fare. 

    In terms of Schneider’s conceptualization for Victorious, his ominous take was: “If there is anything I’ve learned about kids today—and I’m not saying this is good or bad—it’s that they all want to be stars.” So “desperately,” in fact, that they would endure the abuse of working for Schneider. As though to drive home the point that Nickelodeon in general and Schneider’s series in particular were a breeding ground for abusers (and, oh yeah, pedophiles), Łukasz Gottwald a.k.a. Dr. Luke provided the theme song for the show, and undoubtedly greased the wheels to get Kesha to appear on it (when she was still Ke$ha) in 2011. Just three years later, at the beginning of 2014, Kesha would blaze a trail for blowing the whistle on abusive men by checking into rehab for her eating disorder, which she mentioned was mostly due to the verbal lashings she suffered from Dr. Luke telling her things like how was the size of “a fucking refrigerator.” 

    By the end of the year, the extent of Dr. Luke’s abuse was further revealed when Kesha filed a civil suit against her longtime producer for “infliction of emotional distress, sex-based hate crimes and employment discrimination.” If only some of the Nickelodeon stars and staff had been able to do the same. But in 2014, it can’t be overstated how groundbreaking Kesha’s announcement actually was. After all, this was the same year that Schneider was honored at the Nickelodeon Kids’ Choice Awards with a Lifetime Achievement Award. This in spite of all the open secrets and whisperings about his behavior that had gone on for decades at this point. In this regard, there’s certainly no denying the Harvey Weinstein parallels to Schneider—complete with asking women for massages. While Schneider “at least” didn’t do so after cornering them in a hotel room, it was a different kind of degradation to be asked to do such a thing in front of so many people. Not to mention the implication that Schneider didn’t value the actual work these women were employed to do on the set (i.e., wardrobe and costuming). 

    Schneider’s repeated ability to bake sexual and debasing content into his shows not only went unchecked, but undoubtedly influenced an entire generation of unsuspecting child viewers who were, at the time, too innocent to read into what they were seeing. Of course, a spokesperson for Schneider claims that it’s only perverted “adult minds” that would think such a thing, insisting, “Unfortunately, some adults project their adult minds onto kids’ shows, drawing false conclusions about them.” Um no, the conclusions are pretty clear. And there’s no doubt that this content was able to slip through the cracks precisely because, for many kids watching, these shows were their “caretaker,” their “babysitter” when there weren’t any adults around. Just as there seemed to be no adults around on the set of Schneider’s various series. 

    “Who is sexual innuendo for on a kids show?” Koul ominously asks at what point. The only answer can be, well, pervs and pedophiles. Like the very people who worked on and created these shows. Because it wasn’t just Schneider and Peck who turned out to be of dubious intent in their dealings with children, but also Jason Handy (of all the last names), a production assistant/self-described “full-blown” pedophile, and Ezel Channel, a man who was already registered as a sex offender when he was hired to work at Nickelodeon’s Burbank lot. Subsequently, he brought an underage boy to that lot and abused him there.

    As for Schneider’s attempt to “make good” with what amounts to a twenty-minute deflection posing as a mea culpa, Alexa Nikolas of Zoey 101 said it best when she responded, “Where’s a phone call of an apology? How come you can do all of this, how can everyone do all of this but not reach out to the person that they hurt?” Drake Bell made a similar assessment about Nickelodeon’s public apology, deeming it “pretty empty.” 

    As for millennials who ever dare to rewatch any of these series in the present, they might as well have the same disclaimer as Quiet on Set does before each episode: “This series investigates the abuses experienced by children from the adults they were expected to trust.” In a way, the same statement can be applied to millennials who were expected to trust the generation of adults that created the current climate (literally and figuratively).

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • Gen Z Is to Cady Heron as Millennials Are to Regina George, Or: Does Mean Girls 2024 Make Gen Z the New Queen Bee? Hardly.

    Gen Z Is to Cady Heron as Millennials Are to Regina George, Or: Does Mean Girls 2024 Make Gen Z the New Queen Bee? Hardly.

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    For those who applaud it, any contempt expressed for the latest iteration of Mean Girls is likely to be met with the ageist rebuke of how it’s probably because you’re a millennial (granted, some millennials might be enough of a traitor to their own birth cohort to lap up this schlock). As in: “Sorry you don’t like it, bitch, but it’s Gen Z’s turn now. You’re just jealous.” The thing is, there’s not anything to be jealous of here, for nothing about this film does much to truly challenge or reinvent the status quo of the original. Which, theoretically, should be the entire point of redoing a film. Especially a film that has been so significant to pop culture. And not just millennial pop culture, but pop culture as a whole. Mean Girls, indeed, has contributed an entire vocabulary and manner of speaking to the collective lexicon. Of course, reinventing the wheel might be the expectation if this was a truly new version. Instead, it is merely a translation of the Broadway musical that kicked off in the fall of 2017, right as another cultural phenomenon was taking shape: the #MeToo movement. 

    This alignment with the repackaging of Mean Girls as something that a new generation could latch onto and relate with seemed timely for the heralding of a new era that not only abhorred flagrant sexual abuse against women, but also anything unpleasant whatsoever. It quickly became clear that a lot of things could be branded as “unpleasant.” Even some of the most formerly minute “linguistic nuances.” This would soon end up extending to any form of “slut-shaming” or “body-shaming.” Granted, Fey was already onto slut-shaming being “over” when she tells the junior class in the original movie,  “You all have got to stop calling each other sluts and whores. It just makes it okay for guys to call you sluts and whores.” (They still seem to think it’s okay, by the way.)

    Having had such “foresight,” Fey was also game to update and tweak a lot of other “problematic” things. From something as innocuous as having Karen say that Gretchen gets diarrhea on a Ferris wheel instead of at a Barnes & Noble (clearly, not relevant enough anymore to a generation that gets any reading advice from “BookTok”) to removing dialogue like, “I don’t hate you because you’re fat. You’re fat because I hate you” to doing away entirely with that plotline about Coach Carr (now played by Jon “Don Draper” Hamm) having sexual relationships with underage girls.

