Dear Esteemed Members of the Pillsbury Corporation,
I find myself writing to you from a place of utter disappointment during this festive season. My attempts at creating holiday magic with your delightful cookie mixes have turned into a series of mishaps that have left me quite dispirited.
For the fourth time this week, I have endeavored to follow your cheerful advertisements, aiming to “bake up a batch of memories” alongside my adorable little ones. Yet, each attempt has ended in chaos rather than joy.
In an effort to mirror the blissful scenes portrayed in your commercials, I’ve played classic Christmas tunes, dressed my children in their festive reindeer sweaters, and ensured that our matching mugs overflow with hot cocoa. I envisioned the perfect moments as my children, just like in your ads, shared and beamed with delight while sampling our sugar cookies adorned with charming decorations. However, fantasy can only take one so far.
Might I request that you consider revisiting your advertisements to reflect a more authentic portrayal of holiday baking? It would be a compassionate gesture for those of us battling the reality of cookie making, especially during this busy time of year. Feel free to draw inspiration from my life, where a weary mother mutters expletives as dough clings to every surface, including her hair, while she sips from a cup of “mommy juice” nearby.
There seems to be a significant gap between the idyllic holidays you portray and the chaos of my own. Where are the kids who sneak bites of raw dough while soothing their frazzled mother with phrases like, “It’s okay, we like them better this way”? And where is the teacher requesting cookies shaped in “non-denominational yet festive” forms? To be honest, I can hardly manage a simple circle!
I often wonder about the smiling women in your commercials who present perfect trays of cookies to their appreciative children. Are they real? If they are, I would gladly hire them to help me navigate my holiday baking disasters, like the time my baby climbed the tree while trying to feed tinsel to the dog. Meanwhile, I’m left balancing a warped gingerbread man on a cookie sheet perched precariously atop a mountain of dirty dishes.
I am beginning to see how your advertisements might undermine the confidence of American women. You make it seem so effortless by providing pre-packaged dough that only needs to be rolled out and cut into shapes for a picture-perfect outcome. But what should I do when my gingerbread girl resembles a malnourished stick figure, and the stars have morphed into bizarre creatures?
What about my vision of a joyful winter day? Where are my cherished memories? How would the charming dough boy react if he overheard my husband mistaking the smell of burnt cookies in my hair for a new perfume?
We, the consumers, deserve more than the unrealistic portrayal of holiday baking. Please refrain from further inundating us with ads featuring supermoms who whip up cookie masterpieces effortlessly. We yearn for authenticity. We need to feel validated for not meeting those unrealistic standards. And while you’re at it, could you please send a note to the gingerbread house manufacturers to inform them that their kits are a farce? The icing didn’t hold my candy house together, but it did manage to help my son attach his toy cars to our fireplace.
This Christmas, let’s embrace true holiday chaos. Let’s showcase the mother who is tempted to create cookies shaped like her middle finger (yes, that’s me). Let’s portray the children who might regret sampling too much dough and secretly wish their mother would just bring paper goods to the class party from now on. Let’s acknowledge the Christmas music silenced because “someone” left the bathroom door open, leading to our baby submerging the CDs in the toilet (true story). We deserve to see the mother who would rather confront the dough boy than poke his belly.
Only then can we truly “bake up a batch of memories” worth cherishing.
Happy Holidays. I’m sure I’ll be reaching out again come Easter.
Warm regards,
Lila Jensen
In summary, this heartfelt letter expresses the challenges of holiday baking that many parents face, contrasting the idealized images seen in advertisements with the chaotic reality of family life. It calls for a more realistic portrayal in advertising while sharing relatable anecdotes of holiday mishaps.