Electronic Mall Madness

There are only so many viable ways to ensure that young generations sufficiently absorb capitalist values to grow into eventual obedient consumers. The young and idealistic must be programmed to possess superficial values and a strong sense of materialism like the generations of buyers and sellers who preceded them. The real question is, how?

Of all the un
likely sources, the Milton Bradley Corporation seemed to have the answer.

They called it Mall Madness.



For those of you who managed to survive the 90s unscathed by Milton Bradley's sadistic form of capitalist indoctrination, let me paint a picture for you. If you were at any time under the spell of this board game, you will likely want to purchase this picture by the end of reading this post.

The preceding description may be a tad harsh, but it's difficult to deny the deliberate value placement this game projected onto impressionable young minds. As someone who will freely admit her mother denied her the purchase of this game following a particularly potent temper tantrum in the game aisle of Target, I can understand its allure. The 90s toy industry was big on gender stereotyping, and board games were no exception. A 1991 article in Discount Store News offers the following bit of insight into early-90s toy and game marketing:

"Boys play Nintendo," a Parker Brothers spokesman said. "Girls play board games."

As much truth as there may have been to this, it is a bit disturbing nonetheless to observe the sweeping generalizations made by toy companies in an effort to neatly separate children into marketable demographics. Mall Madness was a product of this marketing philosophy, and dictated to girls that it was acceptable to be vapid, superficial, materialistic, and openly money-hounding. The real problem was, I wanted to be all of these things. The commercial seemed to speak to me specifically. How exactly did they get inside my brain to produce a commercial tailor-made to meet my shop-till-I-drop needs? They were selling us a set of admittedly questionable values, and we were more than happy to purchase it with the adorable fake credit cards included in the box.


There have been a few subsequent reincarnations of this beloved late 80s/early 90s board game, so I believe this official description from BoardGames.com comes from the most recent one. However, its uncanny similarity serves to show just how far we have not come since the game's original release.

Talking! Electronic!

Find the steals and deals! And see what's in store for you!

Hey girls! Don't miss the big SALE!

Grab your cash and hit the mall! Get your shopping list ready and race from store to store. Quickly find the best deals and make your purchases. But remember, not every shopping trip goes smoothly. Sometimes an item you want is not in stock. Or you must go to the ATM for more cash. First shopper to make 6 purchases and get to the right destination wins!

Taking Mall Center: "Hey, this is on clearance!" "Cha Ching!" "Oh, we're out of stock, try again later"

Even just reading this description makes me want to go out and purchase it. The big SALE? Deals? Purchases? ATM? CLEARANCE? Sign me up!

This game told us exactly how we as girls were supposed to behave and what types of things we were supposed to care about. While in retrospect this should probably alarm and concern all of us, I'm sure the majority of you--like me--are out there thinking, "Oh, yeah! I loved that game!" It's hard to be outraged over something that you once coveted with near-religious fervor. Even the games instructions illustrate just how stupid they thought young girls were. Observe, an excerpt:

The Voice of the Mall will say, “Hi Red!...Hi Blue!...Hi Green!...Hi Yellow!” When you hear
your color called, immediately press the Move button. This lets the computer know which shoppers
are playing.

EXAMPLE. You are the red shopper, Anne is the green shopper and Donna is the yellow shopper. As
soon as you hear “Hi Red,” press the Move button. Next you will hear “Hi Blue!” Since no shopper
is blue, no one presses the Move button. Anne presses the Move button immediately after hearing
“Hi Green!” Donna presses the Move button as soon as she hears “Hi Yellow!”

The Voice will repeat each unselected color one more time — just in case a shopper forgot to press
the Button when his or her color was called. If you hear your color repeated, press the Move button.
 

They probably could have left it at that first paragraph, but no, that would have been needlessly simple and comprehensible. They had to assign these imaginary characters names, because no way would these girls ever figure out who Player 1 and Player 2 were without them.

Also, this creepy unexplained disembodied electronic Voice will actually repeat itself just in case any of you girls are too slow to have partaken in this ridiculously simple task in the first place. Got that, or do I need to explain it again? Milton Bradley would probably vote "yes".

Not only would the Voice tell you what to buy and where to go, it also informed you of your most basic needs. "You're hungry," it would declare. "Meet a friend at the Pizza Place."

Or, alternately, and arguably more straightforward, "Go to the restroom." You almost have to wonder to what extent game designers assumed girls would actually get up from their spots on the slumber party floor to take an actual bathroom break upon hearing this command. I think they may have built in an extended pause in the recording expressly for this purpose.

Or my personal favorite, "You left your lights on. Go to the parking lot." Not only are girls only good for spending money and buying useless material goods, they're also air-headed bimbos who can't be trusted to adequately perform even the simplest of everyday tasks. You've got our number, Milton Bradley (call us on those Dream Phones you gave us anytime!).