    What Fey has always been super comfortable with (as most people have been), however, is ageist humor (she has plenty of anti-Madonna lines to that effect throughout 30 Rock). For example, rather than Gretchen (Bebe Wood) telling her friends that “fetch” is British slang like she does in 2004, she muses that she thinks she saw it in an “old movie,” “maybe Juno.” Because yes, everything and everyone is currently “old” in Gen Z land, though 2007 (the year of Juno’s release) was seventeen years ago, not seventy. This little dig at “old movies” is tantamount to that moment in 2005’s Monster-in-Law when Viola Fields (Jane Fonda) has to interview a pop star (very clearly modeled after Britney Spears) named Tanya Murphy (Stephanie Turner) for her talk show, Public Intimacy. Finding it difficult to relate to Tanya, Viola briefly brightens when the Britney clone says, “I love watching really old movies. They’re my favorite.” Viola nudges, “Really? Which ones?” Tanya then pulls a “Mean Girls 2024 Gretchen” by replying, “Well, um, Grease and Grease II. Um, Benji, I love Benji. Free Willy, um, Legally Blonde…uh The Little Mermaid.” By the time Tanya says Legally Blonde (four years “old” at the time of Monster-in-Law’s release), that’s about as much as Viola can take before she’s set off (though Tanya blatantly showcasing her lack of knowledge about Roe v. Wade is what, at last, prompts Viola’s physical violence). Angourie Rice, who plays a millennial in Senior Year, ought to have said something in defense of Juno, but here she’s playing the inherently ageist Gen Zer she is. Albeit a “geriatric” one who isn’t quite passing for high school student age. Not the way Rachel McAdams did at twenty-five while filming Mean Girls. 

    To that point, Lindsay Lohan was seventeen years old during the production and theater release of Mean Girls, while Angourie Rice was twenty-two (now twenty-three upon the movie’s theater release). Those five years make all the difference in lending a bit more, shall we say, authenticity to being a teenager. Mainly because, duh, Lohan was an actual teenager. And yes, 2004 was inarguably the height of her career success. Which is why she clings on to Mean Girls at every opportunity (complete with the Mean Girls x Wal-Mart commercial). Thus, it was no surprise to see her “cameo” by the end of the film, where she takes on the oh so significant role of Mathlete State Championship moderator, given a few notable lines (e.g., “Honey, I don’t know your life”—something that would have landed better coming from Samantha Jones) but largely serving as a reminder of how much better the original Mean Girls was and that the viewer is currently watching a dual-layered helping of, “Oh how the mighty have fallen.”

    While the musical angle is meant to at least faintly set the 2024 film edition apart from the original, it’s clear that Tina Fey, from her schizophrenic viewpoint as a Gen Xer, has trouble toeing the line between post-2017 “sensitivity” and maintaining the stinging tone of what was allowed by 2004 standards. Although Gen Z is known for being “bitchy” and speaking in a manner that echoes the internet-speak amalgam of gay men meets AAVE, any attempt at “biting cuntery” is in no way present at the same level it was in 2004’s Mean Girls. And a large part of that isn’t just because “you can’t say shit anymore,” but also because the meanness of the original Regina George is completely washed out and muted. This compounded by the fact that Reneé Rapp is emblematic of a more “body positive” Regina. In other words, she’s more zaftig than the expected Barbie shape of millennial Regina. Perhaps this is why any acerbic comments on Regina’s part about other people’s looks are noticeably lacking. For example, in the original, Regina tells Cady over the phone, in reference to Gretchen (Lacey Chabert), “Cady, she’s not pretty. I mean, that sounds bad, but whatever.” Regina might say the same of the downgraded looks of the Mean Girls cast as a whole… Let’s just say, gone are the days of the polish and glamor once present in teen movies. And yet, there is still nothing “real” about what’s presented here in Mean Girls 2024. Because, again, it struggles too much with the balancing act of trying to be au courant with the fact that it was created during a time when people (read: millennials) could withstand such patent “meanness.”

    In the climate of now, where bullying is all but a criminal offense resulting in severe punishment, Mean Girls no longer fits in the high school narrative of the present. This is something that the aforementioned Senior Year gets right when Stephanie (Rebel Wilson) returns to high school as thirty-seven-year-old and finds that Gen Z seems to care little about the rules of social hierarchy she knew so well as a teenage millennial. And the rules Regina George’s mom likely knew as well. Alas, Mrs. George becomes a pale imitation of Amy Poehler’s rendering, with Busy Philipps trying her best to make the role “frothy,” even when she warns Regina and co. to enjoy their youth because it will never get any better than it is right now for them (something Gen Z clearly believes based on an obsession with people being “old” that has never been seen to this extent before). The absence of her formerly blatant boob job also seems to be an arbitrary “fix” to the previous standards of beauty that were applauded and upheld in the Mean Girls of 2004 (hell, even the “fat girl” who sees Regina has gained some extra padding on her backside is the first to mock her by shouting in front of everyone, “Watch where you’re going, fat ass!”). 

    To boot, the curse of having to “update” things automatically entails the presence of previously unavailable technology. This, of course, takes away from the bombastic effect of Regina scattering photocopies of the Burn Book pages throughout the entire school, instead placing the book in the entry hallway to be “discovered.” And yes, the fact that the Gen Z Plastics would be using a tactile object such as this is given a one-line explanation by Regina when she asks if they made the book during the week their phones were taken away. Again proving how this “translation” doesn’t hold the same weight (no fat-shaming pun intended) or impact as before. 

