A PRE-TEEN girl is opening Christmas presents as her mother films her reaction on her phone. She reaches into a box and pulls out one, two, three pieces of tissue paper, then gasps. It’s the present she wanted most of all, but didn’t dare to dream she would receive. It’s the accessory of the moment.

“IT’S A STANLEY!!!” she exclaims, cackling and squealing with delight.

Her older brother feigns bemusement – “It’s a cup”, he deadpans – but he knows fine well why she’s cock-a-hoop.

She jiggles with joy, delivers a heartfelt thank-you to her parents then demonstrates how she will sashay down the school corridors proudly toting her new accessory.

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Similar scenes played out across the globe this festive season after the 1.2-litre “Quencher” tumblers became highly coveted thanks to an impeccable marketing strategy that straddled social and mainstream media and tapped into some of the worst human impulses – to overconsume, and to priggishly condemn others for overconsuming something you don’t want.

It was a different sub-genre of Stanley cup Tiktok that served to drip-feed the brand into the wider public consciousness last year: young women proudly showing off their Quencher collections. Huge collections. Collections so large they required bespoke perspex shelving. Rows upon rows of giant cups in a wide range of different colours.

Cue outrage.

We all know by now that righteous indignation drives website traffic, but can it also drive sales?

Hundreds of comments, shares or retweets bemoaning the celebration of such wildly excessive collections only serves to put them in front of more eyeballs, potentially making people curious about the product and its appeal.

The fact that it is young women doing the collecting only amplifies the condemnation, as does the perception of rows and rows of plastic (although the cups are actually stainless steel) at a time when reuse is the watchword.

People become exercised. But they also become intrigued.

If you’re an 11-year-old girl, you’re bound to know what a Stanley cup is and can probably reel off a list of the celebrities and influencers you admire who have been seen posing with one (or many different ones, each matching a different outfit). You’ll know the exact retail price and where one of the latest batch can be obtained.

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If you’re older you may have seen a “news” story a few months ago about an insulated cup complete with ice surviving a car fire – and the owner being gifted not just a new cup, but a new car too. Credulous copywriters raved about this apparently serendipitous event generating money-can’t-buy publicity for the brand. Excuse me for being sceptical.

The gift-giver, Stanley president Terence Reilly, later claimed this was “intended merely as a kind gesture in an increasingly unkind world.”

He went on: “Somehow, our simple act of kindness went remarkably viral around the globe. Who really knows why? I guess people everywhere are just tired of the meanness in this world.”

Spare me. Mr Reilly knows exactly why the story went viral. While the Stanley adventure-gear brand is 110 years old, he joined the company less than three years ago, after it had identified women as a market just waiting to be tapped.

The National: Crocs

He was previously chief marketing officer for Crocs, the footwear brand that went from derided to desired thanks to canny collaborations and strategic “drops” – or product launches – informed by consumer psychology.

The deliberate creation of scarcity is part of this, and helps to explain why just days into the new year Stanley cups were being mentioned in The New York Times, People and Time magazine. A limited-edition Valentine’s Day colour range was on sale at US supermarket Target, prompting people to queue up outside of stores to get their hands on them, either to add to collections or flog for inflated prices online.

Of course, people do not have to buy them. And yes, we should all take responsibility for our personal shopping habits, rather than simply surrendering to the latest trend or marketing trick.

But it’s fair to point out the contradiction between Stanley’s professed desire to “create a more sustainable, less disposable life and world” with high-quality products (and lifetime guarantees) and its blatant encouragement of collecting with endless new releases.

Before Crocs, Reilly worked for a footwear retailer that hosted midnight release parties for the “sneakerheads” who collected trainers in the same way women are now collecting cups. Interviewed by industry website Inc.com, he confessed: “I’ve never lost that loving feeling for that kind of frenzy.”

One wonders if William Stanley Junior, inventor of the “unbreakable” SuperVac flask, would approve of the products bearing his name being hawked in this deliberately frenzied fashion to people who, apart from anything else, surely cannot really afford thousand-dollar collections, and probably lack the necessary bicep strength to carry around a litre of liquid for much of the day.

It’s easy to rage against the crazy cup ladies, but doesn’t that let the likes of Mr Reilly off the hook?