What was Charles Manson's favorite cheesy snack cracker? Which mineral water did Saddam Hussein prefer after a long hot day of dictating? We may never know. If either man were to express such a preference, however, some poor marketing director would have gotten a harrowing 4 a.m. phone call about "coordinating a response."
Celebrity endorsements are almost as old as capitalism. ("If our bread is good enough for Caesar, it's good enough for you!") Most people claim to be unswayed by such contrivances, but data keeps showing us otherwise, so celebrity spokespeople are here to stay. But it's a different game entirely when the famous go off the reservation and express an opinion outside the confines of money-for-representation.
Ironically, all celebrity endorsements exist under the premise that the celebrity involved enjoys, supports, or uses the product they advertise. I think literally everyone understands this is not necessarily the case. Does Sam Jackson really have a credit card preference? Did that Mikey kid even like Life cereal? Does that gecko even have a car!? We are inescapably aware of the manipulation involved, but the idea that certain celebrities are loyal brand ambassadors is a lie we've agreed upon. The ironic part is that when a celebrity actually endorses a product, genuinely doing what most commercials are in fact pretending to do, the concerned company usually ends up with a "situation on its hands."
Here are some highlights:
Letting down her Garden...
When The Girls Next Door, a reality show starring Hugh Hefner’s
In 2008, Wilkinson claimed that Olive Garden was better than any restaurant in Italy. (It is unclear how she found time to visit every restaurant in Italy, given the demands of her career.)
Olive Garden, known for tossing around the word “family” like so many garden salads, was less than thrilled with the reality star’s endorsement. Wilkinson went on to offer a “modeling opportunity” to Olive Garden waitresses nationwide. That presumably smoothed things over.
Why did the chicken cross the sea?
While explaining anything immortalized in an Eminem lyric is probably unnecessary, this classic deserves recognition for the deft way in which seafood company Chicken of the Sea handled it.
When Jessica Simpson, then starring on “Newlyweds,” mused aloud about whether Chicken of the Sea was indeed chicken, or perhaps some other animal, perhaps one originating from the sea, the public couldn’t stop laughing. Chicken of the Sea, a subsidiary of a Thai conglomerate called Thai Union Group, invited Simpson down to HQ to sort things out firsthand. Ever the good sport, Simpson accepted, and pledged herself to a lifetime of tuna consumption.
As the public laughed and Marshal Mathers slaved over a hot rhyme book to concoct a relevant line, no one seemed much bothered by the fact that Chicken of the Sea is an idiotic and nonsensical brand name. The titular chicken totally comes from the ocean, not the sea.
When you think of artisanal French brandy, you probably think of gold teeth, swingin' braids, and hip-hop swagger. No? Neither did French cognac manufacturer Courvoisier, probably—until rap artist Busta Rhymes touted his love for the product in his song, "Pass the Courvoisier." (He's very polite—he didn't just want to reach over you and grab the Courvoisier. Alas, "Excuse My Reach" just didn't have the Busta Rhymes flava.)
It's no secret that successful rappers are passionate about conveying their success through song. People apparently love this about them. This, in turn, allows them to buy more gold-plated tanks, then talk about that, and everyone is happy. The only snag occurs when rappers—who are often known for somewhat freewheeling behavior—embrace products typically targeted toward the "let's-adjourn-to-the-den-and-enjoy-some-Havanas" set. Having gangsta rappers chugging your yacht-mini-fridge-ready cognac can tarnish the sterling legacy of the brand, it is said. Unless it leads to a huge increase in sales, at which point you stop caring so much.
After "Pass the Courvoisier," the discerning manufacturer decided that "the cognac of Napoleon" could also be the cognac of Busta Rhymes. No official deal was on the books, but the company threw some lavish parties after a few of Busta's shows. One is hopefully tickled to imagine the French emissaries of the brand standing stoically at said parties' periphery with forced smiles.
Leggo my Faygo...
Detroit has seen better days, but it still has a lot of which to be proud. Motown, techno, the White Stripes, those cars, Faygo, and the Insane Clown Posse.
If one were to pair every item on that list with every other item, no more counterintuitive combination would emerge than Faygo and Insane Clown Posse. What do mentally unstable clowns who rap about murder have to do with family-friendly beverages? It depends on who you ask. (It's worth noting that people who rap about murder almost categorically also rap about which beverages they enjoy.)
Despite some similarities between ICP and Faygo—both are more popular with children than adults and healthiest in small doses—the perpetually potty-mouthed ICP is more passionate about fostering a connection between the brands than Faygo.
Matthew Rosenthal, head of marketing for Faygo, was diplomatic when speaking to the New York Times about the rappers’ enthusiasm for his company’s modestly-priced soda.
“We wish them the best,” Rosenthal told the Times. Citing ICP’s choice lyrical decisions, Rosenthal put it mildly: “They’re not at all mainline kind of guys.”
ICP, on the other hand, would welcome a branded Posse beverage from Faygo. “We wish they would do a limited-edition Faygo pop run with us,” said ICP member Violent J in an interview with Detroit’s Metro Times.
In an act befitting his moniker, Violent J threw an open bottle of Faygo (flavor unknown) into the writhing mass of Juggalos (devoted ICP fans) at a concert years ago. Evidently, sugar-water missiles and hip hop enthusiasts in clown face... completed each other. The rest is history. ICP continues to enthusiastically use and mention Faygo at every opportunity, and Faygo continues to smile and shuffle away.
Take your best shotz, or a cheaper locally-available alternative...
Life Shotz is not just a product. Life Shotz is a "tribe," and the expression of a "vision." It is a manifesto, made manifest. Because simply selling a "health" product without an elaborate psuedo-New Age tiered-marketing organization attached isn't selling a product at all.
Make no mistake— Life Shotz is here to make a difference in your life. Because, as the company's website explains, "That's just what an insanely potent powder should do."
Life Shotz, a blend of amino acids, B vitamins, and fruit powder, is about $3.50 a shot. Low cost alternatives, sans cultish marketing engine, shipping, or handling, are available at your local Foods For Living. You know who is not available at your local Foods For Living? Ken Shamrock, mixed martial arts athlete and former pro wrestler.
Shamrock, a UFC hall of famer and MMA legend, was given some Life Shotz by a company rep at a wrestling camp. After taking them, "The World's Most Dangerous Man" was impressed enough to do a camera phone endorsement then and there, without pay or vested interest. Life Shotz has embraced the opportunity, and highly publicizes Shamrock's endorsement on their website. It is unknown whether Shamrock continues to enjoy Life Shotz in his capacity as a recent addition to 50 Cent's guard detail. (As a side note, having Ken Shamrock as a personal bodyguard reminds me of when David Bowie insisted on getting Stevie Ray Vaughn to play guitar on "Let's Dance." As if no other super-competent guitarist would do.)
Blessing or curse, I look forward to the day when a controversial speed skater says that Foods For Living is her favorite place to get organic produce, or a divisive folk singer trumpets the praises of the deli's vegan chocolate bars. Until then, we'll have to settle for the endorsements of local community pillars, nutritionists, the press, and those U2 roadies who came through for Bono's bottled water in 2013.
