So KFC in Australia will no longer provide free toys with their kids’ meals. Three years ago the company committed itself to putting a stop to “pester power” and this is a major signal of the seriousness of its intention.
My sense is that this is part of a broader trend. Given South Africa’s appetite for tightening up the rules around most aspects of marketing and advertising, I expect that this is something that will be enforced in this country down the road. Which means that I’d best add to my Happy Meal toy collection while I can. Anyone who walks into my office will be struck by the sizeable collection of Happy Meal toys that has annexed sections of my desk. Ever since I worked on the Wimpy account nearly a decade ago, I’ve been a keen collector. At the time, it was an exercise in monitoring competitor activity, but the habit stayed with me.
So, I am surrounded by cute little souvenirs of iconic cultural products. Shrek, The Incredibles, Care Bears, My Little Pony, Finding Nemo, Snoopy. A weakness for US cultural imperialism: I haz it. My favourites include Mr Incredible, who poses between two of my wooden African chickens, and a baby donkey dragon — (known as a dronkey, apparently) — from Shrek the Third, which cries “Mama!” when you tweak his wings (the Donkey himself laughs when you pull his tail).
Happy Meal toys were first introduced in 1977. The story behind the idea is an interesting one. It started in Guatemala, where a woman called Yolanda Fernández de Cofiño tried to make it easier for mothers to feed their children at McDonald’s by offering a menu designed to appeal to children. McDonald’s management back in the US picked up the idea and briefed it to a local adman, Bob Bernstein. Bernstein was inspired by the way his son interacted with the cereal box and the surprise gift that came with it — which is how the concept of the colourful cardboard box, and the toy, came about.
Since then, the Happy Meal has become entrenched in the McDonald’s offering, and while it accounts for less than 10% of US sales, it’s still an important part of their business. The toys themselves have proved hugely popular — nowadays, when a new animated movie launches, the marketing of collectibles with fast food meals is an essential part of creating hype. Many people collect Happy Meal toys and there’s an entire cottage industry centred around selling them on eBay and elsewhere. The McDonald’s Collectors Club has just held its 21st convention (they might also consider updating their diabolically awful website, but perhaps they’re too busy negotiating to get their hands on a 1997 Teenie Beanie Patti).
Toys as an incentive to purchase fast food have long been controversial. In 2010, Santa Clara county south of San Francisco banned promotional toys with fast food meals. Meanwhile, McDonald’s has attempted to deflect criticism by offering healthier options. News this year that McDonald’s would offer apple slices as a substitute for French fries was greeted with enthusiasm by apple growers.
Linking toys to unhealthy food inevitably brings up the spectre of the obesity epidemic and with it the desire to legislate against the practice. And yet there’s a simple and obvious solution: why not link the toys to the healthy options? If you want fries with your burger, then you pay extra for the toy. If collectibles work so well in persuading kids to want food that’s bad for them, then use them to incentivise the healthier, but less deliciously addictive choices? After all, if the healthy stuff isn’t as fun or tasty, then it needs all the help it can get.
I’d want that apple, if it came with a donkey.
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