    More vexingly still, without the indelible voiceovers from Cady, the movie becomes a hollow shell of itself, and not just because it’s now a musical lacking the punch of, at the very least, some particularly memorable lyrics (and no, “Not My Fault” playing in the credits isn’t much of a prime example of that either). And so, those who remember the gold standard of the original movie will have to settle for conjuring up the voiceovers themselves while watching (e.g., “I know it may look like I’d become a bitch, but that was only because I was acting like a bitch” and “I could hear people getting bored with me. But I couldn’t stop. It just kept coming up like word vomit”). But perhaps Fey felt that the “storytelling device” of  Janis ʻImi’ike (Auliʻi Cravalho)—formerly Janis Ian—and Damian Hubbard (Jaquel Spivey)—formerly just Damian—telling it through what is presumed to be a TikTok video (this, like Senior Year, mirroring a trope established by Easy A) would be enough to both “modernize” the movie (along with Cady being raised by a single mom instead of two married parents) and compensate for its current lack of signature voiceovers.

    Some might point out that there’s simply no room for voiceovers in a musical without making the whole thing too clunky. Which brings one to the question of why a musical version instead of a more legitimate reboot had to be made. Well, obviously, the answer is: money. Knowing that the same financial success of the musical would be secured by an effortless transition to film. One that ageistly promises in the trailer: “Not your mother’s Mean Girls.” Apart from the fact that it doesn’t deliver at all on any form of “raunch” that might be entailed by that tagline, as Zing Tsjeng of The Guardian pointed out, “Your mother’s? Tina Fey’s teen comedy was released nineteen years ago. Unless my mother was a child bride, I’m not sure the marketing department thought this one through.” 

    But of course they did. And what they thought was, “Let’s throw millennials under the bus like Regina and focus our money-making endeavors on a fresher audience.” That fresh audience being totally unschooled in the ways in which Mean Girls is a product of its time. And so, is it really supposed to be “woke” to change the indelible “fugly slut” line to “fugly cow”? As though fat-shaming is more acceptable than slut-shaming (which also occurs when Karen [Avantika] is derided by both Regina and Gretchen for having sex with eleven different “partners”—the implication perhaps being that maybe some of them weren’t boys). And obviously, Regina saying, “I know what homeschool is, I’m not retarded” had to go. The phrase “social suicide” is also apparently out (even though Olivia Rodrigo is happy to reference it in “diary of a homeschooled girl”). In general, all “strong” language has been eradicated. Something that becomes particularly notable in the “standoff” scene between Janis and Cady after the former catches her having a party despite saying she would be out of town. In this manifestation of the fight, gone are the harshly-delivered lines, “You’re a mean girl, Cady. You’re a bitch!”

    Despite its thud-landing delivery, the messaging of Mean Girls remains the same. Or, to quote the original Cady (evidently an honorary Gen Zer with this zen anti-bullying stance), “Making fun of Caroline Krafft wouldn’t stop her from beating me in this contest. Calling somebody else fat won’t make you any skinnier, calling someone stupid doesn’t make you any smarter. And ruining Regina George’s life definitely didn’t make me any happier. All you can do in life is try to solve the problem in front of you.” Alas, Fey doesn’t solve the problem of bridging millennial pop culture into what little there is of Gen Z’s. At the end of Mean Girls 2024, the gist of Cady’s third-act message becomes (as said by Janis): “Even if you don’t like someone, chances are they still want to just coexist. So get off their dick.”

    The thing is, Mean Girls 2024 can’t coexist (at least not on the same level) with Mean Girls. It’s almost like Cady Heron trying to be the new Regina George. That is to say, it just doesn’t work, and ends up backfiring spectacularly (though not from a financial standpoint, which is all that ultimately matters to most). Unfortunately, when Cady tells Damian at the end of 2004’s Mean Girls, “Hey, check it out. Junior Plastics” and then gives the voiceover, “And if any freshmen tried to disturb that peace…well, let’s just say we knew how to take care of it [cue the fantasy of the school bus running them over],” she added, “Just kidding.” And she was. Otherwise the so-called junior Plastics of Mean Girls 2024 wouldn’t be here, disturbing the millennial peace.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • Oliver Quick Joins the Millennial “Villain” Hall of Fame

    Oliver Quick Joins the Millennial “Villain” Hall of Fame

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    While pop culture has been eager to put a spotlight on a number of real-life millennial villains (including Mark Zuckerberg via The Social Network, Elizabeth Holmes via The Dropout and Anna Delvey via Inventing Anna) in recent years, Emerald Fennell decided to create an “evil” millennial to outdo them all (even, perhaps, fellow fictional millennials Danni Sanders from Not Okay and Dory Sief from Search Party). His name, of course, is Oliver Quick, and he’s portrayed with razor-sharp villainousness by none other than current millennial golden boy Barry Keoghan. Fashioning him in the dual role of protagonist/antagonist, Fennell’s ode to Evelyn Waugh, Saltburn, commences in fall of 2006, when Oliver is just beginning his tenure at Oxford. 

    An outcast from the get-go, his only “comrade” by default becomes Michael Gavey (Ewan Mitchell), who calls Oliver out as a fellow “Norman No-Mates” when he sits down across from him at that first posh-looking dinner in the dining hall. Michael’s social ineptitude and obsession with showing off his mathematical prowess, however, makes Oliver have a Claire Standish (Molly Ringwald) in The Breakfast Club epiphany when she says, “I know it’s detention, but…I don’t think I belong in here.” Nor does Oliver feel that he belongs with someone so lame and unglamorous as Michael. Thus, by Christmas, it seems he can endure no more of this bullshit, this social exile and decides to take matters into his own hands to deviate from the outsider path he’s on.

