Whether or not you actually eat fast food, there is a good chance that you have a relationship with each and every major conglomerate. Much like a logo, many Americans spend hours of their life at home, watching TV, and finding comfort in seeing these faces try and hock junk food for a reasonable price. McDonald’s has Ronald McDonald, Jack in the Box has Jack, and even Chick-Fil-A has that cow who stands on off-ramps six days a week. It is difficult to go your whole life without seeing these amorphous globs of edible consumerism and think for one abrupt moment that they’re your friend. Sure, the Burger King guy may seem like your friend, but nobody who eats there smiles that much.
At least, that is how I feel about being a child in the 1990s. For a brief three year period, Taco Bell got in on the action and created a mascot that both stands above the rest and may be terribly problematic at the same time. I was too young to really know the difference, but it’s surreal to know that there was a time when Taco Bell sold TOYS.
I remember one of those Christmases where I opened up a gift and found peering through all of that paper this small Chihuahua. As I kept pulling, I found him looking up at me with his adorable eyes, ready to join my toy box on full-time commission. As I found out that he talked, I began to flip the switch and found something that was amusing. It was by no means the only talking toy Chihuahua in America, and yet somehow that dog talking with a thick Hispanic accent was something that filled everyone’s heart with joy. As I turned him on, he said:
“¡Feliz Navidad, amigos!”
This may be difficult to tell your grandkids in 2020, but The Taco Bell Chihuahua was *maybe* the greatest thing in the world for a few years. And yet, like Lou Bega before, his purpose had been worn out by the start of a new century. Y2K effortlessly wiped him from our collective database, making him this strange memory, of a talking dog whose only real accomplishment is being far more tolerable than the dogs from the Beverly Hills Chihuahua (2008) franchise.
Still, there was something that makes him a permanent fixture in pop culture from a certain age. The more that you read on it, the more that it becomes this insane story of a dog who was on her way towards taking over the world. It wasn’t just a gimmick to sell tacos with a cute dog who spoke Spanish with a Rico Suave flair. This was a whole phenomenon that in another time could’ve spanned decades, making them a fixture on the menu by taking a nap over the burritos.
The story goes that Taco Bell was responding to “The Burger Wars,” which reflects how corporations like McDonald’s and Burger King used advertising to sell burgers. It was clear that one of the most successful taco establishments in America needed to have their own stamp on the industry. After a bunch of scientists in a lab mixed dozens of harmful chemicals together, they emerged, covered in a cloud of soot, and told the president their great idea. Coughing up dust, they held up a picture of their big savior: a dog.
In theory, Taco Bell is geared towards Mexican cuisine (El Pollo Loco would like to have a word on that) and thus should play things up. A Chihuahua is a dog often associated with Mexican cultures (there’s even a city that shares its name), so the rest writes themselves. Who doesn’t love cute little dogs with these deep voices, proudly declaring their unhealthy desire to consume as much junk food as possible? With the catchphrase “I want Taco Bell!” it would be the easiest way to make the Irvine, CA establishment into something approaching God-tier.
Things kicked off in September 1997 when a Northeastern advertisement proved to be a big hit. It had a dog in it, and it became clear how much this appealed to audiences. Things would expand to feature a Chihuahua saying:
"¡Yo quiero Taco Bell!"
The plan was officially in motion and for three years, it was a crazy obsession. Not since Charo said “cuchi cuchi” a whole lot had America fallen so easily in love with a Mexican accent. I’m not saying that there isn’t something qualitative to love about Charo, but it was more the idea of her that people were obsessed with. Why she would be on The Simpsons making fun of her “cuchi cuchi” catchphrase decades later.
That is essentially what The Taco Bell Chihuahua was on a bigger scale. She was a dog who was given special effects treatment to look like she was saying all of these ridiculous phrases. There was a whole line of them, and they all existed in the same way. A small dog would enter a scene and say random lines. Voiced by Carlos Alazraqui, these commercials featured a dog who (according to the voice actor) was a cross between Peter Lorre, Ren of Ren & Stimpy, and Anthony Quinn. It’s a distinct enough voice that everyone could mock it without just doing a basic Mexican accent.
In one of the most ridiculous examples of advertising, Taco Bell finds the Chihuahua standing atop a podium, surrounded by a crowd. It’s designed like an activism rally that is drawn to inspire the youth to revolt. As he emerges, he’s dressed vaguely like Che Guevara. The crowd awaits the big message, the one that will fill their lives with meaning. As he takes to the podium, his face covered by a microphone, he yells:
"¡Viva Gorditas!"
Cue loud and uproarious applause. This is an advertisement at its most wonderfully vapid. It appropriated significant iconography to sell Gorditas, and you either love how subversive the idea is or hate it for essentially cheapening history to sell junk food. You could also hate it because, in all respect, this is the prime example of how it could be perceived as lampooning Hispanic culture with negative stereotypes.
