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‘Ribena girls’ Jenny Suo and Anna Devathasan (Image: Getty, design: Tina Tiller)
‘Ribena girls’ Jenny Suo and Anna Devathasan (Image: Getty, design: Tina Tiller)

KaiNovember 18, 2023

Remembering when two teenagers nearly brought down Ribena

‘Ribena girls’ Jenny Suo and Anna Devathasan (Image: Getty, design: Tina Tiller)
‘Ribena girls’ Jenny Suo and Anna Devathasan (Image: Getty, design: Tina Tiller)

Blackcurrant drink Ārepa has faced recent scrutiny over the claims made on its label. It comes almost 20 years after another fruit drink brand was nearly destroyed by the findings of two Pakuranga high schoolers.

Jenny Suo remembers liking Ribena, the sweet blackcurrant drink once synonymous with school lunches – and the moment she knew she could never buy it again. 

In 2023, she’s a high-profile TVNZ journalist. But almost 20 years ago, she was the 14-year-old, along with her school mate Anna Devathasan, behind a science fair project that resulted in a $227,500 court case and risked seeing Ribena become just another discontinued food item. 

It all started in 2004, when Suo and Devathasan decided to investigate whether or not cheaper fruit drink brands were less healthy. The focus of the experiment, which Suo now describes as “rudimentary”, was Ribena. So when the results showed that Ribena contained almost no trace of vitamin C, in stark contrast to the claims made on the label, she was certain they had done something wrong – and not the multinational corporation. “We talked to the seventh form science teacher and he was like, ‘I think you’ve done it right’,” remembers Suo.

They didn’t even win the science fair and she can’t remember who did. The winners certainly never became brief global celebrities, with their success now immortalised in outlets from The Guardian to Mashed. “We were obviously so dark about [losing] so we pushed it to the back of our mind,” she laughs. 

But despite coming second, they were encouraged to send their findings directly to GlaxoSmithKline, the then producers of the fruit drink. They never heard back. “I think if [GSK] had initially posted a letter back and said ‘hey, this is why you’re wrong’ I’d say we would have left it at that. I think at that point we were only 14 and didn’t back ourselves enough that our rudimentary science experiment with cracked beakers at Pakuranga College could have been correct, or really damaging to the reputation of such a huge company.”

The story was ultimately picked up by Fair Go, drawing attention to the schoolgirls and their experiment. It was during this period they wrote to the Commerce Commission, but Suo says it was still a surprise when one of their friends called to say the Ribena experiment had made the news. “I think we called the Commerce Commission and they said ‘we’ve been testing [Ribena] and we’re going to court – do you wanna come?’”

In 2007, GlaxoSmithKline faced 15 charges of breaching the Fair Trading Act, to which it pleaded guilty, and was forced to admit the health claims it made via advertising and on its labels may have misled customers. It was ordered to launch a new advertising campaign in newspapers to correct the errors about Ribena’s health benefits.


A media circus followed, with Suo and Devathasan, by this time 17, emerging from the courtroom to a media “scrum” with cameras and microphones surrounding them. In a twist of fate, Suo says some of the journalists stationed outside the court now work alongside her at TVNZ. While footage of this moment is hard to find two decades later, Suo says she still remembers the news coverage of Devathasan and her at court. “We were quite frozen in shock… I remember thinking ‘oh god, I’ve forgotten how to walk’. It was such a foreign experience, we’d never done anything like that before. We were just two 17-year-old girls.”

There were calls from overseas journalists at all hours of the night and Suo remembers feeling quite overwhelmed by her newfound fame in her “really small” teenage world. On one occasion, she recalls being interviewed, in her school uniform, for the Herald. For the story, they had to go to the supermarket and buy some Ribena. “I remember the woman scanning it and looking at us like ‘I thought they said this was bad’.”

It was probably the last time she ever bought the drink, though she can’t be sure. “I remember confiding in Anna, I said to her ‘I actually quite like it, I like the taste’. I remember thinking, that’s a drink I can never have again in my entire life. Even though I highly doubt if I walk down the street with a Ribena somebody would point at me and go ‘oh my god’.”