    This, indeed, is what the viewer unearths by the third-act reveal. That his entire “happenstance” encounter with the ultra popular and privileged Felix Catton (Jacon Elordi) was just the first in a series of his machinations to cut Felix and his ilk down to size. After all, as he later admits to Felix’s mother, Elspeth (Rosamund Pike), on the deathbed he created for her, “I hated him.” He then adds, “I hated all of you.” This statement seeming to apply not just to the Cattons specifically, but all rich people in general. Particularly for their lack of hard work (because, needless to say, it’s not that hard to “inherit”). Whereas, as Oliver points out to a comatose Elspeth, he actually knows how to work, and did just that in order to procure the palatial Saltburn residence. Hence, all that preplanning and manufacturing of scenarios to get into Felix’s good graces so as to be invited to Saltburn in the first place. And for the entire summer no less. 

    A summer that would initially seem so carefree not just because Oliver found himself living as a courtesan in a modern-day Versailles scenario, with Felix acting as Louis and Marie rolled into one, but because it was the summer of 2007. An idyllic period (unless you were Britney Spears) right before the financial crisis of 2008 that would not only affect millennials freshly graduating from college for years to come on the job prospect scene, but also force rich people to “rebrand” in a way that has been the gold standard ever since: highlighting how hard they work for their money. This despite everyone, Oliver included, knowing full well that one does not actually “work” for generational wealth (no matter how many cookware lines Paris Hilton puts out to prove she does “so much,” ignoring the fact that, yeah, in order to do so much, you need some fuckin’ startup capital). It’s simply the fortunate boon that comes with having one family member many decades back who happened to be at the right place at the right time, getting in on the ground floor of some enterprise that was then new and managing to monopolize the industry by any forceful and unjust means necessary (see also: the railroad barons known as the Big Four). This is what clearly vexes Oliver to no end, and the reason why he feels no compunction for his long game con. 

    In fact, he even blames Elspeth and her rich kind for their “misfortune” in coming across a “predator” such as him by taunting, “You made it so easy. Spoiled dogs sleeping belly-up. No natural predators.” Then correcting, “Well, almost none.” And oh, how well Oliver played the part of “prey” himself. Or at least “innocent” and “wayward” poor boy. Allowing himself to blend in even if still standing out as a graceless member of the “low class” (and, despite the Cattons not knowing Oliver is actually an upper middle classer, they would undoubtedly still view that category as one and the same with all the rest of the rabble). 

    The significance of the mid-00s time period, for Fennell, isn’t just about the fact that she’s a millennial who lived through its heyday as well, but about showcasing the dawning of an era wherein the “millennial grift”—consisting primarily of building one’s identity on a house of cards—first began to form (as it did for Elizabeth Holmes circa 2004). This being founded on the bedrock of pretending to be someone you’re not. Of posing as something or someone that will appeal to a surprisingly naive mark. And in the germinal age of social media (hell, for most of 2006, Facebook was still reserved solely for college students with Harvard email accounts), “becoming” someone else, Mr. Ripley-style (and, obviously, Fennell owes a great debt to The Talented Mr. Ripley, in addition to Waugh, for this story, too), was a cinch. Or, at the bare minimum, much more facile than it is now.

    So sure, the summer of 2007 was a carefree one. Not just for a little millennial grifting, but overall as well. ‘Twas the summer of Rihanna’s Good Girl Gone Bad, Justice’s Cross, Kate Nash’s Made of Bricks and M.I.A.’s Kala. And, of course, the entirety of the film is steeped in other millennial pop culture of the day—from Felix’s cousin, Farleigh Start (Archie Madekwe), wearing a “Dump Him” t-shirt à la Britney in 2002 (right after her much-discussed and speculated-upon breakup with Justin Timberlake) to the entire band of youths on the premises (Farleigh, Felix, Oliver and Venetia [Alison Oliver]) reading the final installment in the Harry Potter series, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, that was released in July of that summer. 

    Alas, as the adage goes, “Nothing gold can stay.” Or, more to the point, nothing gold-tone can keep its shine. This means Oliver. Though it is only Felix’s sister, Venetia, who really comes to understand what her family hath wrought in choosing to allow an interloper like Oliver into their home. So it is that she points her finger at him and announces the millennial mantra, “Stranger danger” (or, in her case, “Stranger fucking danger”) while talking to Oliver drunkenly in the bathtub. This being the phrase oft repeated by parents and other authority figures during millennial childhood that it’s an ironic wonder that so many services of the present are contingent upon trusting total strangers (e.g., Airbnb, Uber). As Felix so blindly trusted Oliver and his pack of lies wielded manipulatively to gain access to the precious Saltburn castle. Almost as though he had no idea that just because someone is a member of your birth cohort doesn’t mean they won’t fuck you over as badly as the older generations have already. 

    As for the final, now illustrious scene of Oliver swinging his dick (not fake, by the way) around throughout Saltburn to the tune of Sophie Ellis-Bextor’s apropos “Murder on the Dancefloor,” some might take issue with the flagrancy of such “nefariousness.” But the point, of course, is to emphasize that the rich themselves never felt a shred of guilt about how they amassed their own wealth, so why should someone like Oliver, who knows there’s no such thing as getting rich “honestly” (or without bloodshed-filled exploitation)? What’s more, the intensification of lusting after wealth without “working for it” was a phenomenon that crested as millennials came of age. Suddenly faced with the bleak reality that their own hard work, and the bill of goods they were sold by baby boomers about how it would ensure “prosperity” (or at least home ownership), was for nothing.

    And since that proved to be the “reward” for “obeying,” why not just take what one wanted by force and through any means necessary? The same way the forebears of the currently wealthy already did (and what the currently wealthy still do to ensure the proliferation of that wealth down the generational line). This, ultimately, is why Fennell succeeds in making her “millennial villain” come across more as a byproduct of the failure of capitalism than anything else. In which case, one must ask: villain or victim?

