Half baked

We've lost the plot by selling Girl Scout Cookies online.

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I write this post at great risk to my reputation. If you never hear from me again, just know my opinions have nothing to do with my adult-onset wheat allergy.

I’ll just come out and say it.

Girl Scout Cookie sales are losing their way.

For generations, selling Girl Scout Cookies was a rite of passage for young girls. In a sense, it still is. When our now nine-year-old daughter got her first chance with the Daisies, I’ll admit that we were both pretty pumped for it. I never got to be a Girl Scout, and I remember having FOMO over the girls who’d get to flex in their official uniforms outside the grocery store and transact business like little bosses. In a time before the internet, they were the gatekeepers of the tastiest seasonal products in all the land—how cool was that?

Beyond the cookies, selling a product is an opportunity for young girls to build confidence, learn business skills, and understand the value of hard work. But in today’s digital ecosystem, that learning experience is fading fast.

Instead of knocking on doors, setting up booths, and pitching to customers face-to-face, many girls now rely on their parents’ social media networks to meet sales quotas. This year, my Instagram feed was absolutely flooded with pitches during the online sales window. Some moms got creative and made memes. Most went for a cute photo of their kid and a short plea for support. In all instances, their adult thumbs did the work. Mom and Dad posted the order link, and friends, coworkers, and distant relatives clicked “buy.” I don’t even think some kids realized their parents were doing it.

Art: @_jordanimation on Instagram

To be fair, this is not exclusive to the Girl Scouts. Many fundraising efforts that used to flow through catalogues and in-person sales now rely on similar hybrid models. We know why, of course. Online sales boost the numbers. But at the same time, they diminish some of the tangible lessons these exercises are meant to teach, such as:

• Sales. The value of learning how to make a sales pitch isn’t limited to selling goods but translates to your ability to sell your own skills and advocate for yourself.

• Resilience. Our generation of parents isn’t great at this. We want resilient kids. Yet, we often subscribe to the Zero Tears Club in a well-intended effort to “fix” the challenging circumstances that warrant resilience in the first place. Learning how to process and move past simple rejections is the baseline for this critical skill.

• Financial literacy. You know this is major for us. There are so few opportunities to teach kids about money with an actual exchange of dollars anymore. When Hazel’s troop sold cookies in front of our Starbucks, every girl was so excited to work the register. Hypothetical “math games” don’t invite that same motivation.

• Communication. If you think we’ve lost the art of talking face-to-face as adults in a post-pandemic world, think about our kids who never learned it in the first place. So many lack the confidence, or manners, or both, to address a (safe) stranger or acquaintance and communicate what they need. In life, it’s one of those things that really catches up to you.

Limited opportunities for in-person selling make it harder for today’s kids to gain these same skills their predecessors did. But of greater concern, this feels like another wave in the tide we swim against as parents in an age of streaming services and digital commerce, where the razor-thin line between having and not having is as easy to cross as clicking a button. I’m afraid that conducting online cookie campaigns on behalf of your kids sends a message that making money just kind of happens. Even worse, making money online just kind of happens. For the kids who idealize content creation as *the most* aspirational future career, this gives them a taste of what it feels like to have their likeness generate a financial outcome. Without some guardrails, I don’t love that lesson, either.

You must hate me right now. Allow me to soften my point.

I understand why online sales have become a component of the Girl Scout Cookie business. For one, families are busier than ever. Kids are hyper-scheduled, and many households require two parents to work outside the home to cover their high costs of living. Even when posting links on our social feels like another thing to do, it’s also a lesser thing to do than selling them in person. There’s a safety component, too. Communities aren’t as welcoming of door-to-door solicitations anymore, and many people don’t live in neighborhoods where they’d even feel safe sending their kids out to make sales. Businesses also don’t just let kids “post up” like they did in the Nineties, probably due to liability concerns. Which is all to say, I know there’s many more obstacles now, but we can still make choices as parents before this whole thing slides into just another obligation for us that loses its value for them.

For starters, we should still do our best to facilitate in-person sales opportunities. Ideally, the troop would sell together at least once, so the girls can establish teamwork and build off each other’s techniques and confidence. But the burden isn’t squarely on the troop leaders to make in-person sales happen—we can all make individual efforts to get our kids out there. You can bring your daughter into your office one afternoon. You can ask her dance instructor or soccer coach if she can make an announcement at the end of practice. And yes, you can take her to the doors of trusted neighbors and friends and let her make the ask. Of course, this requires a little bit of legwork, but you’re preserving the lesson. It’s worth it.

The online component isn’t going away, but as parents, we can approach it with rules. I firmly believe that if your child does not want to sell cookies, they should not be selling cookies. Period. This includes you posting photos of them with a link to buy cookies on your social media platforms. In my mind, setting this boundary has as much to do with exploring the concept of online consent as it does preserving your mental load. I know these are murky waters for millennial parents who just kind of slid into this world of visible parenting as social media infiltrated our lives. It would be hypocritical as hell for me to say your kids don’t belong on your platforms when our daughters are clearly all over ours. But this is a wonderful opportunity to both reevaluate and bring some choice into the discussion with your growing child: Do you want to sell cookies this year? Would you like for us to advertise on my Instagram account? Just start there.

If they say yes, then they need to be involved. Last year, Hazel was very enthusiastic about creating an online marketing plan for selling cookies. We scripted several videos, filmed them, and planned out when I should release them. We checked our sales on a weekly basis and analyzed where they were coming from. When the cookies arrived for local delivery, I made sure to have her sort the orders, prepare delivery bags, and accompany me to every single house. Of course, this took longer than if I just threw the link up once a day, but she really gained something from the experience. This is the whole point.

In our case, Hazel’s troop disbanded in the third grade. Ruby, our kindergartener, just began Daisies, and her troop leaders decided they’re too young to sell this year (bravo to them). For this one season, I had the space to think critically about the machine of Big Cookie.

They are a tradition.

They are delicious.

But they should also serve a purpose. Without that, what are we even doing?

Should kids be selling stuff online? How much should parents help? Let us know what you think.

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In all the years we’ve now lived in the suburbs, we’ve always loved dining out. Maybe because we moved here from New York City and were searching for glimmers of that experience here each weekend (though we very rarely find it). But with our daughters getting older, it just doesn’t feel as crucial to cycle through a full softball team of babysitters to share an okay Italian dinner with another couple at a restaurant (and pay $60 in cash to a teen to do it). Don’t get me wrong—we still do it, but it just doesn’t seem to matter as much to us right now.

As a true breath of fresh air, our friends brought a bunch of us to see a Nineties cover band last Friday night, and it was seriously the best night out we’ve had in a while. We danced. We sang. I felt like I was 18 years old getting dropped off at a show by my mom. And it was worth every dollar spent for childcare.

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TJA in the news

Last Friday, Doug and Sam Ro chopped it up LIVE on Substack for the inaugural Substack Market Forecast Summit. ICYMI, you can watch the recording here.

He also joined Yahoo! Finance for a convo about how couples can achieve more fairness in their household finances.

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The content shared in The Joint Account does not constitute financial, legal, or any other professional advice. Readers should consult with their respective professionals for specific advice tailored to their situation.