Ronald’s Bad Choice
National Review Online, February 5, 2004
Chicago, September 1989 © Andrew Stuttaford
Whoever thought up the weird blend of menu, sermon, and keep-fit manual that McDonald's has now dubbed "Real Life Choices," he has at least proved one thing. Creepy Ronald is not the only clown working under those famous golden arches. Thanks to this initiative, diners waddling into any branch of the burger chain located in the New York tri-state area can participate in a program designed "to help [them] stay on track with [their] diet regimen and incorporate McDonald's food without feeling guilty." However, before going any further in describing this latest insult to the nation's intelligence, I have one small request. Please get up from your chair and remain standing while incorporating the rest of this article. Thank you. I'll explain later. When a junk-food joint offers a "program" as well as a menu, it should stir suspicion even among its most gullible customers. (You remember them. They were the trusting fools that actually ate a McLean Deluxe.) And when that program is given a name so drenched in corporate saccharine as "Real Life Choices" only two things are certain: It will be a complete fantasy and there will be no additional "choice." An exaggeration? Well, let's look at that "choice." Speaking to MSNBC, a marketing director for McDonalds brightly conceded that, no, the program was not exactly a new menu option, but rather "a new way of ordering." Ah, I see.
This is how it works. Fearful of fat? Cautious about calories? Chary of carbohydrates? Well, the program will allow you to request standard menu items modified to take account of your specific dietary concerns. It really isn't that difficult. Feel free to tuck into six (white meat) Chicken McNuggets(r) and a side salad, but only use half a package of Newman's Own Low Fat Balsamic Vinaigrette Dressing. I feel slimmer already.
The company has said that it is trying to "[teach] consumers how to eat the McDonald's food they love." Just in case any consumers are offended by the notion that they need teaching how to eat, McDonald's has added celebrity glitz to Real Life by recruiting Pamela Smith, "a leader in the wellness movement... best-selling author" and "wellness coach" to Shaq O'Neal, to help design the program.
Full details are set out in a handy leaflet. The advice is straightforward and insulting only to those with an IQ above that of a French fry. So, for example, fatphobic Chicken McGrill Sandwich ® fanciers are told to forget the mayo, but pick Picante, BBQ, or Buffalo sauce instead. The carbohydrate-averse are also allowed a Chicken McGrill Sandwich ® — so long as they drop the lettuce and tomato. But be careful! Dieters who prefer watching fat and calories to casting an eye over carbohydrates should add lettuce and tomato to their sandwiches. And what, you may ask, about desperate diners worried about fat, calories, and carbohydrates? What are they meant to do when confronted with the troubling dilemma posed by lettuce leaf and tomato slice? You may ask, but McDonald's has no answer. Those losers, clearly, are on their own.
But there's more to Real Life Choices than slim pickings. The program also boasts "tips for healthful living." Take advantage of "hum-drum tasks...by doing them with vigor!" Vigorously stand up to take a phone call (vigorously rising to your feet to read this article would, I reckon be just as effective), vigorously park at the far end of the lot, and vigorously wash your car by hand. "Any extra movement boosts the metabolism and burns calories better." There's no word on how many calories would be burned tearing up patronizing propaganda, but, as a service to readers, I'll pass on a few more of the ways in which McDonald's suggests that the hum-drum can be made more vigorous. Make sure you comply.
"Walk to a co-worker's desk, as opposed to calling them."
So, what's behind this nonsense? If we rule out theories that the tri-state McDonald's hierarchy has either descended into a form of collective insanity or been possessed by mischievous demons, the only possible explanation is that the company is trying to formulate a response to chatter about a supposed obesity "epidemic." The lawsuit filed against McDonald's earlier last year by two chunky children may have been dismissed for a second time (the judge barred the plaintiffs from re-filing, saying, rather tactlessly under the circumstances, that they did not deserve "a third bite at the apple"), but no one seriously doubts that there will be others in its wake.
"Use a carry-basket at the supermarket, as opposed to pushing a cart."