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • The Grim Fan Fiction Presented by the Mean Girls x Wal-Mart Commercial

    The Grim Fan Fiction Presented by the Mean Girls x Wal-Mart Commercial

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    In 2023, Wal-Mart has so “generously” allowed us to catch a glimpse into the lives of where the mean girls from 2004 are now. Not only that, but this version of 2023 ostensibly exists in an alternate realm where the name Karen (and Karen Smith, no less) isn’t something worthy of calling attention to. Not at any point during the extremely lengthy commercial (almost a full two minutes [an “epic” in the realm of advertising], which means Wal-Mart really shelled out for it). Though there were plenty of other “plot points” that attention was called to in terms of assessing where some of the Mean Girls characters have ended up. And, let’s just say it, the assumptions to be made are rather grim. 

    For a start, Cady Heron (Lindsay Lohan) is still hanging out with Gretchen (Lacey Chabert) and Karen (Amanda Seyfried). Are we really to believe that Cady would have remained friends with anyone from The Plastics (particularly since she informs viewers at the end of the movie, “In case you’re wondering, The Plastics broke up”)? And if one person was worth remaining friends with, wouldn’t it have been Regina? If for no other reason than she had a mind of her own. Or, as Damian (Daniel Franzese) said, “She’s the queen bee, the star. Those other two are just her little workers.” Later on in Mean Girls, Cady marvels, “Was I the new queen bee?” It seems that, for the purposes of this Wal-Mart commercial, yes, she is. Even if she’s now a guidance counselor. Arguably one of the bleakest aspects about this flash forward to the mean girls’ future. That, and it seems that Janis Ian (Lizzy Caplan) isn’t friends with her or Damian anymore, having likely moved on to bigger and better things outside of the Chicago area. 

    Perhaps this is why Cady has resorted to a continued friendship with Gretchen and Karen. The latter of whom appears to be doing a “weather report” for no one’s benefit but her own—and yeah, it’s a bit sad that she’s still skulking around the high school to do it. They should have at least shown her doing “weather” for a local channel, and maybe even alluding to the climate change factors that have become unignorable in the years since 2004. Though, somehow, the next scene transition occurs by showing Karen on the big screen of Kevin Gnapoor’s (Rajiv Surendra) living room, even though it would make no sense for Karen to broadcast from North Shore High School if she was a legitimate “weather girl.”

    But that’s not supposed to be the viewer’s focus as the camera whip-pans to Kevin’s son holding a twenty-five-dollar (because of course the price flashes on the screen) Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles RC in his hands (with a Hot Wheels and Barbie box in the background, to boot). After all, it’s so important that Generation Alpha understands the importance of material goods, too. That job has already been done on Gen Z, who, although positioned as “climate-conscious” and “embracing of all sexual and ethnic identifications,” ain’t really none of that based on what one actually sees outside of think pieces concerning said birth cohort. Kevin then half-heartedly tells his son, “Don’t let the haters stop you from doing your thang, Kevin Jr.,” as though he has little will left to believe that himself. And clearly, if Janis isn’t in this scene, it means she dumped his ass along with Cady and Damian’s, too. 

    As for Gretchen, she’s apparently been a young mom since roughly 2007 (if we’re to believe her daughter is sixteen, and Mean Girls came out in 2004, when Gretchen would have been sixteen herself). Not only does she have a high school-age daughter named Amber who seems more Regina than Gretchen, she also has two younger kids as well. All of whom are Asian, though there’s no sign of the Asian husband she presumably married as a result of immersing herself in an Asian clique at the end of Mean Girls (this being a hyper-specific detail for the Wal-Mart commercial to include). 

    Cady’s life also appears rather empty based on her purchases of “Apple AirPods and Legos,” though that doesn’t seem to stop one stalker-y student from wanting to imitate that purchase the way Bethany Byrd (Stefanie Drummond) did with Regina George’s Army pants and flip flops. It’s never really made clear if Cady does have kids of her own (hence, the reason for buying Legos?), but it is clear that she has no compunction about displaying a pathetic mug on her desk that reads, “Best Guidance Counselor Ever.” Perhaps this level of patheticness is her karma for calling Ms. Norbury (Tina Fey) a “sad old drug pusher” back when she was a student instead of a “teacher.” And maybe her additional karma for all that high school fuckery was not ending up with Aaron Samuels (Jonathan Bennett), who is nowhere to be found…perhaps because the real-life Aaron Samuels turned out to be gay (which is why he was more willing to appear as that character in Ariana Grande’s “thank u, next” video). 

    Nonetheless, Cady does her best to maintain “plucky” narrations as she remarks, “Even as the guidance counselor, I was still getting schooled.” Yes, by the Gen Z tits who are even more asshole-ish than millennials were (this despite the former’s reputation for “tolerance”). So while Gretchen appears to have an absentee Asian husband as she lives out her tragic lawnmower mom life, Cady is working for a middling wage at the same high school she attended twenty years ago. Maybe the only person with a more depressing fate is Damian, who, for whatever reason, is working the projector for the Winter Talent Show. 

    Possibly the one thing that could be more heinous is if Karen ended up marrying her “first cousin,” Seth Mosakowski, and having inbred, even dumber children with him. In any case, there’s obviously a reason why Regina George is no longer consorting with any of these “losers.” Because, evidently, she didn’t peak in high school as expected…the way all the others appear to have done just that. One would instead like to believe that she and Janis have finally consummated their long overdue lesbian relationship and are proud owners of a kinky sex shop that also sells lacrosse gear (which itself can double as sex toys) somewhere in L.A.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • Gen Zers Think Millennials Are Cringe, But Still Want to Emulate Them in the Mean Girls Commercial

    Gen Zers Think Millennials Are Cringe, But Still Want to Emulate Them in the Mean Girls Commercial

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    Apart from being one of the most overt pieces of capitalist propaganda to wield pop culture in recent memory, the Mean Girls x Wal-Mart commercial is a stark reminder not just of Gen Z contempt for millennials, but for their simultaneous desire to emulate them. After all, there’s a fine line between hate and love, as it is said. And, to quote Cady Heron (Lindsay Lohan), it’s not millennials’ fault that Gen Z “is like in love with them or something.” At least, if one is to go by the obsession with their era (even when trying to deride it through an over-the-top condemnation of skinny jeans and side parts). 

