Blackface in plain sight, and in plain biscuit

An exposé on the quiet racial hierarchy baked into your favourite childhood snack

These days, the woke left can’t walk down a supermarket aisle without getting offended. They cancel cheese for being named after a man. Ice cream gets rebranded for daring to say “Eskimo.” Cereal boxes are scrutinised for lacking gender diversity in their cartoon mascots.

And yet somehow—somehow—they all walk right past the most obviously problematic product in the snack aisle.

Arnott’s Chocolate Teddy Bear Biscuits.

Yes, the smiling biscuit-shaped childhood treat.

The one that quietly reinforces a system of symbolic snack supremacy so blatant, so baked-in, it’s a wonder it hasn’t already been the subject of an investigation on The Project.

Because when you take a proper look at the packet—the names, the poses, the health ratings, the pricing—you begin to realise:

This is not just a biscuit. This is a case study in edible inequality.

The Original vs The Other

Let’s start with the language.

The plain biscuit is literally called “Original Teddy Bear.” That word—original—doesn’t just suggest chronology. It signals default status. Authenticity. Purity. It is the unchallenged baseline against which all others are compared.

The chocolate one? It’s not granted a personality. Not even a proper name. Just “Chocolate Teddy Bear.” He is not the original. He is the variant. The extra. The outsider.

It's subtle, but powerful: white is the standard. Brown is an afterthought.

Smile Harder, Brown Bear

Next, look at the visuals on the packaging.

The plain teddy is depicted upright and neutral. Arms relaxed, mouth closed, gaze forward. Calm. Respectable. Allowed to simply exist.

The chocolate teddy is another story. Eyebrows raised. Mouth wide open in a goofy grin. Arms flung out. He’s doing the most. Performing joy just to be accepted.

It’s the classic dynamic: one gets to be stoic and serious. The other must be funny, friendly, and non-threatening.

The Ratings Don’t Lie

Front and centre on both packets is the Australian Government’s Health Star Rating—designed to help consumers make informed, health-conscious choices.

• The Original Teddy Bear earns 1.5 stars.

• The Choc Coated Teddy? Just 1.0 stars.

It’s the same biscuit underneath. Same ingredients. Just different coloured skin.

And yet, for daring to look different, he’s judged more harshly.

He is—literally—the same on the inside but seen as less healthy. Less wholesome. Less good.

Price Disparity Baked In

The injustice doesn’t end with perception. It’s built into the economics.

Visit any major supermarket and compare prices. Choc Coated Teddy Bears are often 50% more expensive per packet than their plain counterpart.

He’s asked to pay more to exist, rated lower, expected to smile wider—and still isn’t granted the title of “Original.”

A Raised Paw That Raises Questions

Look again at the plain teddy’s pose on some packets. Right arm raised. Stiff. Straight. Flat hand.

It’s meant to be a wave, surely. But the longer you look, the more it starts to resemble something else.

Something... historically loaded.

He’s not just greeting. He’s saluting.

The chocolate teddy, meanwhile, keeps his arms down. Palms open. Passive. Harmless.

One commands. The other obeys.

Coincidence? Maybe. But we’re not ruling anything out—not when snack supremacy is hiding in plain sight.

Context

Let’s not forget the cultural landscape we live in.

• Coon Cheese was renamed because its name, while derived from its (white) inventor, overlapped with a racial slur.

  
  

• Eskimo Pie was retired due to ethnic insensitivity.

  
  

• Countless logos, mascots, and product names have been reviewed, rebranded, or pulled entirely.

  
  

All it took was enough people looking at them differently. All it took was a white person asking, “Wait… can I be offended on behalf of a black person by this?”

And yet, the teddy bear biscuits have slid by. Untouched. Unquestioned. Until now.

Conclusion: Is This Racist?

Yes.

When the plain biscuit is called “original,” drawn calmly, rated higher, and sold cheaper, while the brown one is nameless, over-smiling, under-rated, and overpriced, we’re not just seeing a snack—we’re seeing a system.

A system where whiteness is default. Where brownness is novelty. Where sameness on the inside doesn’t save you from being judged on the outside.

This isn’t about cancelling a snack. It’s about seeing what it says without saying anything at all.

Because if we don’t call this out now, we might one day find ourselves explaining to our kids why their first taste of inequality came in the shape of a bear.

After everything I’ve uncovered—the branding, the ratings, the price gouging, the fascist salute—I’m furious. Genuinely livid.

So livid, in fact, that I could walk out into the car park right now and key a Tesla.