For Peeps’ Sake: Why Are We Still Eating These Things?
A sticky, sugary deep dive into America's most baffling Easter tradition.
Hello, Useless Knowledge Nation—
Let’s talk about Peeps.
You know the ones. Those neon-colored, sugar-encrusted marshmallow chicks that taste like insulation foam rolled in Splenda. Every Easter, they rise from the grave like a diabetic Jesus and invade store shelves across the country. And for reasons that baffle food historians, dentists, and people with working taste buds… we keep eating them.
Or do we?
Here’s the twisted truth:
More than 2 billion Peeps are made every year. 700 million just for Easter. That’s right—roughly two for every man, woman, and child in America, whether they asked for it or not. It’s not candy. It’s a hostile takeover.
But here’s what really messes with your head: nobody actually likes Peeps. They’re not enjoyed so much as endured—like an edible inside joke between generations that’s gotten wildly out of hand.
A 2021 Monmouth poll found that only 7% of Americans claim Peeps as their favorite Easter candy. That’s roughly the same number of people who think Pineapple belongs on pizza and that Coldplay is underrated. In other words, we’re talking outliers.
And yet… Peeps endure.
Maybe it’s the colors. Maybe it’s nostalgia. Maybe it’s that weird waxy aftertaste that triggers suppressed childhood trauma. Or maybe we’re just addicted to tradition, even when the tradition tastes like industrial packing material.
But hey, in the spirit of Easter resurrection, let’s give these sugar-coated abominations the historical respect they (maybe) deserve. Because the backstory? Oh, it’s real.
Peeps were created in 1953 by a company called Just Born—an ironic name for something that never seems to die. The original Peeps were handmade, one by one, and took 27 hours to complete. They even had hand-painted eyes—like tiny artisanal nightmares.
Fast-forward to today, and the magic’s gone, folks. Machines crank out 3,500 Peeps a minute—soulless, efficient, like a Soviet candy factory on meth. The eyes? No longer lovingly dabbed on by some overworked grandma in a Pennsylvania sweatshop. Now they’re stamped on with black wax by a machine that probably moonlights making haunted porcelain dolls for low-budget horror flicks.
They have a shelf life of two years, which means that Peep you just unwrapped might’ve been sitting in a warehouse back when Tiger King was still trending. These things outlive most New Year’s resolutions and at least one Kardashian marriage.
And while we’re here, some other things you probably didn’t want to know:
Peeps have come in flavors like sour watermelon, root beer float, and—God help us—pumpkin spice.
There’s a Peeps lip balm. Let that sink in. Somebody at corporate pitched that… and won.
They’ve inspired full-blown diorama contests, where people use marshmallow birds to recreate The Last Supper or Star Wars. The Smithsonian has entries. It’s art. Or madness.
If you stacked all Peeps made in one year end-to-end, they’d circle the Earth two and a half times. Like a sugary surveillance drone made of existential regret.
And yes, people microwave them for fun. They swell up like angry marshmallow gods, wobble around, and then collapse into molten goo. It’s performance art, TikTok content, or an exorcism. Sometimes all three.
So this Easter, when you see that shrink-wrapped tray of pastel poultry grinning back at you from the checkout line, just know: You’re not alone. You’re part of a billion-dollar mistake we’ve been making since Eisenhower was in office.
For Peeps’ sake.
#happyeaster #peeps #candy #snacks