    Within the absurd universe of 2023-era Mean Girls, Gen Z is somehow the spawn of Gretchen Wieners (Lacey Chabert), while Cady (Lindsay Lohan) and Karen (Amanda Seyfried) don’t seem to have any clear claim on children of their own (unless it’s the other two members of Amber Wieners’ Gen Z clique). And maybe Cady is too busy “nurturing” youths in her role as a guidance counselor anyway to bother with children of her own. Which brings us to a scene designed to make her look out of touch in an “old” way rather than a “cute” one (as she did in 2004 whilst talking to Aaron Samuels [Jonathan Bennett]). Since everything is “cute” when you’re young enough…as society has drummed into our collective minds by now. This occurs when, sitting behind her desk dispensing “guidance” to a duo of mean girls, she once again says, “Grool.”

    The duo looks at her like she’s a “Martian” (as Regina called her) after she utters, apropos of nothing, “Grool.” At least when she said it in the actual movie, it was a conflated response to Aaron declaring of his Halloween party invite, “That flier admits one person only, so…don’t bring some other guy with you.” She started to say “great,” then “cool”—ergo, “Grool.” But how would these Gen Z putas living their far more “glamorous” life be expected to know anything about that “lore.” So naturally, they look up from their phones long enough to respond with disgust, “Huh?” and “What’s ‘grool’?” Cady assures, “It’s nothing.” 

    Almost as “nothing” as Gen Z claims millennials are to them despite constantly turning to Mean Girls as a behavioral bible and/or source of 00s yearning/“aesthetic” inspiration. And in the Wal-Mart commercial, that emulation comes both behaviorally and sartorially as Gretchen’s daughter and her friends wear the same pastels and plaids as the original Plastics did. Even though Cady was sure to tell us at the end of Mean Girls (after Damian [Daniel Franzese] delightedly warns of a freshman trio of girls, “Check it out, Junior Plastics”), “And if any freshmen tried to disturb that peace…well, let’s just say we knew how to take care of it.” Cue Cady imagining a school bus running the trio over and then assuring, “Just kidding.” But, of course, there are surely many millennials by now who have had such violent and hostile fantasies about cartoonishly ageist Gen Z. Particularly since, as we see exhibited by the Gen Z Plastics of the Wal-Mart commercial, they’re essentially grafting what millennials did while simultaneously critiquing them. Mainly for being “old” and for having never experienced the horrors of modern-day smartphone/social media life in their teens the way Gen Z is now. 

    To that point, Gretchen has happily taken on a Mrs. George-esque (Amy Poehler) persona by becoming not like a regular mom, but a cool mom as she sets up the ring light and camera to film Amber and her bitch friends doing limply-executed dances, presumably for TikTok. Amber then snaps at her mother when she says, “This is gonna be so fetch.” Amber’s response? “Stop trying to make fetch happen, Mom. It’s still not gonna happen.” Gretchen looks deeply wounded by this, for surely it’s gotta sting more coming from her daughter than Regina George. Her daughter, mind you, who knows nothing about millennial culture because not only did she not live through it, but everything about it has been diluted and bastardized by TikTok. Including Mean Girls itself. 

    This usually extends to the oft-referenced Winter Talent Show scene, which is recreated here as well (albeit with “smart” flat-heeled boots in lieu of stiletto-heeled ones). Even though Gretchen (and Cady/Karen, for that matter) would have needed to get pregnant right after high school, circa 2007-2009, to have a high school-age daughter. The probability of this seems rather unlikely (unless you’re Lorelai Gilmore), considering her Type A personality and “good” college/“respectable” career path. Even if having kids and marrying a “similar-minded/pedigreed” man was also at the forefront of her mind, that wouldn’t have been until, realistically, at least her mid-twenties. But, for the sake of capitalist propaganda, we must suspend our disbelief as Gretchen (joined by two more children who also appear to be Asian, which means she definitely didn’t marry Jason [Daniel DeSanto]), Cady and Karen watch a “less hot version” of themselves perform the same song and dance that they did “back in the day.” To far greater ennui…even though Gretchen takes over for Mrs. George on the filming front. 

    By the end of the commercial, the movie has been so perverted from its original self that the Burn Book pages plastered all over the school have been transformed into ads for Wal-Mart Black Friday deals instead of salacious pieces of gossip (many of which wouldn’t fly in the Gen Z climate of the present, where jokes about people being fat, or slutty, or statutory rapists would probably be deemed too insensitive).

    And yet, while millennial messaging has been “massaged” to suit a Gen Z demographic in this commercial (not just with the Burn Book being nothing but a “coupon book,” but also Gretchen having her son play with a Barbie), it is still Gen Z trying to be “analog” in the end by engaging with printouts. This being just one of the many ways, throughout the commercial, in which they’ve surrendered to their worst, most “cringe” fear: “being millennial.”

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • Mean Girls x Wal-Mart Commercial: A None Too Subtle Trojan Horse for Capitalism Via Millennial Nostalgia

    Mean Girls x Wal-Mart Commercial: A None Too Subtle Trojan Horse for Capitalism Via Millennial Nostalgia

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    As the “reunion” that everyone’s been waiting for, it was practically inevitable that the Mean Girls “assembly” (high school pun intended) would disappoint. Mainly because, yes, the so-called reunion is a fucking Wal-Mart commercial. That said, it actually seems as though, rather than people being disappointed by it, they’re somehow delighted. Dare one say…“tickled.” But the reason behind that appears to be less about content and more about an increasing fiendishness for nostalgia, especially among millennials. And no, it’s not because they’re, as Gen Z would falsely bill them, “old,” but because it’s glaringly apparent that times in 2004 were far more bearable—fun, even (remember fun?)—than times in 2023. 

