How might own-group preference influence the decisions we make as consumers? Perhaps it causes us to become loyal to particular brands or companies while completely omitting others from consideration? It may even influence us to the extent that we’ll pay more for an item  — looking past the more reasonably-priced generic option — to ensure that brand association reinforces our preferences. The role of own-group preference plays into our own self-concept which often informs our consumer decision making.

Own-group preference also influences our purchasing behaviours by holding us back from making excessive “impulse” buys: due to our need for extensive evaluation, we may require more time to ensure our decision is both informed and aligned with how we perceive ourselves as consumers and how we want others to perceive us. Brands play a powerful role in distinguishing us not only as individual consumers, but also as members of larger consumer groups.

Advertisements have a long history of relying on stereotypical characters to promote products. For many years Aunt Jemima sold pancake mix and Rastus was a grinning Black chef who pitched Cream of Wheat hot cereal. The Gold Dust Twins were Black urchins who peddled a soap powder for Lever Brothers and Pillsbury hawked powdered drink mixes using characters such as “Injun Orange” and “Chinese Cherry”—who had buck teeth.

These negative depictions began to decline in the 1960s as the civil rights movement gave more power to racialized groups and their rising economic status began to command marketers’ respect. Frito-Lay responded to protests by the Hispanic community and stopped using the “Frito Bandito” character in 1971, and Quaker Foods gave Aunt Jemima a makeover in 1968 (plaid headband) and in 1989 (pearl earrings and a lace collar) (Hsu, 2020; Westerman, 1989). As part of its fiftieth-anniversary celebration for Crest toothpaste, Procter & Gamble reintroduced its “Crest Kid,” who first appeared in 1956 as a “white bread,” apple-cheeked girl painted by artist Norman Rockwell. It’s telling that the new Crest Kid is Cuban American.

Similarly, a recent campaign gives a radical makeover to the Black Uncle Ben character who appeared on rice packages for more than sixty years dressed as a servant. (White Southerners once used “uncle” and “aunt” as honorary names for older African Americans because they refused to address them as “Mr.” and “Mrs.”) The character is remade as Ben (just Ben), an accomplished businessman with an opulent office who shares his “grains of wisdom” about rice and life on the brand’s web site (Elliot, 2007).

In 2020, the Aunt Jemima brand was in the spotlight again and called out for its continued use of both a racist name and imagery. This time, a TikTok video that went viral brought attention to the brand’s racist history and Quaker Oats (owned by PepsiCo since 2001) announced that it would retire the name and change the packaging (Hsu, 2020).

These positive steps are motivated by both good intentions and pragmatism. Ethnic consumers spend more than $600 billion a year on products and services. Immigrants make up 10 per cent of the U.S. population, and California is less than half white. Advertisers and their agencies couldn’t ignore this new reality even if they wanted to.

Feeling the need to make a Twitter thread on WHY Native mascots are harmful (and no, it’s not about our delicate little feelings). The following is a summary on some of the actual effects of these mascots.

Clinical psychologist Michael Friedman, the author of, “The Harmful Psychological Effects of the Washington Football Mascot” stated in his report that, “[a] series of studies show that if Native Americans are shown images of stereotypical Native American mascots…self-esteem goes down, belief in community goes down, belief in achievement goes down, and mood goes down” (Friedman, n.d.).

Friedman’s study also gives evidence to how Native mascots exacerbates racism. “Similarly, if someone who is non-Native American sees a stereotypical image of a Native American mascot, their association with the Native American community also gets worse” (Friedman, n.d.).

Beyond the studies, we also recognize that the representation of Native people as mascots is often homogenous (presents all tribes as interchangeable), historical (pre-1900 at least), and highly stereotyped. The result of such displays are the perception that all Indigenous nations have the same cultural identifiers, that we exist only in the past, and that we are “savage,” warlike, or stoic (see: Noble Indian trope).

When young people (both Native and non-Native) are exposed to these images, they internalize their idea of what Native people are supposed to be. Clearly, the belief in homogeneous Indian figures harms our representation and challenges our ability to communicate issues facing our specific communities. Obviously, it also contributes to other cultural mishmashes (see: Victoria Secret model w/ headdress, leopard print, turquoise). The general concept of Native People as existing only in the past is something I find especially damaging. It is perpetuated across media, including the textbooks. In fact… “A staggering 87 per cent of references to American Indians in all 50 states’ academic standards portray them in a pre-1900 context” (Wade, 2017).

What effect does this have on us now? Great question! Obviously it means that Native issues are ignored. Few individuals have Indigenous issues on their radar at all. Thanks to Michael Friedman’s report and Lisa Wade’s examination of the effects of Indigenous erasure in our school system, the data tell us that when Indigenous issues are acknowledged, people  are inclined to think of us in a negative light. Which brings me to that pesky notion that we are “savage.” Or silent. Or spiritual and talk to wolves and eagles. These are all hurdles to gaining traction when first we must dismantle stereotypes about ourselves.