Photo: Joe Giddens/PA Images via Getty Images

Neither of them were particularly interested in “the whole fame thing” and said it started to feel like a distraction from more important events on the seventh form calendar. The pair were worried it might stop them from rehearsing for the school production. “When you think about it, it’s probably not cool, the cool kids were probably like ‘look at those nerds’. But I felt quite cool at school for the first time ever.” If she could do it over again, Suo reckons she would have basked in the limelight more. “I peaked when I was 14 and for the rest of my life I would be chasing that and maybe I should have relished it a little bit more,” she jokes.

She wonders now whether people really even remember the scandal. “I remember someone saying to me, ‘I feel like if this happened in America it would be a Disney movie by now’,” she says. “I think our generation remember it and it was kind of a big deal, [but] I feel I can no longer ride on the coattails.”

Ultimately, Ribena survived the scandal, though its public reputation was damaged around the world. The Commerce Commission described it as “a massive breach of trust with the New Zealand public” and said that the drink’s marketing had convinced people that it was “healthier than other drinks”. 

Still to this day, dozens of articles about Ribenagate lie just beneath the surface of every Google search for the drink. Suggested questions like “Has Ribena been discontinued?” or “Ribena NZ scandal” pop up in the search bar when you type it in. The brand’s Wikipedia page describes “scandals” in the 2000s that damaged the drink’s image as a healthy beverage.

Now a TV reporter, Suo’s more likely to be recognised in public because of an appearance on Breakfast than for her short-lived fame as a Ribena Girl. But, she says, she’s reminded of the saga every time she walks through a supermarket.

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blue background with a phone with a bottle of milk, harvest snaps chis and hot supermarket chicken coming out of it
Download an app, push some buttons and food will appear (Image: Tina Tiller)

InternetNovember 17, 2023

Milkrun might be convenient, but how much will it cost us?

blue background with a phone with a bottle of milk, harvest snaps chis and hot supermarket chicken coming out of it
Download an app, push some buttons and food will appear (Image: Tina Tiller)

The rapid grocery delivery service has launched in New Zealand, promising your food in an hour or less. But as Shanti Mathias discovers, that luxury has real social consequences. 

Milkrun has already failed once. The rapid delivery grocery company launched in Australia in 2021 with distinctive blue and white branding, delivering groceries in ten minutes or less to inner city suburbs. It promptly got hyped in business magazines and received heaps of money from investors, which subsidised customers to order cheaply, over and over.

But the dream of groceries appearing at your door without you having to venture outside is expensive to provide at scale, and it didn’t last long. Only operating in Australia, Milkrun closed in April this year – following the downfall of equivalents Send, Jokr and others. 

In Australia, Milkrun had been an alternative to very profitable supermarket chains. So perhaps it’s not surprising that after the company collapsed, Woolworths (formerly known as Countdown in Aotearoa), purchased the brand a few weeks later. Now operating through Woolworths supermarket, Milkrun launched in New Zealand in July; the Australia and New Zealand operations are separate, but they share information. The curly Woolworths logo appears on its bold blue branding now; it’s so small it’s easy to miss.

In New Zealand, Milkrun is still in launch mode. Street advertising offers vouchers, and Countdown’s self-checkout machines offer digital discount codes while you tiredly beep biscuits and beans. It’s an appealing promise: the supermarket coming to you, quickly (if you live in Auckland, Wellington, Christchurch or Dunedin, that is). 

mount eden road at night with a blue milkrun poster
Outdoor advertising has promoted Milkrun in NZ cities (Image: Shanti Mathias)

Rapid delivery is an appealing business proposition, especially if you’re a supermarket chain in a concentrated market hoping to increase your customer base. “The gap in the market is convenience – those last-minute meal preparation opportunities, light snacks,” says Mark Wolfenden, the director of Coundown’s digital and customer experience branch, CountdownX. 

Wolfenden is keen to frame Milkrun as a service customers are demanding. “We want to give more time back to customers to do what they love,” he insists repeatedly through our interview. But time doesn’t come from nowhere. Someone has to pay for it.

Quinn Allison, who works in marketing/communications and lives in Tāmaki Makaurau, felt snackish the first time she ordered from Milkrun, whose ads she had seen on Instagram. She bought some wasabi chickpea snacks, cranberry juice and yoghurt, all on special, and some ingredients for dinner, like chicken tenderloins and lemons. “It’s so fast,” she says. “Every order has been perfect, actually.” She’s ordered four or five times since, appreciating the personal touches – like a complimentary bag of chips included in the order.