    Of course, naysayers and “pro-progressive” types would argue that life was so much worse back then (see: the media manipulation and vilification of women like Britney Spears). That we’ve come “such a long way” (or “such a long way,” as Gretchen Wieners [Lacey Chabert] would utter it) in our perception of things (“thing” being the word that still describes how men see women) and our “tolerance for others” (read: white people in print and media making flaccid attempts at “inclusivity”). But the truth is, psychologically, society has gone further back into the Dark Ages with its mentality—particularly toward women and minorities (who are only viewed as minorities by the white people who only make up about eight percent of the world’s population). So yeah, a throwback to 2004 is bound to feel pretty fucking great right now. Like sweet candy compared to the tasteless gruel (a riff on “grool,” obviously) being served up on a daily basis in this part of the century. 

    What’s more, 2004 was still within a prime era for the U.S. in terms of continuing to hold up capitalism as what George W. Bush would later call “the best system ever devised.” To that end, one would like to believe the Mean Girls x Wal-Mart commercial is a wink-wink nod to the Bush years’ unironic exaltation of capitalism, but no, that’s clearly not the case. In fact, this capitalistic propaganda posing as “Mean Girls nostalgia” at its worst treats the viewers as though they themselves still live in 2004, when it was easier to pretend “deal shopping” for Black Friday isn’t the very thing that’s helped to make 2023 even more of a dystopia compared to 2004. Or that the presence of Missy Elliott (whose song, “Pass That Dutch,” plays repeatedly throughout the original Mean Girls, therefore this commercial) spelling out “D-E-A-L-S”  instead of “K-L-A” (that’s how Coach Carr [Dwayne Hill] spells “chlamydia”) somehow makes the human predilection for consumerism more “kosher.” As does, according to the commercial creators, Gretchen Wieners replacing Regina George (Rachel McAdams) in the silver Lexus convertible. Except it’s now a brandless convertible of a nondescript tone.

    That’s right, since Rachel McAdams announced simply that she “didn’t want to” be part of the little puff piece for capitalism, they got Chabert to fill in for one of McAdams’ key moments from the film. So in lieu of Regina pulling up to the soccer field and shouting, “Get in loser, we’re going shopping,” Gretchen does. And no, it’s not to pick up Cady (Lindsay Lohan) and Karen (Amanda Seyfried), but rather, her own high school-age daughter (which doesn’t quite mathematically track), Amber Wieners. Amber stands on the field with her clique comprised of the next generation mean girls, and is absolutely mortified (could it be because Gen Z is supposed to be more environmentally concerned? No, it’s because, no matter what era you’re in, parents are always humiliating) when Gretchen cries out, “Get in sweetie, we’re going deals shopping!” Even though the back of her car is already piled high with plenty of shit from Wal-Mart. Because what it the American message if not, even to this day: excess! 

    So it is that the Mean Girls x Wal-Mart “partnership” wields nostalgia like a seductive and deadly weapon to keep encouraging the very capitalistic behavior that will be humanity’s undoing. Behavior that millennials once got to relish in the 00s without half as much guilt about it as there is now (and mainly only because of Greta Thunberg). Yet that’s the the thing, isn’ it? There’s still clearly not enough guilt or compunction about it if a commercial like this can exist…and continue to be so gleefully embraced. The same goes for the abominable Menulog commercial starring Latto and Christina Aguilera. Both employ the same method of assaulting the audience with “eye candy” and familiar 00s nostalgia (via Christina Aguilera) to distract from the obvious point: we want you to keep engaging in the same buying patterns as the very generation you and Gen Z are constantly railing against—baby boomers. And in this scenario, it makes all the sense in the world that millennials are also known as echo boomers. Just look at the way Cady, Gretchen and Karen are living. That is to say, in the exact same way as their own parents. 

    The warm reception toward this commercial (and its tainting of the original movie) is, accordingly, a sign of how desperately so many people want to deny the reality of now. One in which the idea of Cady, Gretchen and Karen (though, pointedly, not Regina) continuing to carry out the same toxic consumerist cycle of the generation before them is a comfort rather than a horror show. After all, millennials were supposed to be different—they were supposed to want something more (besides more material goods). And yet, like the yippies of the 1960s who became yuppies in the 1980s (see: Jerry Rubin), millennials, if we’re to go by this commercial, have gladly sold out in the same way to keep the very system that has failed them (perhaps more than anyone) going. 

    It does seem fitting, in this regard that McAdams, the lone Gen Xer of the group (a.k.a. the “eldest” of the quartet at forty-four) opted to opt out. Perhaps old enough to know she doesn’t really want to be part of this schlock under the pretense of it being something “for the fans” when, obviously, it’s for nobody’s benefit other than the capitalist agenda’s, which has been using pop culture for decades upon decades to promote its purpose. This brings us to the fact that a “Mean Girls” commercial has already been recently used to promote a brand: Coach. Yes, back in 2021, Megan Thee Stallion stepped into the role of Regina George (because McAdams so patently doesn’t want to) to help recreate the introduction scene to the leader of The Plastics and, of course, sell some overpriced handbags. 

