I recently came across an online display showing how the offical face of the Betty Crocker company has changed over the decades. I thought I would go ahead and provide the interpretation of what each iteration is saying to you:
Message: The overall image says, “We’re living in the dawn of a golden age of technological wonders. Like radio. So make some cake.” But the eyes . . . the eyes are saying, “Help me.”
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Whoa. What the . . .? Geez, what did we do? Whatever it is, we’re sorry. Can we have the radio lady with the helmet hair back? Please? The message seems to be, “I’m staring hate daggers at you because there’s a Depression on, some guy named Hitler is treating Central Europe like his personal hobby farm, and you’re bellyaching for chocolate cake? You’re too selfish to live.”
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Ahh, that’s better. This Betty is kind, sympathetic, and apparently trying to hide her profound sadness behind a weak attempt at a smile. Message: “You sure have been drinking a lot since you got back from Korea, son. What happened over there? I wish you’d talk about it. Anyway . . . if you get out of bed . . . I made bundt cake.”
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“You can have it all ladies. Successful husband. Your own career. Family. Social status. Pearls. Look me right in my serenely confident eyes. Would I lie to you? Relax. There is zero percent change that your children are about to become smelly, promiscuous, drug-soaked, anarchists. Care for a brownie? The kids made them.”
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“So, our kids are smelly, promiscuous, drug-soaked, anarchists. That’s okay! We’ve got to loosen up. No need to be so uptight. See, even my hair has relaxed. Everything’s going to be alright. Have a cupcake. Oh, and one other thing . . . I want you.”
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Or not. “Sorry about that brief lapse in judgement, America. Not sure what I was thinking. I actually suspect someone slipped LSD in the icing but I can’t prove it. Anyway, Nixon is about to be reelected, the country is back on track, and so is my hair. Now you’ll have to excuse me. I have an appointment to be dipped in starch.”
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And now for something completely different. This Betty isn’t forcing a smile, she’s suppressing one. She’s in on the joke. Message: “I find traditional gender stereotypes confining and bourgeois. I’m wearing this big bow ironically. I like my architecture and artists like I apply my make up–minimalist.”
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“Hi. I’m Jimmy Fallon’s mom. Look into my black, soulless eyes and abandon hope. I have. Also, I’m a computer-generated composite designed to be more racially ambiguous and therefore more inclusive. Less WASP-y. Am I part Latino? One-quarter Asian? Of Italian Catholic descent? Why yes! Thank you for noticing.”