Look, I like Kit-Kats, you like Kit-Kats, we all like Kit-Kats. There’s no secret as to what’s great about them—chocolate plus krispies. Boom. Plus, you have the extra kick of getting to break your candy down into delightful segments (assuming you got the traditional Kit-Kat and not the “Big Kat,” which has its own charms but is clearly something separate from an actual Kit-Kat. It would be like if they came out with an apple-sized Hersey’s Kiss, which would be good, but just obviously not a Kiss.)
So the appeal of Kit-Kats seem pretty obvious, right? Then how come everyone in Kit-Kat commercials acts like they know something we don’t know?
That’s the patented Kit-Kat Face—like you monetarily forgot why you bought this candy in the first place, and then were just pleasantly reminded. “Ah yes. Mm! Special secret.” And it’s not just the candy that’s so pleasing—everyone in the commercials also wears an expression on his or her face like he or she thinks that Kit-Kat is just “their” thing, their secret little treat that nobody else knows about, even though they all work at the Groupon offices or study at Hogwart’s library or something where they inexplicably have vending machines that are stocked with nothing but Kit-Kat.
I guess that Kit-Kat is positing that you deserve a Kit-Kat break, that it’s a nice little space in your day where you can sit down and eat your bit of candy and it’ll make you smile and forget your two worries.
But the thing is, I can’t imagine sitting down purposefully to enjoy eating a candy bar in your place of work or academic institution. You know somebody would come by to ask for a piece or comment on what you’re eating, which is the worst. Having a co-worker talk about your food is almost worse than if she (let’s face it, it’s almost always a she) took it out of your mouth and threw it on the ground.
Also, if you eat at the speed I do, you’d be done and have to stand up about thirty seconds after you sat down. There is no quietly savoring a Kit-Kat at work. If anything, the Kit-Kat is meant to be purchased so you can take it back to your office and put it into your face robotically as you enjoy some online gossip.
But maybe that’s the real thing the people in the Kit-Kat commercials are smiling about—they know the secret to eating emotionally without gaining wait. And they’re not going to tell us. Shh.