Every November, millions of Americans slide a casserole dish into the oven: sweet potatoes topped with marshmallows. It feels timeless—like something that must have come from a great-grandmother’s recipe box or some long-standing regional tradition.
But it wasn’t.
This beloved holiday staple exists for a simple reason: a marshmallow company needed to sell more marshmallows.
In 1917, Angelus Marshmallows faced a challenge familiar to anyone in marketing. People liked the product but didn’t use it often enough. Marshmallows were candy, not a pantry staple. So the company hired Janet McKenzie Hill, founder of the Boston Cooking School Magazine, to create recipes that would broaden marshmallow usage.
One of those recipes was baked sweet potatoes topped with marshmallows.
Angelus published the recipe in promotional booklets and sent it to women’s magazines and newspapers. It spread quickly. What began as a simple marketing tactic soon became a holiday “tradition,” even though it wasn’t tied to any regional foodways or historical customs.
The strategy worked because it aligned with basic consumer behavior. When people see a recipe presented as normal or official, it gains legitimacy. When a product becomes part of a seasonal ritual, demand becomes predictable. And when a dish feels simple and a bit indulgent, it gets adopted and shared.
The larger lesson is that marketing doesn’t just promote a product—it helps people make meaning. It shapes habits, rituals, and eventually culture. What starts as a practical solution for increasing demand can, over time, become something people swear has always been part of their lives.
We see this pattern everywhere: orange juice at breakfast, diamonds as engagement symbols, pumpkin spice as a seasonal event. And of course, entire enrollment cycles in higher education that hinge on carefully shaped narratives about timing, access, and opportunity.
If a marshmallow company could create a Thanksgiving classic simply by offering people a new way to use its product, it’s worth asking what possibilities exist in our own work. When we connect what we offer to how people want to live, we aren’t just selling—we’re creating something that might last for generations.