American nightmare|| Limited Edition Dreamworld Coke Zero
yes I mean the soda
“Sweet dreams are made of this. Who am I to disagree?”
Eurythmics, ‘Sweet Dreams’
The other day I went into a Sainsbury’s, walked past an advert for an Elton John edition Marmite1, and found a display for another consumable collaboration: Oreo Coke Zero.
I was not tempted because, frankly, it sounds a bit gross.2 It reminded me, however, of another desperate attempt of Coca-Cola to stay relevant in the 21st century: the Limited Edition Dreamworld Coke Zero.
This product made such a deep impression with me, I preserved the empty bottle, even those years have passed since it was commercially available. I know I would ultimately need to reckon with its existence, and would appreciate the concrete prop when doing so.
Well, here I am. Let’s get ready to reckon.
I appreciate that this is a FMCG (fast moving consumer good) and not a movie, and none of you signed up for this nonsense. Apologies for the interruption in (irregular) scheduling, but I want to get this off my chest. This soft drink is, to me, a little existential horror.
It was introduced to me by my mother, who brought a bottle back from a trip to the States because she thought that I might end up doing a stand-up routine on it.3 It later arrived in the UK, but I think the American context is very important for understanding the true dread represented in this zero calorie soft drink.
The dread does not come from the taste. I remember reading reviews at the time to try to pinpoint what exactly the drink was going for, and the closest approximation I found was fruity candy left to soak for several hours in a cola. Not a great flavour profile, but not super egregious either. I’d call it an unnecessary entry into annals of soda pop history. It isn’t going to make anyone’s cannon.
No, the horror comes from the very premise of the thing:
Coca-Cola is trying to sell you your dreams.
The company’s promotional material said that the drink captured “technicolour tastes and surrealism of the subconscious”. It’s an outrageous and, accordingly, funny claim: in the words of Eater, ‘Coca-Cola Please Calm Down’. And while we can dismiss the company’s attempts to capture the abstract through caffeine and carbonated water, something sinister lingers beyond the laughter.
In the English language, dreams can refer to:
The narratives/worlds you experience in your sleep
Your hopes and aspirations
Nightmare on Elm Street has of course used (1) as the basis for its successful horror franchise. Coca-Cola alludes to the “subconscious”, so one could connect the product to the fantastical world of sleep, though other marketing compels you to “#TasteTheWonder’ and says the drink was ‘generated from the magic of the mind’, so there is a suggestion that it is associated with creativity – the active process of imagination. And, of course, language is slippery: the multiple meanings of dreams all present themselves when they are written on a page/in a Substack/on a can.
Coca-Cola is, of course, a symbol of Americana.
So we arrive at the American Dream.
As anyone who studied any American Literature at secondary school will know4, “the broken American Dream” is one of its big themes. The shattered dream haunts plays, movies, books, TV shows, music. The promise of national meritocracy – of a country where a person can achieve things through their skills and their hard work – has been proven false, again and again and again. America’s artists are forever coming to terms with the brutal reality of their society (a place where many simply will never achieve their dreams, even their most humble ones). These artists’ patrons – whether they’re watching Succession or listening to Bruce Springsteen – use their work to process the lie at the heart of USA’s self-mythology.
The Coca-Cola corporation, a major international organisation that has done all it can to improve margins and accrue capital, is a major capitalist structure. It is, accordingly, pretty representative of the forces that put paid to the idea that a normal person can get ahead through good work ethic alone. Coca-Cola is, in a way, emblematic of the powers that be. Power is power, and power preserves power. It has no especial interest in sharing it. It has no desire in paying workers better wages so they can purchase their white picket homes more easily. Such companies answer to their boards.
We don’t have an exact equivalent to the American Dream in the UK but I think it is fair to say a lot of us, too, are pessimists, who no longer believe that things can only get better. Some are afraid it will get much worse. I don’t need to go into the various economic, social, environmental anxieties people experience because you, too, are a member of society and probably have a pretty good idea yourself. But I think it is fair to say that many people are afraid their dreams won’t come true. Others are afraid to even have dreams.
A lot of folks then settle for what they can achieve in the moment. There is a cliche that millennials could buy their homes if only they’d stop ordering avocado toasts. Some millennials have had a good laugh at this argument, replying that a lot of people buy avocado toast because they can’t afford a home. Others lock themselves into mortgages previous generations would find insane, others can’t justify the cost of a nice brunch to themselves and seek even more affordable treats.
An overpriced baked good for some, or a Freddo5 for others, provides a temporary reprieve – an obtainable, nice thing, in a world where many of one’s loftier goals (both material and metaphysical) can seem out of reach. The “silly little” whatever that makes you feel, for a moment, that you have some control, some means of improving your situation. Some desire you can fulfil, even if it is hardly one of your wildest dreams.
Businesses capitalise on this, of course. It doesn’t take a huge amount of insight to realise that if you aren’t selling an actual necessary good, you’re selling a promise – of pleasure, of a better life, etc.
Which brings me back to the audacity of the Coca-Cola corporation. It represents the forces that broke the American dream, and then it then has the nerve to literally sell it back to us. It can pretend it is selling the sleepy-time fantasy type of dream but language is slippery and the double meaning is there, literally spelled out for us on their label.
Of course what we are sold isn’t real. There is no way to bottle the abstract. We hand over cash for a simulacrum. The semblance of a dream.
As Skittles falsely claimed you could “taste the rainbow”, so Coca-Cola pretends its mass-produced nutrient-free beverages can make you feel something profound. The best they can offer is hydration.
Don’t let the bastards grind you down, friends. I think we can dream bigger than that.
Happy October guys, it’s been a little while! If you’ve made it to this point, thanks for indulging me through what, frankly, was a silly edition. Hopefully I will soon go back to writing about movies and not a weird tirade on soft drinks (though if you want my views on any sodas, leave a comment below, and I’m sure I can muster an emotional response). Until later- don’t dream it, be it! xoxo
Genuinely, this isn’t some funny bit.
Friend of the newsletter Neil did, however, because of his dedication to trying as many sodas of the world as possible. He described it as “basically vanilla coke but maybe with a slight bit of cocoa in?” Please write in with any sodas you think he should try, I like to encourage his ventures.
This sentence probably actually explains a lot about why I am the way I am.
Pour one out for Death of a Salesman.
For anyone not from the UK, a Freddo is a cheap, very thin chocolate shaped like a frog, and one of the British national pastimes is witnessing how much its cost rises in accordance with inflation.