And I won’t shut up about it

Remember when the maze on the back of the cereal box was difficult? I bought my kids a box of Froot Loops, and I ate a few fistfuls the other day when I got the munchies (which happens more often than I care to admit). I spent some time examining the packaging. The game, if you can call it that, was a seek and find of fruity frogs in a brightly colored froot loop factory, or maybe it’s a forest. It’s hard to tell whether they are implying these rings are man-made or being harvested from their natural habitat. The frogs are not hidden at all. In fact, they don’t even look integrated into the image. They have been plopped on top of it for me to count. There are twelve. There are also seven multi-colored penguins and what I’m going to guess are three flying squirrels, but neither of these animals are mentioned in the instructions.

The box tells me to collect all four box designs so that I can cut out the backs and assemble them into a poster of the full image. Has any child cared enough to do this? Is there a little Froot Loop fan out there scouring the grocery store aisles for the box that depicts the bottom right corner of the Froot Loops^TM world? I also have the option to scan a QR that would link me with an online version of Toucan Sam to find out where all the colors come from. I wonder if the link has any information relevant to the MAHA movement? I don’t care enough to find out.

Back in my day the back of the cereal box was entertainment. I might spend a few mornings in a row finding all the hidden images in a seek and find puzzle. The task would feel impossible until suddenly the object I was seeking would jump out at me, there’s the dolphin! Drawn as the leaves of the tree all along. What a feeling of accomplishment. Now all the boxes want you to find out more online. I guess it’s difficult for a static image to compete for attention today. Is it worth it to try?

I sometimes do packaging design for work and it’s rare to be able to fill an entire panel with art alone like the back of a cereal box. There are size requirements for nutrition labels and ingredient lists, the address of production is needed, there are scan codes and expiration dates. It seems like a missed opportunity for the designer. I bet they’d love to use all that space to design a branded maze or a fruity word search. I’m sure the marketing department has their say. If a designer puts two hours into the placement of frogs compared to the forty it would take an artist to make something meaningful, how does it affect their bottom line? That’s probably what it comes down to for our children. Take the poster concept for example, someone in marketing probably had the delusion that selling a four part poster series might actually quadruple their sales, the CEO liked that idea, and the design department was directed to “make it happen.” Some poor guy with a macbook and artistic ability did just that. No one considered how maximizing their cereal profits would change the morning routine of the typical American child. The signs of late stage capitalism are everywhere, or am I being dramatic?

I don’t feel up to writing today. I promised myself I would write every Sunday, but I need to feel like I am saying something I believe is important. Today it’s feels like I am counting frogs on the back of a cereal box. I know that my depression is only part of who I am and that there is part of me that loves my little observations about cereal box design and how it relates to brain development, and there’s a part of me that thinks that’s a worthwhile conversation to have. Sometimes I think I am funny.

One of the most uncomfortable feelings I have ever felt is when I’ve said something really sad to my therapist, then I made a joke about it and laughed alone while he looked at me with sadness in his eyes. Silent. My laughter turned jagged in my throat and I hated myself a little bit more, for laughing off my own pain. Then he said something kind, and I thought it might be okay for me to be kind about it, too.

This week I went to a twelve step and I argued with God the whole way home. Why did you make it this hard for me? Why did you give me all these obstacles? Why can’t I just be like everyone else? And, are you really f*cking up there? because if you are…

That feels like a dangerous place to write from, publicly.

So, I leave you with this for the week. What’s the deal with cereal boxes?