Del Monte Corporation’s Chapter 11 filing in the US last week may have felt like a shock to those of us who grew up with its bright green labels and familiar yellow logo lining our family pantries.
But as stunning as the likely demise of a 139-year company might sound, the bigger surprise is that a brand with such strong awareness, emotional resonance, and seemingly timeless appeal couldn't stay in business.
This isn’t the story of a dying category. It’s the story of a brand that struggled to tell its story. And that’s why I say: marketing failed Del Monte.
The canned food aisle isn’t what it used to be, but it's far from irrelevant. As well-known food industry expert and Dalhousie professor Sylvain Charlebois noted in his recent piece, Canned and Bankrupt, Canadian sales in the “meals and soups” canned category have actually grown by more than 40% since 2018.
In a world of rising food insecurity and stubborn inflation, shelf-stable, affordable, convenient products like these remain essential. And yet, Del Monte—one of the most iconic brands in the category—couldn't keep up.
As someone who once worked on the brand when it was part of the Nabisco Canada portfolio, I’ve seen this slow fade firsthand. Even back then, advertising for the brand in Canada was minimal, often prioritising novelty kids' drinks more than the brand’s core offerings. But the halo of a once-great campaign still lingered.
Even in Canada, where the Man from Del Monte was less visible, the local campaign—Mother Nature Is On Our Side—echoed the same promise: nature’s goodness, preserved with care. The essence of the brand was built on trust in the process and respect for the product.
But marketing is not just about being remembered. It’s about being and remaining relevant.
And as fresh produce became the dominant symbol of health and modernity, canned goods increasingly signalled the opposite. Del Monte’s story—that canned food could be as good as, or even better than, so-called fresh—never got the update it needed.
The irony? Science was on their side. Flash-frozen and canned produce often retain nutrients better than “fresh” fruits and vegetables that travel long distances. But that truth never became a belief. Marketing never translated product integrity into brand relevance.
It's not that it didn't tell that story. The problem is that it failed to make it stick.
Charlebois rightly points out that the company’s struggles ran deeper than consumer perception. With more than one billion dollars in debt, Del Monte also failed on the fundamentals: it didn’t diversify fast enough, didn’t modernise the brand, and didn’t adapt to geopolitical shocks like U.S. tariffs that increased packaging costs and squeezed margins.
Other brands faced the same headwinds. But Del Monte was the most exposed.
And while the name may survive under new ownership, saving the brand will take more than cleaning up the balance sheet. It means rethinking what it means to be a canned food brand at a time when even food banks—longtime bastions of canned goods—are moving toward more fresh.
As Charlebois put it, this isn’t a symptom of a category in crisis. It’s a cautionary tale of what happens when brand storytelling stalls.
Del Monte once had it all: trust, heritage, a memorable campaign, and a product truth worth believing. But none of that matters when you lose relevance.
Maybe the real opportunity now is for someone to finally make the case that canned food can be just as good, if not better, than fresh. After all, it’s all about marketing.
Éric Blais is president of Headspace Marketing, a consultancy that helps marketers build brands in Quebec.