    Then there was a 2022 Allbirds commercial wherein Lohan, as usual, capitalized on Mean Girls (one of her only viable movies) to sell some shoes by peppering in “subtle” references to the movie. Like how she was a mathlete in high school. She then goes to pick out a pair of pink running shoes and says, “Well, it is Wednesday.” More “hardy-har-har” allusions arrive when she adds, “These don’t just look cute. They’re made with natural materials…always avoid the plastics,” followed by, “Bouncy. Perfect for a queen bee like Lindsay Lohan.” The point being, it’s fairly evident that, for whatever reason, Mean Girls has become a go-to for bolstering consumer faith in capitalism. And again, that’s arguably because 2004 was such a peak time for worshiping it. But what’s past doesn’t have to be present…so long as you’re not seduced by it. Therein lies the catch.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • On Mentos’ Apparent Ability to Magically Imbue People With Skills They Should Already Have to Deal With the Inconveniences of Life and How Said Ad Campaign Surely Affected the Millennial Mind

    On Mentos’ Apparent Ability to Magically Imbue People With Skills They Should Already Have to Deal With the Inconveniences of Life and How Said Ad Campaign Surely Affected the Millennial Mind

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    Thinking back on all the reasons why millennials might be “the way they are” (i.e., “ill-equipped”), one culprit (apart from helicopter parents) that shouldn’t be overlooked is the ongoing series of Mentos commercials that were on a loop throughout the 90s. Indeed, the first round of Mentos commercials that would make the Dutch (and, later Dutch-Italian—upon merging with Perfetti in 2001) brand a household name in America aired circa 1991, establishing the scotch mints as a staple of 90s pop culture. But, long before that decade, Dutch brothers Michael and Pierre van Melle came up with the idea for a peppermint-flavored candy in 1932 (clearly, they weren’t too worried about Hitler’s impact on European capitalism just yet). By the 60s and 70s, the “freshmaker” was appearing around the globe.

    But one milieu it still had yet to really make strides in was the U.S. In response to an apparent sales stagnation throughout the 70s and 80s, the German marketing team at Pahnke & Partners managed to come up with something for Mentos that even they probably didn’t know the power of until it was unleashed. The VP of Marketing at Mentos, Liam Killeen, also certainly wasn’t aware that not only would it prompt such a positive reaction (at least in terms of sales), but, as time wore on, an entirely negative one. This elucidated by being verbally attacked by a cashier at a video store simply for wearing a jacket with the Mentos logo on it in 1996, when the Mentos commercials had reached an apex of oversaturation—so much so that the campaign had been referenced throughout an entire season of Baywatch, in Gen X movie staple Clueless (released in 1995) and in the Foo Fighters’ video for “Big Me” (released in 1996, with “Footos” replacing the Mentos name, along with Footos’ own slogan: “The Fresh Fighter”). It was the latter video’s director, Jesse Peretz, who summed up the commercials best as “total lobotomized happiness.” Perhaps this was how Europeans saw the “American way of life” from afar as they cashed in on its darkest side of all: a lust for everything related to capitalism. Or maybe life in the Netherlands (or Holland, if you prefer) really is that blissful, and the Dutch company was simply trying to impart its own form of “lobotomized happiness” onto Americans. Either way, from the American perspective, it translated into a parody—a totally ersatz view of the human condition, or, at best, a 1950s spin on the 1990s.

    Whatever the case, the commercials were simultaneously mocked and obsessed over for their “camp” qualities. But the group it truly had a lasting effect on was millennials watching the boob tube with their elder Gen X siblings. Although Gen X had absorbed the commercials while still in their teens and twenties, millennials did so during more mentally susceptible years, letting the notion that any problem could be solved with an unrealistic approach and the flash of a smile seep irrevocably into their brains. As a new decade arrived with the 00s, perhaps many believed that millennials entering their own teens had quickly forgotten all about a commercial that was theoretically buttoned up with the rest of the 90s. But no, somewhere deep down, the “logic” (read: total illogic) presented in the Mentos commercials lingered within the millennial mind, dormant until activated in their adulthood, when it became quickly evident that it would take a lot more than a “lobotomy smile” and the popping of a Mentos to stave off antagonistic forces or even minor inconveniences.

    And it was with this single planting of the idea that a simple, often non sequitur act could make all one’s problems melt away that Mentos created a monster in the next generation. By presenting the concept that, with the pop of a signature scotch mint, suddenly the problem-solving skills and/or acceptance of harsh realities one should already have to begin with will magically materialize, the company perpetuated millennial dependency on crutches that don’t actually work. The only thing that does work, or is real, is enduring hardship. That’s the true essence of existence, particularly if you’re born into non-affluent circumstances. The idea that we can “make lemonade out of lemons” with “no trouble at all” by rolling around in paint to fix the look of our suit, or ripping both heels of our shoes off when one of them breaks, or going through the backseat of someone else’s car to cross the street, or enlisting a group of construction workers to move our blocked car out of a parallel parking spot is part of the fantastical narrative that millennials were sold from the beginning of their youth. It’s not a coincidence that such indoctrination (and, truly, it can’t be overemphasized how frequently these commercials were playing) would lead to a major letdown later on in life, when it became clear that absolutely nothing could be solved with a plucky attitude or an illogical solution with no thought put into strategy.

    As for the thought put into Mentos’ advertising strategy, maybe it was pure, dumb luck that the company was able to tap into some kind of zeitgeist that presaged internet fandoms and fixations on seemingly “niche” things that would turn out to be a phenomenon as a result of “the kitsch factor” (incidentally, Killeen called the Mentos obsession, which extended to a then germinal internet, “Mentophilia”). Or maybe, beyond mere earnestness about a product meant to induce joy, the ad team was speaking to the age-old marketing belief that the more “irksome” an ad campaign, the more effective. And, irritating or not, Mentos secretly warmed the hearts of millions who balked at its madcap, cornball nature. The words to the jingle didn’t even make any sense—for example, “It doesn’t matter what comes, fresh goes better in life.” But they didn’t have to. The important part was the earworm tune set to visuals of people “solving problems” with “effortless” and nonsensical methods that would never work in real life.

    Yet that was the thing about Mentos: it was an ad campaign that truly sparked millennials’ initial foray into “unreality.” A la-la land where they could delude themselves with ideas of happiness secured with no effort whatsoever. Or if there was at least some vague effort involved, it would automatically work on the first try. The non-Mentos universe, alas, would not provide such instant gratification to many a disappointed millennial. And though some might call it “peak millennial” to blame their woes on a commercial from their childhood, it’s not so. What would be peak is trying to sue the company for damages.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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