It’s Technically Child Labor, but We Signed Up for It

There are few things more quintessentially American than Girl Scout Cookies.

Every winter, like clockwork, troops of girls appear outside supermarkets, in shopping malls, and on front porches, selling Thin Mints, Samoas, Trefoils, and Do-si-dos. For the girls, it’s not just about cookies; it’s a chance to learn a little something about business, perseverance, and themselves.

Cookie Queens, the charming new documentary directed by Alysa Nahmias, takes that annual ritual and turns it into a surprisingly engaging story. The film follows four determined young Girl Scouts as they set their cookie-selling goals and discover that reaching them can be about much more than simply moving boxes.

The four girls featured each have their own motivation.

The oldest of the bunch is 12-year-old Olive, an unapologetic overachiever from Charlotte, North Carolina. She doesn’t simply want to sell a lot of cookies; she wants to keep breaking records (in years past, she’s sold more than 8,000 boxes in a single season). Her relentless drive is impressive, although the film lets us wonder whether this is entirely her doing or if her mother is the one pushing Olive to keep selling more.

Nikki, nine years old from Chino, California, wants to establish herself in a family where cookie-selling success has already become something of a tradition. Watching her work to step out of her older sisters’ shadow gives Nikki’s story a familiar dimension for any younger sibling.

Then there’s Ara, five years old from San Diego and selling cookies for the first time. Her goal — 55 boxes — is modest compared with what some of the other girls are pursuing. But her journey is just as compelling as the high-stakes race for the top-seller title. Ara approaches the challenge with exactly the kind of earnestness and enthusiasm you’d expect from a precocious five-year-old. In one scene, she sells to a customer on the phone by telling him a sandwich cookie is like having two cookies for the price of one.

And Shannon Elizabeth, an eight-year-old from El Paso, Texas, wants to sell enough cookies to earn a free trip to Cookie Camp, something her parents can’t afford on their own. It’s through her family’s story that we learn about concepts like “cookie debt.” Apparently, girls set a goal for how many boxes of cookies they think they’ll sell, and families essentially have to cover the cost for all of them — even those the girls don’t sell. As Shannon Elizabeth’s mother notes early on, the boxes of cookies in her home are worth as much as a mortgage payment, and if they don’t all sell, the family could be in real trouble.

Rather than turning these girls into talking heads delivering analytical sound bites, the documentary just spends time with them. We see the girls selling, practicing, negotiating, celebrating, and occasionally struggling. We see their families and the adults around them, too, and, as with Shannon Elizabeth, we learn just how involved they all have to be in the selling process.

The result is an intimate film that feels much more like a coming-of-age story than a documentary about a fundraising program.

The filmmaking is particularly effective in the way it gets down to the girls’ level. The camera observes their worlds with warmth and affection, capturing backyard conversations, family interactions, and the often hilarious seriousness with which these children approach their goals. The cinematography has a gentle, almost nostalgic quality that makes the ordinary moments feel special.

Yes, there’s plenty of fun to be had with the subject matter. But underneath all the cookie sales and the humor of observing these young girls be young girls is something genuinely hopeful.

Watching the girls chase customers and strategize about their next sale is legitimately impressive. These are young people learning skills that adults spend years trying to master, such as: how to approach a stranger, explain a product, deal with rejection, set a measurable objective, and keep going when things don’t go according to plan. That even a five-year-old can be successful speaks to how influential the Scouts can be for girls who participate.

That said, Nahmias deserves credit for not pretending that all of this is effortless. Not all the sales here come easy, and some of the challenges go beyond a $6 transaction.

In addition, Nahmias gives the film an important dose of perspective when she acknowledges early on that the Girl Scout Cookie Program is big business — roughly 250 million boxes are sold in about six weeks every year, generating hundreds of millions of dollars in revenue, which translates to opportunities for young girls to travel and learn. That larger reality gives the girls’ adventures an intriguing backdrop.

That’s what makes Cookie Queens more than a movie for Girl Scouts and their families. Certainly, Scouts will recognize themselves in these girls, and parents will probably find themselves nodding knowingly at the combination of ambition and occasional exhaustion that comes with watching a child pursue a goal. But all audiences will appreciate the good-hearted effort these girls and their parents put in.

Yes, the economics of cookie selling, the pressure placed on families, and the competitive nature of the program could easily have supported a much more critical documentary. But Cookie Queens is more interested in the sale’s effect on girls than in dismantling or investigating the institution around them.

At a time when there’s plenty of reason to worry about the next generation, Cookie Queens offers a reminder that young people can be remarkably capable, resilient, and determined when given the opportunity to achieve something for themselves. The girls here aren’t presented as perfect little superheroes. They’re children. They get frustrated. They have doubts. They want things. They compete. They learn. And when the chips are down, they keep going.

That’s an encouraging message.

Ultimately, Cookie Queens is a documentary that’s beautifully observed and — like a box of Thin Mints that’s been sitting in the freezer for a while — refreshing at a time when we could all use something sweet.

I’m giving the movie a B+.