The insidious lie of the Six Dollar Burger

The year was 2002. American Idol debuted, Norman Osborn was something of a scientist himself, Britney Spears was neither girl NOR woman, and we’d barely begun never forgetting. And the number one concern among hungry ground beef enthusiasts was the absolute NERVE of restaurants charging a whopping SIX BUCKS for a hamburger. A hamburger! The item that every American has a right to consume multiple times a week. And you want us to shell out half a dozen entire U.S. bones for this? I mean, sure: at a restaurant a burger typically includes all the fixins and french fried potatoes garnish. BUT STILL. More clams than I have on one hand? You’ve got some fucking nerve, restaurants.

Carl’s Jr. (or Hardee’s, if you’re from the incorrect side of the country) was not about to take this lying down. They took it upon themselves to make a “restaurant-quality” burger — the kind you’d get at a diner and be comfortable paying six dollars for — and sling it directly into your Corolla for the paltry sum of $3.95. The main difference between the new item and their standard burgers (which remained on the menu) was that it was thicker, with a slightly larger radius, and with the standard lettuce/tomato/red onion topping so common in restaurants. And as a bonus, you’d be free of the severe irritation of “a person doing their job.”

Thanks for reading Bill Hanstock's Super Secret Words Club! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

They called it the Six Dollar Burger, so as to really hammer home both that you were getting a great deal (by paying two full simoleons fewer than the name), but you wouldn’t be pestered by someone trying to sell you a milkshake.

Not now, Carl’s Jr.

Although I am a dyed-in-the-wool Carl’s Jr. guy*, I was at no point a Six Dollar Burger guy. (I’m a Western Bacon guy or a Breakfast Burger guy, depending on what time of day it is. Their chicken tenders are also fantastic. And their spicy chicken sandwich. But I digress.) But I took note that soon after the 6DB was introduced, there were some upscaled models (like a Guacamole Six Dollar Burger, a Bacon Six Dollar Burger) that nudged that price up towards its sobriquet. A couple years after that, the Six Dollar Burger just cost six dollars. It was just what its name was. And if you got the full luxury packages, you were paying like eight bucks for a 6DB.

Ten or twelve years ago, the Six Dollar Burger was rebranded to “Thickburger,” and it never came down below six bucks again. They’re currently called the Big Angus. I still just get the Double Western Bacon Chee. In my area, the single Big Angus Big Carl (patty, cheese, lettuce, spread) runs $7.89 plus tax. The Big Angus Guacamole Bacon Burger is $9.29. A cheeseburger at Denny’s (including fries) is over $12, so I guess they’re still sticking it to restaurants. In their own way.

But the elasticity of Six Dollar Burger being a cheeky jab at competitors eventually just being you ordering a food item by saying the amount it costs has been something I’ve thought about way too often over the years. There’s no way that wasn’t the plan all along, right? Someone in some board room in 2000 or 2001 was like, “There’s no way we can charge people $6 for a fast food burger, right?” And then some future Clio Award winner was like “WELL IF WE CALL IT THAT … MAYBE?”

Every corporation on Earth is in the business of turning a giant dial that makes the cost go up, and looking back to make sure us dipshits are still applauding, but I don’t think anyone has ever been as brazen about this as Carl’s Jr. was. Good for them, I guess? Budweiser doesn’t make a craft beer line called The 15 Dollar Bud Light. Maybe all Kirkland brand products should just be named what the non-Costco price of a thing is.

Anyway, this post was sponsored by Taco Bell.

*The Carl’s Jr. in my hometown had a promotion when I was a kid where regular hamburgers were 25 cents on Sundays. My dad would go in and buy a couple of big bags of burgers, and we’d eat Carl’s Jr. burgers for a few days. Because of my family, specifically, the Salinas Carl’s Jr. on Abbott Street had to impose an extremely specific “limit four burgers per family, per day” proviso. It’s one of the things I’m most proud of in my life.

Thanks for reading Bill Hanstock's Super Secret Words Club! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.