But hey, it was the 90s and Taco Bell was riding a phenomenal wave that would collide with the movie industry soon enough. I have plenty to say about the dog herself, but for now, it’s important to note how far-spread she was. She even got to appear in a commercial for the Roland Emmerich version of Godzilla (1998), saying “We’re going to need a bigger box.” Another line “Hey amigo, drop the Chalupa!” would transcend into the sports world. For a period of time, SportsCenter had recurring segments that used the phrase to its full comedic potential.
There’s even a horse named Drop the Chalupa, which shows you how many people were obsessed with this little guy.
As I mentioned, there were toys made of The Taco Bell Chihuahua. It was a running joke everywhere and the catchphrase "¡Yo quiero Taco Bell!" was used as sincerely as it was mockingly. For something that would only last three years, it managed to burn itself into my memory so fondly. I can’t tell you what a Burger King commercial from the time was like. I maybe could tell you about Carl’s Jr., though that feels distinctively 21st century.
Now, let’s shift attention over to the dog in question. Despite being a male character, The Taco Bell Chihuahua was a female named Gidget. Her life was luxurious. She once was personally flown on a private jet to New York to open the Stock Exchange. She is so beloved that she has her own personal Wikipedia page, detailing her life in the entertainment industry in great detail. Later on in her career, she would star in Legally Blonde 2: Red, White & Blonde (2003) and reprise her role in a 2002 Geico Insurance commercial. Her life upon retirement was shifted to a humble and quiet life going for walks in Santa Clarita, CA. Following her death in 2009 at 15, she received a memoir called “A Famous Dog’s Life: The Story of Gidget, America’s Most Beloved Chihuahua”… in 2011.
Her life story may be a bit more tolerable than the falling out that Taco Bell had with The Chihuahua money train. Remember the “Viva Gorditas!” ad? It was one of a few that received so much criticism (another featured him as a Bandido wearing a sombrero) and inspired a boycott. If they didn’t stop, civil rights leaders like Mario G. Obledo were going to take measures into their own hands. As a result, July 2000 marked the end of an era as the dog was discontinued. This lead to a 6% second-quarter drop. Want to know how much that dog meant to Taco Bell? That remains the largest decline in their history.
In 2003, there was the first of many lawsuits around the dog. Two men from Michigan claim to have pitched them the idea six years before at a Licensing Show in NYC. They claimed to have worked on developing it for over a year. They received $30.1 million-plus $12 million in additional interests. There have been lawsuits as recent as 2009. Taco Bell would go on to sue TBWA, whom they stopped partnering with following the Chihuahua exit, claiming that they should’ve been more aware of this.
The empire of Gidget is on so full of twists and turns that you wouldn’t expect. No other mascot has courted so much controversy and lawsuits from such a short lifespan. It’s downright impressive, and the fact that it helped to make Taco Bell more of a singular brand is an underrated part of this story. You remembered Gorditas and Chalupas because of that dog, and you loved hearing this toy spout short catchphrases in a funny accent. I haven’t seen my Christmas Chihuahua in maybe two decades, and I still remember what it sounds like.
Even if I was alive in the 90s, it’s amazing how much of that time I’ve forgotten. Before writing this, The Taco Bell Chihuahua was a stored memory that couldn’t be activated until I shook it up, piecing together random details that made me realize that I was much more aware of the decade than I remembered. Somehow that dog was one of the brightest. Maybe it’s because I was eight at the time and talking animals are rarely cooler than at eight. I don’t know, but I had endless “Oh yeah!” moments writing this that makes me wonder if I can reconstruct my brain to remember my childhood just by recalling these dumb milestones.
I don’t know, but what’s amazing is that Gidget really did make a difference in the big picture. Would Taco Bell have been as successful without her? I personally doubt it. I’m still unsure if the dog is as racist as people make out (is Cheech Marin a stereotype?), but I understand the reasoning. As one of the prime examples of Mexican culture in advertising, you want to do more than just ape Che Guevara for junk food. You want it to be something meaningful. Comedy drawn from an accent is not meaningful. It’s just a joke that’s as funny as your tolerance for random Spanish phrases said in it. I was eight at the time, so again… I thought it was neat.
The only thing that comes close to being as omnipresent from a modern lens is The Burger King guy. I felt like he was everywhere in high school. Though I never loved him that much. He was capable of being entertaining, but he didn’t speak. He wasn’t authentic. He was a king who sold burgers. That’s lame. You could make fun of him, but you were still making fun of rich people getting away with nonsense. That is what makes Gidget special. All she wanted was fast food. She had dreams of eating Taco Bell, and you loved that aspiration. It was something we all recognized in ourselves. That may be why she’s one of the few mascots that actually, genuinely deserved to be remembered as something special.
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