It’s in the Box: French Promotional Giveaways for Children about Africa

Once upon a time, cereal shopping was an adventure. While mother made the circuit of the aisles, her child disappeared to the cereal section to decide which one had the best giveaway.  The cereal manufacturers were hoped to make the child pine for all their promised prizes so he or she would ask to buy more boxes of their products, supposedly creating brand loyalty. When mother arrived, negotiations began about what brand her darling wanted versus what she was willing to buy, having given in before and seen boxes of untouched cereal stripped of the prizes going stale on the shelf.  We can give thanks to the Kellogg Company of Battle Creek, Michigan for putting the first promotional giveaway for children, Funny Jungleland Moving Pictures (1909), in boxes of cornflakes.

European corporations also have used this diabolical advertising strategy in the promotion of food products to children.  Several ambitious examples of collectible premiums about Africa were added to Cotsen’s collection of advertising ephemera because they looked like an underused source for studying how corporations doing business in particular countries presented to children those cultures formerly under European control.

Africorama was a promotional giveaway ca. 1967 for Petit-Exquis cookies by the L’Alsacienne brand, which had been baking the buttery treats since the 1920s.  The cookie box contained a color enamel metal flag of an African nation. There were two sets, 20 representing the Muslim countries of Africa, and 28 for the “pays noirs” or Black countries. The set in Cotsen has all of the flags except for the Rhodesian one.  Most of the copies coming on the market are seriously defective, so it is unusual to have one so complete.  On the picture of the cookie box to the left, the metal tabs of the flags can be seen. The metal flags were supposed to be displayed on a  folded, perforated cardboard sheet illustrated by Wilquin.  The flags came with the cookies, but the child-collector had to write away for the sheets if they were to be displayed.  The set for the Muslim countries features a full-length portrait of a Berber Tuareg warrior, a Bantu warrior on the Black one. The back of the cardboard display has a big illustrated advertisement for Petit-Exquis cookies, but no clues why L’Alsacienne was issuing such an elaborate giveaway.

The second example of a French promotional giveaway, La collection La Vache qui Rit, also dates from the 1960s.  The semi-soft cheese had been sold in Africa since the 1930s and the continent remains a big market for the product.  Tucked into the little circular cardboard packages containing the cheese were illustrated cards the same size and shape. The child determined to acquire a complete set had to convince his mother to purchase over 200 boxes of cheese. I suspect many mothers were of two minds about that unless her family consumed a great deal of La Vache qui Rit anyway.  Similar to Africorama, single cards and one or the other of the display sheets are not hard to come by, a set as large as this takes persistence and time to accumulate.

The cards, none of which are signed by the artist, are in French and Dutch.  They illustrate in rather attractive detail African animals, arts and crafts, indigenous costumes, and relations between the European colonizers and native Africans in the Belgian Congo. The cards could be stood up for display if cut along the indicated lines on the front and folded as directed. The pictures are captioned, but there is no explanatory text on the back: they are blank. The subjects are quite intriguing; surely many children would have been curious to learn more about what they saw. To look at these cards, no one would have any idea that the Congo had been roiled by political turmoil since it was granted independence by Belgium in 1960.To understand why these two French corporations produced such attractive, elaborate promotional giveaways, one needs to know something about the history of European corporate investment in Africa during the twentieth century.   Have economists studied this phenomenon to learn more about how corporate strategies for increasing market share at home and possibly abroad devised these sets?  Who came up with the ideas?  Who was responsible for the projects, which could not have executed quickly or cheaply.   Was there a motive other than an economic one for making these giveaways?

How might the presentation of Africa in these promotions might have affected French children and African children living in France or abroad?  When were French children taught about the history of their country’s colonization of Africa?   Would they have been exposed to news about Africa in the press, radio, and television? What attitudes towards non-European people were reflected in the illustrations? How would they have compared with those in school books, leisure reading, or the media?  Would children have heard similar or different views expressed by the adults in their families?   And do reminiscences of collecting promotional giveaways as children survive?  Is collecting this kind of ephemera bound up with nostalgia in the same way as it is in America?

Rewriting the Tooth Fairy’s Job Description: Folkore, Fantasy and Branding

Time to welcome the Tooth Fairy into the 21st century, where more is more!  The brand needs to create more memories to store up besides comparing with siblings, friends, and frenemies how much the tooth fairy was good for, or whispering when someone younger is present that there was a big hand attached to dad’s arm under the pillow…

Try the video game “Tooth Fairy Run” on the website of the Royal Mint.  For the more bloody-minded there’s a little 2022 horror film “Drill to Kill” starring a psycho tooth fairy.   Naturally there are plenty of deviant reimaginings of the tooth fairy on the web. But enough of this—a quick detour into the merch before looking at some intriguing books for children about her (he-fairies or gender-neutral ones for another time).