In 2013, NPR’s Tell Me More host Michel Martin spoke with Michael Friedman and NPR science correspondent Shankar Vedantam about the research Friedman conducted regarding the impacts of Indigenous mascots. “[The data help] us get past what’s been a constant refrain in the debate over these mascots. One side says, ‘Look, we’re offended.’ The other side says, ‘Look, we don’t mean to give any offense.’ And you end up with a he-said, she-said battle of opinions” (“Can a Mascot,” 2013).

Vedantam goes on to say that, “[t]he data seem to show at a pretty general level that there is a disconnect between how people think about these issues consciously and unconsciously.” You can have a positive view of Native mascots but unconsciously they are still causing harm. In summary, this isn’t about our delicate snowflake dispositions, but rather, the actual measurable harm that Native mascots have on our communities. No amount of “get over it” will change that. Now that you’re armed with all this wonderful knowledge, go out in the world and use it to make a difference.

To learn more, visit the links below and the ones used in this thread.

• Missoulian News
• University at Buffalo
• American Psychological Association’s statement on Native mascots
• Huffington Post

The image of the noble savage developed many centuries ago in Western culture. From the beginning of European exploration and colonialism, Europeans described the “natives” they encountered primarily in negative terms, associating them with sexual promiscuity, indolence, cannibalism, and violence. The depictions changed as Romantic artists and writers rejected modernity and industrialization and called for people to return to an idealized, simpler past. That reactionary movement also celebrated Indigenous societies as simple people living in an Eden-like state of innocence. French painter Paul Gauguin’s works depicting scenes from his travels to the South Pacific are typical of this approach in their celebration of the colorful, easygoing, and natural existence of the natives. The continuing influence of these stories is evident in Disney’s portrayal of Pocahontas and James Cameron’s 2009 film Avatar in which the primitive Na`vi are closely connected to and defenders of an exotic and vibrant natural world. Cameron’s depiction, which includes a sympathetic anthropologist, criticizes Western capitalism as willing to destroy nature for profit.

Despite its positive portrayals of Indigenous groups, the idea of the ecologically noble savage tends to treat Indigenous Peoples as an imagined “Other” constructed as the opposite of Western culture rather than endeavoring to understand the world views and complexities of Indigenous cultures. Similarly, a naive interpretation of Indigenous environmentalism may merely project an imaginary Western ideal onto another culture rather than make a legitimate observation about that culture on its own terms.

Consumers in capitalist systems continuously attempt to reshape the meaning of the commodities that businesses brand, package, and market to us. The anthropologist Elizabeth Chin conducted ethnographic research among young African American children in a poor neighborhood of New Haven, Connecticut, exploring the intersection of consumption, inequality, and cultural identity. Chin specifically looked at “ethnically correct” Barbie dolls, arguing that while they may represent some progress in comparison to the past when only white Barbies were sold, they also reinforce outdated understandings of biological race and ethnicity. Rather than dismantling race and class boundaries, the “ethnic” dolls create segregated toy shelves that in fact mirror the segregation that young black children experience in their schools and neighborhoods.

The young black girls that Chin researched were unable to afford these $20 brand-name dolls and typically played with less expensive, generic Barbie dolls that were white. The girls used their imaginations and worked to transform their dolls by giving them hairstyles like their own, braiding and curling the dolls’ long straight hair in order to integrate the dolls into their own worlds. A quick perusal of the Internet reveals numerous tutorials and blogs devoted to black Barbie hair styling, demonstrating that the young New Haven girls are not the only ones working to transform these store-bought commodities in socially meaningful ways.

The anthropologist Sarah Besky researched Darjeeling tea production in India to better understand how consumer desires are mapped onto distant locations. In India, tea plantation owners are attempting to reinvent their product for 21st century markets through the use of fair-trade certification and Geographical Indication Status (GI). GI is an international property-rights system, regulated by the World Trade Organization, that legally protects the rights of people in certain places to produce certain commodities. For example, bourbon must come from Kentucky, Mezcal can only be produced in certain parts of Mexico, and sparkling wine can only be called champagne if it originated in France.

Similarly, in order to legally be sold as “Darjeeling tea,” the tea leaves must come from the Darjeeling district of the Indian state of West Bengal. Besky explores how the meaning of Darjeeling tea is created through three interrelated processes: (1) extensive marketing campaigns aimed at educating consumers about the unique Darjeeling taste, (2) the application of international law to define the geographic borders within which Darjeeling tea can be produced, and (3) the introduction of tea plantation-based tourism.

What the Darjeeling label hides is the fact that tea plantations are highly unequal systems with economic relationships that date back to the colonial era: workers depend upon plantation owners not just for money but also for food, medical care, schools, and housing. Even when we pay more for Darjeeling tea, the premium price is not always returned to the workers in the form of higher wages. Bescky’s research shows how capitalism and market exchange shapes the daily lives of people around the world.