Before Miranda, there was Honey Monster, a serial cereal spiller. Since 1976, he’s been trashing fitted kitchens in a furry yellow whirlwind of telegraphed pratfalls, all in search of his morning sugar fix. Never mind that those little puffs look like industrial packaging material – Honey Monster’s love for them has always felt pure. But in his first TV ad for five years, that familiar characterisation – the brain of a golden retriever, the body of Herman Munster – has been binned. The big man has been rebranded, like the product that now bears his name. A single spoonful of new Honey Monster Puffs is potent enough to transport a nipper and his mum from a kitchen scene to a verdant grassland framed by mountains and screensaver-blue skies.
In truth, it looks like an Alpen ad, but wait – here’s a surprisingly buff Honey Monster, leading a band of beaming children in a merry maypole dance. Why is he wearing a utility waistcoat, the sort you might see on Ray Mears? Perhaps Honey Monster V2.0 simply enjoys a bit of fly-fishing between bouts of freelance childcare. By the end of the ad, the newly hunky Honey Monster hasn’t caused any unnecessary damage, and seems to be putting the moves on Mum. Still, why not? He’s pushing 40, and there’s no sign of a father on the scene. That’s when it becomes clear. This ad isn’t a child’s fantasy of a cereal box playmate coming to life. It’s Mum’s daydream of a strong, silent, outdoors-y type who can introduce some stability into her home. Like the world’s most ungainly Pokémon, Honey Monster has evolved: a homewrecker no more.
