I was standing in a packed subway car when I saw the ad.
Dear New York,
We need your help. The rest of the country doesn’t love Snapple as much as New Yorkers do.
Show us why you #LOVESNAPPLE and we might share it with the rest of the country.
Has it come to this? I wondered. Has the once-mighty beverage that captured our teenage hearts and wowed us with that hollow bottle cap-popping sound really sunk to this cheap ask? I found myself feeling a pang of embarrassment on Snapple’s behalf. Seeing a grown-up brand groveling for affection is a drag, like a past-his-prime standup comedian demanding laughs from an indifferent crowd.
Also, I thought, when’s the last time I drank one of those things?
My memories of Snapple are sun-dappled, like its logo. I remember drinking it for the first time as a kid one summer. It was a stifling Iowa day. Our family had gone swimming at the city pool, and as we drove home in our gray Astro van I was dying of thirst. I saw my mom had a Snapple Peach Tea in the cup holder. The beads of water falling off the chilled bottle made it look as if it were sweating. I thought iced tea generally tasted like rust, but I was desperate and asked my mom for a sip. She obliged, and I proceeded to take a long gulp. I was hit with the rush of sweet peach, and unlike the other teas I had choked down, this one didn’t clobber me with a heavy, tea-leafy aftertaste. My mind was blown. That was it.