Every once in a while quick-serve restaurants go to war. 

They fight over things like who has the freshest food, the healthiest options or the best service. But some of the most epic wars are the ones where they try to out-value each other. Things tend to escalate quickly. They begin trying to lure each others’ customers in with, typically, smaller versions of premium items…for less. Then come the contests. The BOGO deals. And the giveaways. In no time, it becomes a full-blown knock-down, drag-out battle for the hearts, minds and loose change of 18 to 35ers everywhere. It’s a tiresome, expensive game that erodes precious brand value, chokes the bottom line and almost never ends well. Occasionally, one side or another can declare a pyrrhic victory of some sort, but mostly, all brands caught up in the vicious cycle just want it to end. So why get caught up in the value game trap? FOMO. It builds, they get weak, and eventually allow themselves to get sucked into the melee.

But not Taco Bell. Not this time. They weren’t about to risk compromising the food quality and reputation they spent years repairing. So they said, “Gracias, pero no gracias.” And instead of just jumping into the fray and playing along, they decided to do exactly what no one expected them to do. Change what value meant in the category. By creating a value menu with full-sized items on it—like half-pound burritos and double tacos. And then they dared ignore the .99 cent value barrier that the industry was terrified to breach. They just went ahead and charged $1.19 or $1.29 for stuff. I know, pure insanity. And finally, they also decided to go heads up with the value leader at the time, Wendy’s, who was armed with one of the most feared value menus in the industry; The Super Value Menu. 

It was madness. Madness I say! But The Bell knew, if they were going to successfully flip the script, they’d have to shake things up. Use a big voice to carry a big message. And fully utilize the powerful resources they had at their disposal. So naturally, they asked their agency to help them change the narrative. Which was music to the C-suite agency generals, their minions and their beancounters ears network-wide. 

The agency spun into action. Rallied hard. Tapped dozens of creatives from all over the global network, and even wrangled a rogue pack of comedians from a local troupe to come together in So Cal for a creative “Rumble.” Which, unsurprisingly, was a creative fiasco, but eventually, out of the din of politics and as the chaos mellowed, a framework, a manifesto, and the words “I’m full!” emerged. The battle cry of the Big Bell Value Menu campaign was born. 

The generals rejoiced and sent creatives from three different offices into the treacherous quick-serve trenches to be front-line proxies finding “stratecutional” ways to breakthrough the clutter, launch sorties of TV broadcast, and create volumes of OOH, POS and other acronyms in support the war effort. The troops toiled for years to deliver the message to fast food aficionados everywhere: Now, instead of just getting smaller, cheaper, uninspired fast food for less—you can get full on value.

Was it all worth it? In the end, when you add up the hundreds of nights and weekends that were sacrificed to the ad gods. The myriad braincells that flamed out or imploded inside creatives heads along the way. The thousands of scripts and ideas that were mercilessly executed in the hallways and boardrooms at TB headquarters. Was it all worth the cost? We may never really know. The true cost of the Mid-2K Value Wars will always be a mystery. But damnit, we gave it our all. And our all counted for something. Especially to the generals, whose careers flourished. And shareholders whose stock went up considerably. And to the original team, who got to share a coveted gold Effie between them for their trouble. 

But for most troops, only mild shell shock and a few high fives and pats on the back will have to suffice.