I suppose one could argue this game occasionally has the effect of teaching children how to budget, but the noticeably irresponsible level of spending is not exactly to its credit (yes, credit. Like the cards. I'm all for subtle humor). However, the game's written instructions actually drop heavy hints on how to circumvent overdrawn bank balances by highlighting some of the underlying glitches in the game's programming. If you make a purchase and then find that you actually had no money in your account, you can simply return that purchase to keep the money that is in no way rightfully yours. There's nothing likely clearly outlining the means of deception and greed to a couple of enthusiastic shopping-crazy 9 year-old girls.

The crowning glory of the game, however, is the inordinate amount of physical assembly it requires.

In light of all of their good-natured gender stereotyping, it seems the kindpeople at Milton Bradley were banking on the notion that these Mall Madness-purchasing households contained a father or some brothers, or else this game would never be up and running.

Would You Rather: 90s Edition

Yesterday afternoon, my boyfriend and I were browsing a local Barnes and Noble for general bemusement purposes and I stumbled upon what can only be described as my new favorite miniature book (other than this book, which I also found to be disproportionately hilarious). As I read (well, if you can consider following my boyfriend around while shouting questions aloud in between bouts of irrepressible laughter "reading") this book, I had a sudden flash of insight. Okay, well, to be fair, my boyfriend actually suggested the idea to me (probably in an effort to quell the aforementioned following/loud reading in public areas/unstoppable guffawing), so I should probably make some effort assign him credit where it is due. (In case you missed it, that was it.)

The book is Would You Rather? by Justin Heimberg and David Gomberg, two Bergs after my own heart in terms of non-sequitor absurdist humor. I am sure that many of you have previously encountered this book in some capacity and are unimpressed by my so-called "discovery" of a title that has lined bookstore shelves since 1997, but this will not stop me from touting its glorious hilarity and ripping off its general underlying premise in a completely copyrightedly acceptable way.

Without futher ado, I proudly introduce the frequency as-of-yet-to-be-determined Children of the Nineties feature, Would you Rather? (tailored 90s-style for your nostalgic enjoyment):


Would you rather...

Have the resourceful ability to conveniently stop time in a Zach Morris "Freeze!"-style fashion

or

Possess Alex Mack's toxic waste-induced mutant powers of transformation in a puddle of movable metallic goo, telekinesis, and long-distance electronic zappage?

Possibilities to Ponder: Ability to plead your case directly to the audience, chance to briefly rearrange others in compromising positions, short-listing for Capri Sun commercials.

Explain your reasoning.

Power Wheels

As kids, there were certain outrageously expensive toys that we just couldn't help salivating over. With a limited understanding of cost-benefit analysis, it was difficult to understand our parents' decision to feed us in lieu of providing us with lavish, overpriced luxury toys. There was always one kid on the block whose parents would buy him every hot new toy that hit the market, and it was the rest of our jobs to whine mercilessly, "But STEVIE has one!"

Perhaps at age six, logic was not our strong suit. While I couldn't tell you offhand what my once-coveted 1993 Fisher Price/Mattel Power Wheels Barbie Jeep cost, a quick trip the current Power Wheels website reveals that a 2009 Barbie Cadillac Escalade Custom Edition (and yes, this exists) costs $374. I'm sorry, maybe you didn't catch that. Three hundred and seventy-four dollars. For those of us who know have some basic grasp of monetary value and/or are faced monthly with important financial choices, we can hopefully all recognize that this is absolutely insane. I don't think my parents made that large of a down payment on my first real car.

The 2009 Barbie Escalade

Power Wheels were remarkable little battery-powered machines that allowed children a level of neighborhood street-roaming autonomy that bordered on potentially negligent. A closer examination of the Power Wheels brand indicates that their vehicles are typically marketed toward children ages 12 months to seven years. I don't know about you, but one year after I pop out an infant, I don't plan on letting him tear recklessly through the cul-de-sac in a miniature Ford Mustang. These children can barely walk, and we're letting them drive? Maybe it's just me, but something about this seems a tad askew.


Regardless of my current staunch anti-insanely-dangerous-toys stance, back in the day I would have killed one of the neighbor kids for one of these babies. Really, I would have. I'm sure there was one bad apple that no one really liked and wouldn't be missed. In this fantasy, the kid's last will and testament would be read publicly near the swings at the local playground and I would receive his now displaced Power Wheels Kawasaki Ninja rider. It was a beautiful dream, but unfortunately none of the kids in my neighborhood were rich enough or had the type of buy-your-affection parents to warrant such a glorious, though ultimately tragic, outcome.