But most items available on Milkrun are more expensive than standard orders from Countdown, which tend to be available the next day with regular delivery. There’s also a flat delivery fee of $7 per order. “It’s definitely a luxury,” Allison says – one she acknowledges she can afford because she has a corporate job, no kids, and pays rent to her partner, who owns a home. 

“We’re very focused on that competitive delivery fee,” Wolfenden says. The business is integrated into Countdown’s pre-existing ordering system; Milkrun orders are simply pushed to the top of the queue for grocery pickers to pluck food off the shelves of available supermarkets. The range is slightly more limited, with about 10,000 items available, including items you can’t order for next-day delivery (hot chickens are particularly popular).

The speed is achieved more in the delivery: instead of being delivered in a big Countdown truck, Milkrun orders are handed over to Uber drivers, who take the items to the customer’s house. On average, Wolfenden says, the process takes 31 minutes, half of the guaranteed hour. 

Rapid delivery has its uses, but there are real downsides too. (Image: Archi Banal)

But Milkrun’s model, using Uber drivers rather than directly employed workers, has concerned labour activists. While workers in supermarkets are largely unionised employees with set contracts, including employees who drive Countdown-branded trucks, Milkrun delivering with Uber means that isn’t the case for all workers. “When you see the [Milkrun] advertising, it’s not clear that it’s a Woolworths operation, and that they’re using Uber,” says Anita Rosetreter, the strategic project lead at FIRST Union, who has worked to get Uber drivers recognised as employees. “Food delivery might be a relatively new part of the economy, but it’s still real work.”

Rosentreter is working on a letter to Woolworths to raise the union’s concerns with the Milkrun model. “They’ve made the decision to launch this new service with their eyes open to what Uber is,” she says. “Uber is famous for lawbreaking, paying below minimum wage, evading company taxes, risking health and safety.” 

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— Senior writer

Even if Uber are technically paying the drivers delivering Milkrun orders, Rosentreter says that Woolworths are responsible for the driver’s employment, and so should be responsible for their wellbeing. Branding Milkrun separately to their other services conceals this connection, and makes it harder to tell what one person’s convenience means for workers.

“It’s this powerhouse company, one side of the supermarket duopology, alongside another powerhouse Silicon Valley company, worth billions of dollars, backed by venture capital,” Rosentroter says, “and because they are so blatant about lawbreaking, Uber has a competitive advantage.”

a countdown self checkout screen with a milkrun voucher
Countdown’s self-checkout machines encourage customers to try Milkrun (Image: Shanti Mathias)

Wolfenden says the Milkrun app is attracting new customers, not simply migrating people who would have shopped from Countdown anyway. “Countdown is focused on how to deliver convenience and still maintain that love of fresh food,” he says. But that’s easy for a representative of a supermarket chain to say; a cynic could interpret Countdown’s move into rapid delivery as a bid to increase its niche in a small market with only one major competitor. 

Milkrun is entirely reliant on the real world: people growing food, workers processing and packaging it in factories, truck drivers ferrying it around the country; workers packing shelves while others weave through stores following instructions from a computer. But the brand itself is a digital one, blank and seamless. On its Instagram there is no outdoor space, no food in the ground or drivers on the road; just cute videos of food made from supermarket ingredients and memes inviting users to guess where it will be launching next. The people in the images and videos are alone, relishing in the convenience of not having to pop back to the supermarket – because someone else has done it for them. 

As easy as it is to feed yourself without venturing beyond your front gate, having your food delivered means you lose something, too. Research shows that supermarkets can be crucial social spaces where customers can engage with people beyond their own spheres, even if the interactions are fleeting. The increased technology in supermarkets, including click and collect and self-checkout, allows you to avoid interacting with the teenage cashier, the woman drifting through the beer aisle, the toddler collapsed on the floor begging for cocoa puffs.

That’s the world inside the supermarket. Beyond its pale walls, hard work has turned seeds into food and coconuts into cream, and all that abundance has been delivered to one enormous room close to you. With Milkrun, you pay to tap a device, and see none of the messy evidence.