Equally ominous is the fact that legislators and bureaucrats are showing mounting interest in this issue. For example, last October Health and Human Services Secretary Tommy Thompson took time out from his doubtless demanding schedule to "commend" McDonald's and Burger King for introducing some lower-fat items on their menus. "It was," he condescended, "a step in the right direction of providing consumers with less fat." Meanwhile, there's draft legislation both in Congress and, locally, the New York state assembly that would oblige fast-food chains to post calorie counts on their menu boards. Over on the left coast, Oakland's mayor Jerry Brown, an always-reliable bellwether of the modishly bizarre, has come out in favor of a tax based on "the unhealthy quality of foods." Even poor old Joe Lieberman has tried to get in on the act. He wants the Federal Trade Commission to investigate the way that fast food and other snacks are marketed.
"Walk to pick up the morning paper instead of having it delivered."
The notion that the increasing rate of obesity is the fault of the capitalists who sell fast food, rather than the consumers who eat it is, has proved popular among many overweight Americans willing to blame anyone other than themselves for the aesthetic tragedies that are their stretch pants. Everyone loves an alibi. The cranks, busybodies, and lovers of self-denial now peering through our restaurant windows are only too happy to oblige. As Mary Wootan, the director of nutrition policy for the deranged, but influential, Center for Science in the Public Interest explained at the American Public Health Association's annual meeting last November, "we have got to move beyond personal responsibility."
"Make several trips up and down the stairs instead of using the elevator."
Happily, judging by the estimated $40 billion a year they spend in the pursuit of one diet or another, there are still plenty of Americans who disagree. Seen in this light, McDonald's Real Life Choices are nothing more than shrewd marketing, a canny attempt to make sure that the chain doesn't lose customers frightened by the flap over flab, and perhaps even to attract a few more. Premium salads introduced by the company last April have reportedly been something of a success. And, to be fair, it is possible to eat perfectly healthily at McDonald's. Contrary to the killjoys' shrill claims, there really is no such thing as "bad" food. What matters is a balanced — and moderate — diet. There's no reason that a cheeseburger (or two) cannot be a part of it.
"Use a push-mower instead of a riding mower to mow the lawn."
Likewise there's probably nothing, other than absurdity (and remember, laughter uses up a few calories), actually wrong with all those hints for a healthier humdrum. Yes, they are irritating, but following them wouldn't hurt. It might even help — a little. However, the irony for McDonald's is that in launching a program surely designed, at least in part, to head off lawsuits it may have actually increased its legal risk.
The company's most effective response to potential plaintiffs is the (entirely reasonable) argument that its meals are safe. If some folk choose to overindulge, the consequences are their responsibility, and theirs alone: It is not up to Mickey D's to police how much people choose to pile onto their trays. To use a legal term, McDonald's does not owe a "duty of care" to its clients' waistlines, arteries, or bathroom scales. Unfortunately, measures such as the Real Life Choices program, or, to take another example, the somewhat surreal decision to hire Oprah's personal trainer as a consultant) muddy the message. They seem, if only implicitly, to acknowledge that the company's critics may have a point. Any trial lawyer worth his salt (forgive the nutritionally incorrect phrase) will portray such steps as an admission by McDonald's that it bears some legal responsibility for the obesity "epidemic."
And even the details of such programs can, in the hands of a skilful attorney, be turned into a courtroom nightmare. If McDonald's believed that the program was necessary, why did it wait until 2004 before introducing it — and then only in three states? Worse still, were some of "the tips for healthful living," to use a dread word, "misleading"? After all, they included the counterintuitive, and undeniably self-serving, suggestion that diners should "plan ahead to have "power snacks" or meals every 3-4 hours, energizing choices such as fruit and yogurt or cheese, tortilla roll with meat or cheese, or sandwich [that] can do the body good!" Now, I'm no expert on the human metabolism, but recommendations that we should all graze our way to good health may raise an eyebrow or two.
There's not much more reason to think that the company's efforts will do anything to lessen the political pressures it is going to face. Indeed, by increasing the perception that the food giant is somehow to blame for our plague of pudginess, it may well worsen them. That the company is apparently so spineless in the face of these threats should be no surprise. All too often, the boardroom answer to ideologically driven criticism (and if you think the attack on fast-food restaurants is really to do with waistlines, I have a bridge to sell you) is appeasement. McDonald's, it seems, is no exception and, as that company is about to discover, appeasement never works.
O.K., you can sit down now.
++++
I talked to MSNBC about this topic here.