While nowadays parents make a big fuss over gender neutral toys, dress their children in yellow, and encourage boys to play with dolls to theoretically increase future sensitivity, back in the day we had more clear cut lines of gender differentiation. If a boy ordered a Happy Meal, he received a Hot Wheels toy. For a girl, the Happy Meal contained a Barbie figurine. It didn't matter what your preference was, toy marketers chalked it up to basic biology and that was that. This theory was certainly a cornerstone of the Power Wheels marketing campaign, with distinct gender specific targeted ads.

For girls, we had Barbie, our alleged doll role model and favorite cheerleader/soccer player/teacher/fairy princess/dentist we knew. What can I say, she was a pretty accomplished gal. We can only assume that on the merit of all of the aforementioned achievements, she was rewarded with a significant toy car endorsement deal:





For those of you stuck at work or othrewise incapacitated on a watching-videos-without-being-caught-slacking front, let me transcribe the ad song's lyrics for you:

The buggy's all packed, so here we go
Headin' for the beach with my best friend Flo
My Barbie Beach Buggy's really puttin' on a show!

Pow Pow Power Wheels!
Pow Power Wheels!
C'mon Flo, let's really go!

Pow Pow Power Wheels!
Pow Power Wheels!
Power Wheeeeeeeeeeels!
Now I'm drivin' for real!

Power Wheels Barbie Beach Buggy. What a way to go!

...(Adult supervision required).

This really begs the question, how can I get set up with a lucrative children's toy ad campaign writing gig? I can't imagine less work going into, well, anything. I guess they knew how much this product spoke for itself in terms of desirability, allowing them to rhyme the word "go" with itself two additional times. Nonetheless, watching this ad even as an adult, I'm completely sold on it. I could care less what she's singing, just insert me into the Beach Buggy and I'll be on my merry way.

For the more glamorous first graders, Power Wheels had a different Barbie model:




First things first. This thing comes with a car phone? Most of our parents couldn't afford these amenities yet, and we're giving them to six-year olds? It sounds as if this was recorded by the same jingle singer as the first, we can only assume they paid her for a two-fer. This is essentially a remixed version of the first song, only this time, our girl got some lines. The only problem? She's six and an adult woman's voice is coming out of her mouth. I do love the way her mom sort of shakes her head at her daughter as if to say, "Oh, you!" Hey Mom, you bought the damn Lamborghini, don't act so chagrined by her endless gloating. On an aside, the star's Blossom-style hat was a major staple of my wardrobe at the time.

And for those of you out there with a Y chromosome, well, this one's for you:




The gender role stereotyping is a tad over the top here. You're not in a crappy little kid's battery-powered Jeep, you're part of the CHEIF ADVENTURE TEAM! I can see why they'd want children with their ineffective slow vehicles on board for such an important rogue underground organization. For some reason, these ads also feature adult voices emanating from children's bodies. I don't quite get what was going on here. Was this supposed to represent the required adult supervision notably absent from the ad? Could these kids not be trusted with their two-word lines? We may never know. All we know is how bad-ass those kids look with those walkie-talkies. For some reason, they also drive through an oddly assembled configuration of doves. Had they just been released for a wedding? Again, this is a question perhaps best left to professionals. We can only assume that's highly classified top secret CHIEF ADVENTURE TEAM business.

It wasn't all fun and games with these marvelous machines, though. Lucky for us who are still pouting over our parents' inability to magically produce one of these under a Christmas tree or at a birthday party, these things certainly had their dark side. What's a good 90s toy without some form of parent-sponsored reckless endangerment?


In 1991, the 18 Volt Porsche 911 was recalled for defective parts. Before we ask what people are thinking buying their children a miniature version of a car with a six-figure price tag, let's examine what exactly went wrong here. A defect in the foot pedal could force the car to stay running while disabling the braking function. I don't know about you, but there's something decidedly humorous in the image of a five year-old child barreling at top speed (at a maximum rate of two point five miles per hour) with no end in sight. An honorable mention for hilarious visuals is awarded to the once-distracted parents, now chasing their kids down the street and attempting to extract them from the miniature vehicle before it makes a crash landing into a freestanding mailbox.

Power Wheels issued a second recall in 1998 on a different model for potentially faulty battery connections. The most amazing thing about this recall was in the instructions it gave for repairs; they required you to bring the vehicle in to an "authorized Power Wheels Service center" What, are there many garages out there performing black market repairs on kids' toy cars? Is it that difficult to regulate the industry?

As you venture into adulthood, the choice to buy or not to buy a Power Wheels car for your child is yours and yours alone. The real question is, is it worth dipping in to the college fund to allow a 12 month-old infant a shot at driving practice?