Elmo vs. Red Monster Mascot

Charlotte, 17 months old, has had her first interaction with a brand. Until recently, she only had one word for “adult who takes care of me” (“dada”), and long before she’d say “Mama” on demand, she had a word for Elmo. Sure, that word is “Memo,” but she makes her demands clear enough when she stands in front of the computer monitor and shouts, “Meh-MO? Meh-MO? Meh-MO?”

Red Monster Mascot

It’s the same tactic she uses with food, which she calls nana. She starts out at a normal volume, putting a raised inflection on the last syllable like it’s a question. “Nana?” If she’s not fed within the next two thirds of a second, she repeats herself, getting louder each time. “Nana? Na-NA? NA-NA?”

It's not the Elmo brand itself that worries me. He's nonviolent and educational. Yeah, he has a different baby in his house every week, and that's a huge red flag, but he broadcasts interviews with these babies on his show, so I figure it's not a hostage situation. I mean, if you delivered a pizza to Jimmy Fallon's house and you accidentally saw Emma Watson tied to a chair, it'd be a good move to call the cops. But when you see Emma on The Tonight Show and Jimmy demands no ransom, it's probably on the level. So Elmo doesn't bother me — but the idea that companies are already cultivating brand loyalty in my 17-month-old does.

I know marketers did a number on me as a kid. My dad only drinks Coca-Cola. I think colas taste like muddy gasoline, but if I need a sugar or caffeine boost and my options are down to Coke or Pepsi, I'll always choose Coke. If my options are down to Pepsi, I'll choose water and drowsiness. At work, It took me more than a year to realize I might also buy from the Pepsi vending machine in the break room, even though I saw it every day. This despite Pepsi and Coke both tasting like muddy gasoline.

Another example: Legos. I used to play Legos with my two brothers, and we eschewed Tyco Mega Bloks (We also chewed Tyco Mega Bloks, but we chewed up everything as kids.). We got to the point where we could instantly discern the texture and color differences between Legos and Mega Bloks, and if my character Skullhead made a doomsday device incorporating even a single Mega Blok, no one would take it seriously.

Of course, my brand loyalty for Lego paid off years later when I learned that Lego was struggling to make a profit because they couldn't get patent protection against Mega Bloks’ incessant copying of their product in all its varieties. I felt like I was supporting the artistic integrity of Lego against plastic plagiarism. And then Lego licensed Star Wars sets in the late '90s, and finally they had something Mega Bloks couldn't copy. Fast forward to 2014, when the company had picked up enough licenses to make The Lego Movie into the most surreal character mashup ever to hit the big screen — one character can’t keep Gandalf and Dumbledore straight, and (spoilers) Batman steals the Millenium Falcon’s hyperdrive. The one thing they couldn’t seem to do was bring both Marvel and DC comic characters into the movie, despite selling sets from both.

My family’s criteria for brand loyalty selection was pretty weird. We stuck to brand names for Coke, Legos and outdoor gear. Outside those areas, we had Western Family corn flakes and Honey & Nut Toasted Oats and Equate ibuprofen. I suppose the rule I learned in my household is that anything that can save your life — climbing gear, tents, M&Ms — you don’t mess around with. Food’s not as important. In my grandfather’s words: “I don’t know why we spend all this money on food. We’re just going to eat it anyway.” With anything your kids want, sneak some off-brands in there and see if they kick up a fuss.

I hope Charlotte appreciates when Red Monster Mascot shows up at her birthday party.