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In the late 1960s, a time when Madison Avenue was just beginning to grapple with the complexities of marketing to a diverse America, the advertising firm Foote, Cone & Belding birthed a troublesome brainchild: the Frito Bandito.
This animated mascot, with his exaggerated Mexican stereotypes and penchant for corn chip thievery, seemed a surefire way to capture the hearts (and dollars) of snack-hungry consumers.
But as the Bandito rode roughshod over cultural sensitivities, he unwittingly became a catalyst for change, sparking a fierce backlash that would ultimately consign him to the annals of advertising infamy.
In a stroke of casting genius that would prove to be both a blessing and a curse, the legendary Mel Blanc, the man behind the voices of Bugs Bunny and Speedy Gonzales, was tapped to bring the Frito Bandito to life.
Under the direction of animation luminary Tex Avery at California's Cascade Studios, Blanc imbued the Bandito with a thick, exaggerated accent that walked the line between comedic and offensive.
The end result was a character that, while undeniably memorable, would become a lightning rod for controversy in an era of rapidly evolving social consciousness.
The Frito Bandito burst onto the scene as a caricature of the Mexican Revolutionary, complete with a sombrero, handlebar mustache, and an accent thicker than a bowl of queso.
Armed with pistols and an insatiable appetite for Fritos corn chips, this pint-sized desperado blazed a trail of snack-related larceny across television screens nationwide.
But as the Bandito's popularity grew, so too did the realization that his portrayal was a far cry from the respectful representation of Mexican culture that a new generation of Americans demanded.
As the 1960s drew to a close, a new breed of activism was taking root in the Mexican-American community, with groups like the National Mexican-American Anti-Defamation Committee (NMAADC) and the Involvement of Mexican-Americans in Gainful Endeavors (IMAGE) leading the charge.
These organizations, born out of a growing frustration with the prevalence of ethnic stereotypes in advertising, set their sights on the Madison Avenue establishment, determined to hold them accountable for the harmful caricatures they perpetuated.
The Frito Bandito, with his exaggerated accent and criminal proclivities, quickly became a prime target for these advocacy groups, who saw in him a symbol of the disrespect and marginalization that had long plagued their community.
Faced with mounting pressure from advocacy groups, Frito-Lay found itself at a crossroads: either stand firm behind their controversial mascot or adapt to the changing times.
In a move that was equal parts concession and self-preservation, the company opted for a hasty makeover of the Frito Bandito, stripping away his gold tooth and beard in an effort to soften his image and appease his critics.
But the assassination of Robert F. Kennedy in 1968 added a new sense of urgency to the situation, and Frito-Lay soon made the decision to disarm the Bandito entirely, relegating his once-omnipresent pistols to the dustbin of advertising history.
In a stunning display of corporate intransigence, Frito-Lay initially dug in its heels, clinging to the Frito Bandito like a drowning man to a life raft.
Armed with a survey purporting to show that 85% of Mexican Americans actually embraced the controversial mascot, the company seemed determined to weather the storm of criticism.
But as the protests and lobbying efforts of advocacy groups like NMAADC and IMAGE gained traction, it became increasingly clear that Bandito's days were numbered.
As the curtain fell on the Frito Bandito, Frito-Lay found itself scrambling to fill the void left by their erstwhile mascot. In a bid to keep the brand fresh and relevant, the company unveiled a new cast of cartoon characters in 1969, led by the rakish W.C. Fritos, a snack-peddling doppelganger of the legendary comedian W.C. Fields.
But the real stars of the show were the Muncha Bunch, a rag-tag group of cowboy outlaws who brought a decidedly different flavor to the Frito-Lay brand.
With their exaggerated features and slapstick antics, these new mascots represented a marked departure from the Bandito's controversial legacy, signaling a new era in snack food marketing.
In the end, the Frito Bandito's fate was sealed not by a single, decisive blow, but by a slow, inexorable erosion of his once-unassailable position.
As advocacy groups continued to chip away at his credibility and cultural relevance, Frito-Lay began to quietly phase out the character in select markets, testing the waters for a more comprehensive shift in strategy.
By 1971, the writing was on the wall, and the company officially pulled the plug on the Bandito, bringing an ignominious end to one of the most controversial chapters in the annals of advertising. T
he Frito Bandito was gone, but the lessons of his rise and fall would reverberate through the industry for decades to come, a cautionary tale of the perils of insensitivity in an increasingly diverse and socially conscious world.
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