Dear Esteemed Members of the Pillsbury Corporation,
I find myself compelled to reach out during this festive season, overwhelmed by the challenges of holiday baking with my little ones. My attempts to create joyful Christmas memories have, regrettably, devolved into a series of comedic mishaps.
In line with your cheerful advertisements, I have endeavored to “stir up a batch of memories” by baking cookies with my children—four times this week alone. I have set the scene with holiday music, dressed the kids in matching reindeer sweaters, and arranged steaming mugs of cocoa on the counter. I envisioned the perfect moment: children behaving blissfully, sharing smiles, and savoring our beautifully iced sugar cookies. Alas, the reality has been far from my ideal.
It would be a wonderful act if you could consider producing advertisements that reflect the genuine experiences of parenting during the holidays. Perhaps a scene depicting the chaos of a mother wrestling with sticky dough, muttering under her breath while a glass of “mommy juice” stands nearby, would resonate more with your audience. Where are the children eagerly grabbing fistfuls of raw dough, or the teacher requesting “non-denominational yet festive” cookie shapes? The contrast between your portrayals and the realities many face is striking.
I often wonder about the women in your commercials who seem to serve perfectly round cookies to their giggling children. Are they real? If they are, I would gladly welcome their assistance in my kitchen, especially when my toddler is attempting to feed tinsel to the family dog while I struggle to transfer a misshapen gingerbread man from the counter to the baking sheet, all while navigating a mountain of dirty dishes.
Your advertisements seem to undermine the confidence of the average American woman. You present a scenario where all I need to do is roll out pre-packaged dough and create cookie masterpieces. Yet, what can I do when my gingerbread girl resembles a malnourished stick figure? How does one salvage an angel-shaped cookie that is two inches thick and has become irretrievably stuck to the countertop?
Where, I ask, is MY cheerful winter day? Where are MY cherished holiday memories? What would the iconic dough boy think if he caught a whiff of burnt cookies in my hair as my husband walks in, only to mistake it for a new perfume? The American consumer deserves authenticity.
I implore you to abandon the unrealistic portrayals of holiday baking. Instead, let’s see the mother who contemplates shaping cookies in the form of her middle finger, and the children who are secretly hoping their mother will opt for bringing paper goods to the class party instead of cookies. Allow us to embrace the reality of holiday chaos, where the Christmas music is absent because of a toddler’s mischief with the CDs.
This holiday season, I believe it is time to showcase the genuine experiences of motherhood. We deserve to see the truth behind baking, where messy hair and burnt sugar are the norm, and laughter comes from shared failures rather than perfection.
Wishing you a joyful holiday season, and I look forward to engaging with you again during Easter.
Sincerely,
Jessica Harrington