I recently saw that Fairlife had temporarily stopped milk production in the United States following a ransomware attack.
To be clear, the milk was not recalled. Coca-Cola said its quality and safety were not affected. The hackers got into Fairlife’s production-related computer systems, not the cows.
Although I would pay good money to watch someone try to explain ransomware to a Holstein.
“Ma’am, your files have been encrypted.” “Moo.” “We need 40 Bitcoin.” “Moo.” That story is how I learned Coca-Cola owns Fairlife.
Coca-Cola. The soda company owns the fancy milk. This felt like discovering that the kindly dairy farmer pictured in my imagination is actually three beverage executives stacked inside a pair of overalls.
All this time, I thought choosing Fairlife instead of Coke represented personal growth. One is a sugary soft drink, and the other is ultra-filtered milk packed with protein.
But no. Either way, Coca-Cola gets my money. One option says, “Treat yourself.” The other says, “Make healthier choices.” Both quietly whisper, “Thank you for your continued loyalty to the corporation.”
That discovery sent me down a rabbit hole of corporate ownership, and I regret to report that the free market is wearing a fake mustache.
The grocery store appears to offer endless choices. There are thousands of products, hundreds of labels and an entire aisle devoted to crackers with nearly identical personalities.
Surely, we are in control. We are not. We are toddlers being allowed to choose between the red cup and the blue cup. Both cups belong to the same parent, the parent owns the kitchen, and the parent has already deducted the cost from our college fund.
General Mills, for example, owns Annie’s and Blue Buffalo pet food.
You can eat Cheerios, feed your child Annie’s macaroni and give your dog Blue Buffalo. Everyone in the household believes they selected a different company.
You have not diversified your spending. You have simply fed General Mills three species.
Campbell’s owns Pepperidge Farm, Cape Cod chips, Snyder’s of Hanover, Kettle Brand and Rao’s Homemade.
That expensive jar of Rao’s sauce makes me picture an Italian grandmother standing over a pot of tomatoes in a sunny kitchen.
Behind her, just outside the frame, is a can of condensed cream of mushroom soup holding the deed to the house.
Then there is Hormel, which owns Planters, Skippy, Applegate, Justin’s and Wholly Guacamole.
You can make a sandwich with natural deli meat and premium nut butter, serve guacamole on the side and finish with a handful of peanuts, all while believing you supported four or five charming businesses.
You supported Hormel repeatedly. Hormel thanks you for expressing your individuality.
The “natural” aisle is where the illusion becomes especially impressive. Everything there has soft colors, pictures of leaves and words such as “clean,” “simple” and “honest.”
Every product looks like it was handmade by a woman named Willow who lives in Vermont, raises goats and personally apologizes to each lavender plant before turning it into deodorant.
Burt’s Bees is owned by Clorox. Tom’s of Maine is owned by Colgate-Palmolive. Native is owned by Procter & Gamble. Seventh Generation is owned by Unilever. Method and Mrs. Meyer’s are owned by SC Johnson.
You thought you were rejecting Big Soap. Big Soap changed into linen pants, grew an herb garden and met you at the farmers market.
Few companies have perfected quiet domination like Church & Dwight. It owns Arm & Hammer, OxiClean, Trojan, First Response, Nair, Orajel, Batiste, Waterpik and Zicam.
One company can clean your clothes, confirm your pregnancy, remove your unwanted hair, treat your toothache and blast debris from between your teeth.
Church & Dwight does not sell products. It follows you through the entire human experience, waiting patiently for something to stain, hurt, grow, clog or test positive.
Then there is Mars. The company famous for M&M’s, Snickers and Twix also owns pet-food brands and major veterinary hospital chains, including Banfield, VCA and BluePearl.
Mars can sell you chocolate, feed your dog and provide veterinary care when your dog eats the chocolate.
That is not a collection of businesses. That is a trap with excellent vertical integration.
Even restaurants are part of the game. Inspire Brands owns Sonic, Arby’s, Dunkin’, Baskin-Robbins, Buffalo Wild Wings and Jimmy John’s.
You could eat at a different restaurant for nearly a week and still hand your money to the same corporate family.
Breakfast at Dunkin’. Lunch at Jimmy John’s. Dinner at Arby’s. Dessert at Baskin-Robbins. A latenight Sonic drink because your digestive system has stopped returning your calls.
Choice! At this point, I assume every product in America is owned by one enormous company headquartered inside a volcano. Its executives sit around a giant table, petting hairless cats and laughing whenever someone pays $3 more for packaging with a leaf on it.
None of this means the products are bad. I like many of them. I will continue buying Fairlife milk, Annie’s macaroni and whichever cleaner promises to remove the mysterious substances generated by life with a toddler.
I would simply like corporations to be more honest.
Put the parent company’s name on the front. “Burt’s Bees, brought to you by Clorox.” “Rao’s Homemade, from the people who understand condensed soup.”
“Blue Buffalo, because General Mills noticed your dog was not eating cereal.”
“Fairlife, for when you want Coca-Cola money to feel healthier.”
At least then, when I stand in the grocery aisle comparing 14 supposedly competing products, I will understand what is happening.
I am not choosing between companies. I am choosing which costume I would like the company to wear while taking my money.
Be kind to your neighbors. Be kind to your pets. And remember, the same corporation may own both of their shampoo brands.