Despicable Meme: I Lived Off Minions Merch for One Awful Weekend


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Despicable Meme: I Lived Off Minions Merch for One Awful Weekend

These talking yellow tic-tacs have ruined my life.

If you know me personally—which ideally, none of you do, because of what you're about to read—you would be aware of my defining trait: I love Minions. I love them more than anything.

Do I know their names? No. Do I know what they sound like? No. Have I seen any of the movies they star in? Absolutely not. Actually, do I know anything about the Minions? Are they even meant to be called "the Minions" or is it just "Minions"? I seriously have no goddamn clue.


I only know one fact: Minions are everywhere. I know they are the most ubiquitous substance on planet Earth, second only to oxygen. Minions are pretty much omnipresent at this point, and I love it. It's hilarious. It's bizarre. Of every film character in history, the one that captured the globe's attention and permeated our lives most deeply was, essentially, a squeaky tic-tac. That is so insane.

For some reason, there's no character that has been so widely licensed: pens, posters, socks, shoes, shirts, and snack foods have all been covered, somehow, with a picture of a Minion. There's even a woman on Etsy who knits Minion thongs for men to put their dicks in. I'm not making this up. There's literally an entire company making this shit and stamping it with the slogan "Minion Made," pretending it was all made in a factory somewhere by actual Minions.

It seems like there's no object, product, or tool that hasn't been Minion-branded. It's almost like… you could live…. entirely… off Minions… You'll see where that idea landed me: Big mistake. Huge. I'm now extremely depressed and confused. Although, I was pretty depressed and confused to begin with so maybe it's not fair to blame the Minions for that. Wanna know how I got these scars? Read on. This is my weekend living off Minions.


It's a lovely day to be a Minion. I gotta get up, shower, and face the day. I bought this two-in-one shampoo and conditioner that's quite obviously designed for children. So I use that. It does the job.


I'm clean. It's time to redecorate. I cover my tastefully white bedroom walls in Minions posters. I make sure everything—literally everything possible—is either Minion Blue or Minion Yellow.

When I stocked up on supplies in preparation for this immersive weekend, one thing became abundantly clear: all Minions-brand food is designed for children. Thus, it's absolutely tiny and, worryingly, completely useless in terms of sustenance.

Case in point: the banana flavoured cupcakes I will bake today. They are miniature, because obviously they were designed to be baked with kids as a fun after-school activity.

Also, and honestly I should have thought about this earlier, but basically every single fucking edible thing branded with Minions is banana-flavoured. I've gathered bananas are the Minions favourite food.

But bananas are not my favourite food. If I can be honest with you, and I feel like I can, I do not care for bananas. In fact, I really fucking hate them. I'd also like to point out that this suit is difficult to move in. When I bend over to put the cupcake trays in the oven, my knees get stuck inside of it.

After a brief struggle, and a few failed attempts to stand, I decided to take a short rest in the suit.

You get to decorate the Minion cupcakes with little edible stickers that have pictures of, you fucking guessed it, Minions on them. It's the exact same stuff they give you to eat in communion which is apparently the "body of Christ."


Some would say that's just a coincidence. I would not.

This could be my last meal.

Maybe the most awful thing about banana-flavoured things is that they taste nothing like banana. For some reason, banana flavouring is entirely different to the flavour of actual bananas. It has absolutely nothing in common with its namesake fruit. I tastes like air freshener: too sweet, generically tropical, very musty.

At the end of day one, I am really struggling. I basically collapse from exhaustion, given the nutrients supplied to my body from three miniature cupcakes was essentially zero.

My oversized Minions pyjamas make me look like the "after" in Subway commercial. If I were to describe the way I feel right now in three words, they would be: Kill, Me, Fam.


It's a beautiful day, and I'm trying to do wholesome things—this is a children's movie we're talking about—so I decide to go for a picnic. This would actually be quite nice if I had something to eat that wasn't banana-flavoured. But I don't.

This has functioned as my wallet, handbag, and lunchbox all weekend.