Calm anxiety about keeping the tooth safe until it can be collected with the advance purchase (or creation) of a dear little container, a pouch, box, or pillow. Sterling and silver- plate ones are also available, but they look too knobbly to go under even the best cushioned head. Suppose you aren’t a particularly quick and adroit liar when confronted with awkward questions like “What does the tooth fairy do with all the teeth?” (My family’s ready answer was, “She strings them into a necklace miles and miles long and wears it flying around the world at night.”)  There is a large selection of picture books which expand upon the scanty stock of tooth fairy folklore by offering multiple backstories about her early life, descriptions of her workspace and workflows, family structure, and superpowers.

The more traditional reimaginings of the airy spirit preserve the pre-industrial business model.   In Peter Collington’s wordless The Tooth Fairy (London: Jonathan Cape, 1995), once she knows where she is wanted, she hurries to an extensive excavation below a tree to mine, melt, and cast ore into a token.  She flies to the sleeping expectant’s room, removes the tooth from the box under the pillow (one to fold can be found at the end of the book), and leaves the newly minted token in its place.  As soon as she returns home, she repurposes the tooth for a replacement piano key and once it’s been tuned, she happily practices for the rest of the night.

No obstacles crop up during the smooth and timely fulfilment of baby tooth removal and compensation.  All the fairy’s energy is focused on one child per night, which seems unlikely, given the number of children across the globe who must lose teeth every day.  In a realer world, every night she would have to rush to inconveniently far-flung destinations (although nowhere as many as Santa), routed by a team of experienced traffic controllers.  The operation would also need additional staff to manufacture the tokens, manage the inventory, pack, and address the nightly shipment.

The Underhills: A Tooth Fairy Story (Somerville, MA: Candlewick, 2019) by Australian author/illustrator Bob Graham substitutes a modern middle-class fairy family tied into the spirit network for the gauzy girl sole proprietor. In this sequel to April and Esme, Tooth Fairies, Mom and Dad drop the three kids off at their grandparents for a sleep-over at their tea pot cottage close to the airport.

Gran has just made the fairy cakes and syrup for breakfast, when a call comes in for an emergency pickup in arrivals. Gran and the girls fly to the terminal to meet Akuba’s flight from Ghana and wait with the angels and cupids until the announcement comes over the loudspeaker.  In the rush to get to the airport on time, Gran forgot the coin and tells the girls to find some loose change in a vending machine. The errand is completed  seconds before Akuba and her family walk by.  April and Esme find the pocket and dive deep inside it to nab the tooth and replace it with the coin.  Akuba senses their presence, which obliges the fairies to whisper in her ear that she never heard them moments before the family gets in the cab. Mission accomplished: Akuba won’t have the foggiestidea how the coin got in her sweater pocket.

Graham’s realm of the tooth fairy is so nicely integrated into our world that wings and jumpers look as right as an airport concourse watched over by angels and cupids. The funny, slightly incongruous story in which a little Black girl who lost a baby tooth on an international flight is not overlooked is reassuring without being obvious.

The blurbs on the dust jacket of Toothiana: Queen of the Tooth Fairy Armies, volume 3 of William Joyce’s series The Guardians of Childhood, calls it “sweeping and epic, a Persian carpet of story lines”  and “deep, dark, dazzling…the most wonderful of William Joyce’s worlds.”   It is nothing if not eclectic.

A suggestion by Joyce’s daughter Katharine, who died tragically young of brain cancer, inspired the cast of characters assembled from the great brands of modern childhood fakelore.  Headed up by the benign wizard Osmic, the forces for good are Santa Claus (aka Nicholas St. North the Cossack), the Easter Bunny (E. Aster Bunnymund, prodigious digger, chocolatier extraordinaire, and bare chested warrior with six arms), the Tooth Fairy (Toothiana, the keeper of childhood memories) and Nighlight (a Peter Pan clone).   Their collective soul is Katharine, a girl on the verge of womanhood, who loses her last baby tooth, “The Tooth of Destiny.”  If  a new Golden Age is to be created, they must again rout the arch baddie Pitch Black, king of nightmares, and his henchman the Monkey King backed by a force of beserker flying simians, lifted from The Wizard of Oz.

Where does the Tooth Fairy fit into the pseudo-oriental epic straining to keep Katharine safe without utterly defeating Pitch, so the sequels can keep coming.  An orphan who is a sword-wielding hummingbird in harem pants with the power to split herself into six tiny avatars (the vaunted army).  Her name does not inspire terror and awe, but neither would  alternatives like Molarella, Bicuspidina, Canina, or Enamelette.  She has to compete for space in her own volume with the other Guardians—and more critically, Katharine–so backstory gets swallowed up by all the other storylines churning the thirty short chapters written in short choppy sentences.   Like Rise of the Guardians, the DreamWorks Animation fantasy-action-adventure franchise that foundered  after the first animated film,  Toothiana is stuffed so full with underdeveloped ideas that the narrative and characters never come alive to the extent necessary to sustain a series of installments.

It’s no wonder the Tooth Fairy has issues with mission, identity, and agency…