Have you ever paused, halfway through destroying a sleeve of Girl Scout cookies, and thought to yourself, “Ya know, I wish my armpits could smell just like this?” Me neither. Nevertheless, the chance to slather yourself with the scent of Thin Mints and their sister confections has arrived: The Girl Scouts of the USA is partnering with the personal-care brand Native for a newly launched line of shampoos, conditioners, body washes and — yep — deodorants inspired by some of the Scouts’ most famous cookies.
Some of the products sound reasonable, such as a deodorant and body spray meant to evoke citrusy Lemonades or a body wash with the vanilla notes of the Trefoil shortbreads. Others are more difficult to wrap one’s towel-turbaned head around. Thin Mint conditioner? Peanut butter deodorant?
Nope, nope, nope.
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On my honor, it’s time to banish not just these ungodly chimeras seeking to invade our bathroom shelves, but also the entire genre from which they sprang. In other words: Death to the food collab.
For years, brand executives have been crossbreeding beloved foods with every manner of consumer products with all the fervor of a lab full of mad geneticists. These are the demented minds that brought us products that literally no one even thought to ask for: Oscar Mayer face masks, Kraft Mac & Cheese ice cream, Velveeta-scented nail polish.
Driven by “drop culture,” where limited releases are king and punctuated with so many X’s (that’s marketing jargon for the distinctly unhip “and”), these partnerships have become ubiquitous to the point of tedium.
Food and fashion, in particular, have recently seemed locked in a perpetual head-on collision. Crocs, those plastic slip-on shoes, are the most promiscuous of this bunch, pairing up with Pop-Tarts, KFC and McDonald’s (for a violently purple Grimace edition), among others. There are high-end versions, such Balenciaga’s handbag resembling a Lay’s potato-chip bag, and those that seem like the product of a meet-cute at the mall food court, such as the line of fast fashion from Taco Bell and Forever 21.
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Food and booze are another inevitable strategic alliance. Witness vodka flavored with the essence of Arby’s french fries, Barefoot Wine redolent of Oreos, and perhaps most horrifyingly, an “Appalachian Sippin’ Cream” from Sugarlands Distilling meant to replicate the experience of eating a syrup-drenched, bacon-accompanied Eggo waffle.
Share this articleSharePop culture has made its way onto our plates, too. The release of the “Barbie” movie was heralded by a volcanic ooze of edible pink stuff, including a new cotton-candy flavor from Cold Stone Creamery and a Pepto-Bismol-hued sauce that garnished Burger King burgers in Brazil.
Then there’s the mashup of one food with … another food, in many cases wedded in unholy matrimony: Pizza Hut’s dalliance with Cheez-It, Taco Bell’s Dorito-encased taco (admittedly, this one is kind of genius), French’s mustard-flavored Skittles and Post’s Sour Patch Kids cereal. (Of course, there’s also our parallel obsession with lowercase Frankensteinian creations: Think cronuts, sushiritos, pake and totchos.)
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Long before Samoa-cookie-inspired bath products were a thing, the Girl Scouts had paired up their famous cookies with other brands, licensing their name to products including K-Swiss sneakers, GNC protein powders, Coffee-Mate creamer, Breyers ice cream and Pillsbury baking mixes.
The trend of food brands hooking up like they had all hopped on Tinder after a few glasses of chardonnay is so prevalent that Hidden Valley Ranch even poked fun at it in November with a product launch that read as a meta-joke. The salad-dressing company said its makers were “collaborating with the only brand as serious about flavor as they are” — themselves — for the cheekily named HVRxHVR “Double Ranch” dressing. (Not that the company was above a genuine version of such a partnership, having previously teamed up with cult favorite condiment brand Truff and ice cream maker Van Leeuwen.)
Of course, though one can only hope that Peak Collab Era is waning, the brand-on-brand phenomenon will surely never die, not as long as there are income streams to drink from and brand awareness to build. After all, publicists have been setting their clients up into celebrity power couples for as long as Hollywood has existed, and that shows no signs of abating. (See the early conspiracy theories about Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce.)
But there’s something depressing about it, as if slapping two disparate brands together and calling it synergy was a substitute for actually making something new. Or just, you know, leaving things well enough alone.
Like those Thin Mints, which I would prefer to encounter in my kitchen — not my shower.
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