All I have are these weird lunchbox snacks with Minions printed on top of them. They are filled with a banana-flavoured goo.

Today's outfit is slightly less ridiculous than yesterday's. However, it was also designed to fit a 12-year-old girl. So, it's intense in its own way. The fabric couldn't have cost more than 14 cents because it's as thin as, like, the toilet paper they put in schools and public bathrooms.

If the wind blows the wrong way, I will ruin the sanctity of Minions.


For my lunch dessert—because those weird crunchy things were as filling as eating a small, dry leaf—I have some leftover cupcakes. If it's possible, they've actually gotten worse overnight. The icing has gone crunchy.

I cannot begin to explain how sick of banana flavouring I am, or how profound my desire for a single vegetable is. I'm consider writing a letter to Despicable Me Inc., or Pharrell, or whoever runs this industry (it's probably Pharrell), begging them to license out to savoury foods. Maybe baby carrots whittled into the shape of Minions.

In the afternoon, I genuinely just take a nap because I've only eaten small biscuits and microscopic muffins so far and I am wasting away. But the nap does nothing. I gotta make an industrial-sized cup of coffee because I am still so tired. I think we're straying into the realm of what they call "malnutrition."

I know it seems like I am complaining at lot, and that is correct. But I would like you to consider how long a day is. It's 24 hours. That is a lot of hours, and yet, I am not eating a lot of food.

I should also mention this Minions bottle is the only thing I've been drinking out of all weekend because I couldn't find a Minions mug. It comes with a matching straw. I've been carrying both of them everywhere with me.

I seriously have to eat something that isn't banana-flavoured, so I go to the grocery store. It seems I've developed a Pavlovian response to the colours yellow and blue. When I see even the slightest flash, I become more alert. I can only find one Minion-branded snack: Lunchables chocolate mousse. I've never been so excited about a "meal."


They only fill these containers up halfway, so I eat about 12. At this point, you might be wondering why I did this. I am. Here's why: Let me get serious for a second, and explain why I love these goddamn freaks.

It's because Minions are the ultimate brand. Their only reference is themselves. While other popular children's characters are based off other, real things—Nemo is a fish, Disney Princesses are women—Minions are just Minions. They have the bare minimum of identifying features needed to resemble a living thing: they don't even have noses.

A flash of yellow and blue is all an object need to register as Minion or Minion-related—that's the kind of brand recognition companies dream of. Minions are minimalism perfected. There's no shorthand for a Minion, because there doesn't need to be. They can't be simplified any more than they already are. They are more than a movie character now. They are a marvel of design.

Anyway. Back in the real world: I have to eat. I really have to. The Lunchables only carried me so far, and I'm really annoying the person I'm hanging out with because the only two topics I can manage to talk about are A) Minions and B) How much I need this weekend to end. So we go real food: pho. Don't worry—I put it on my Minions plate, drink the tea out of my Minions cup, and eat it with my Minions utensils.

Everyone at the restaurant seems pretty cool with my Minion outfit. No one really blinks an eye at an adult woman wearing an outfit clearly designed for a child. I feel great, until a dude in the gelato store laughs at me.


Now, I genuinely need to relax, because this weekend has truly been so awful, but it's not goddamn over yet. So I will take a Minions bubble bath.

For some reason in the tub I nearly get heatstroke. I don't know why because the water isn't particularly hot. Maybe these cut-price bubbles are trapping the heat or something because I'm genuinely baking.

This stuff seems to have dried my skin out. I've become the literal embodiment of "squeaky" clean: my skin makes that rih-rih-rih-rih noise when I touch it. Almost like, dare I say, the squeak of a Minion? I don't think bubble bath soap technically "good" for me, but it was "fun" and I'd probably buy it again.

At this point, I am so, so, so, done. When I go to bed, I fantasise about tearing down the Minions poster on my wall. But, deep down, I am filled with a quiet pride. I was right: You can live off minions merchandise. But you'd probably get scurvy.

And yet… for all the pain, I still love these tiny fuckers.

Watch me make cocktails inside shoes and drink them here.

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