Dear Esteemed Members of the Pillsbury Corporation,
I find myself writing to you amidst a wave of holiday baking frustration. My festive spirit has dwindled, and I am reaching out in hopes of your understanding.
For the fourth time this week, I’ve attempted to “stir up a batch of memories” as your cheerful advertisements suggest, by baking delightful cookies with my adorable children. Yet, each endeavor has ended in failure.
Inspired by the idyllic scenarios depicted in your commercials, I’ve played holiday tunes, dressed the kids in matching reindeer sweaters, and set out an array of mugs brimming with hot cocoa. I envisioned my children mirroring those perfect moments from your ads—smiling, sharing, and joyfully sampling our meticulously decorated sugar cookies. Alas, my daydreams don’t quite match reality.
I ask you, dear Pillsbury, to do us a favor and create a version of your commercials that reflects the true holiday experience. Give us a glimpse of the chaos we encounter, so we don’t feel compelled to join the neighborhood cookie exchange that demands an impossible 45 dozen cookies by Saturday. Feel free to borrow some scenes from my life—show an exhausted mother muttering expletives as dough clings to every surface, all while clutching a cup of “mommy juice.”
There seems to be a stark contrast between your holiday portrayals and my own. Where are the kids who sneak fistfuls of raw dough, attempting to soothe their frazzled mother with phrases like, “It’s alright, we prefer them this way”? And what about the teacher’s request for “non-denominational yet festive” cookie shapes? I can’t even manage a simple circle! Where is that mischievous dough boy when I need him?
Who are these smiling mothers serving trays of perfectly shaped cookies to their appreciative children? Are they real? If so, I would gladly hire them to supervise my little ones, especially when the baby is once again attempting to feed tinsel to the dog while my gingerbread man crumbles in front of me.
I wonder if there’s room in your commercials for the strands of dough in my hair, the scent of burnt sugar wafting through the air, or the sound of two children arguing about why they can’t use a Halloween ghost cookie cutter as an angel.
It seems you are inadvertently undermining the confidence of American mothers. By presenting baking as a simple task—just roll out the dough and cut it into shapes—you create an unrealistic expectation. What am I to do when my gingerbread girl appears emaciated, and my stars resemble bizarre creatures?
How is one expected to make an angel, whose body is two inches thick and whose head remains glued to the table, look enticing for a group of four-year-olds?
Where is MY happy holiday experience? Where are MY cherished memories? What would the dough boy say if he caught a whiff of burnt cookies in my hair and heard my husband suggest, “Is that a new fragrance? Care for some time alone upstairs?”
The American consumer deserves better! Please, spare us any more commercials featuring women who effortlessly bake masterpieces. We want to see the reality: the mother contemplating shaping all her cookies like a middle finger (that’s me, in case you missed it). We want to witness children feigning illness from raw dough, secretly wishing their mother would volunteer for paper goods at the class party instead. We want to hear the Christmas music that’s absent because “someone” left the bathroom door open and the little one decided to toss the CDs into the toilet (true story). We deserve to see the mother who feels like throttling the plump dough boy rather than giving him a playful poke.
Only when we see this authentic portrayal can we truly “stir up a batch of memories” that any reasonable person would cherish.
Wishing you a joyful holiday season. I shall undoubtedly be in touch again as Easter approaches.
Warm regards,
Jenna Thompson