If you were alive in 1997, you remember "MMMBop." You remember the three long-haired brothers from Tulsa who looked like they'd been raised by a pack of golden retrievers. You remember wanting to punch the radio every time that song came on, which was every 11 seconds. Well, buckle up, because Hanson is back — and this time they're selling you alcohol.
That's right. Taylor, Isaac, and Zac Hanson — the prepubescent pop prophets who once told us that "MMMBop" was a profound meditation on the fleeting nature of life — have launched their own craft beer. It's called "Mmmhops," because of course it is. The pun is so aggressively on-the-nose that it loops back around to being almost respectable. Almost.
The beer was actually brewed in collaboration with a real Oklahoma brewery, and it's described as a pale ale. So it's hoppy. Get it? Hop. Beer. "MMMBop." A team of marketing executives somewhere is high-fiving themselves into a collective wrist fracture.
Here's the thing: Hanson has been a functioning band for almost thirty years. They never broke up. They never had a public meltdown. They just kept making music, touring, and growing facial hair. They're basically the anti-Blink-182. While other '90s acts are out here charging $400 for a nostalgia cruise, Hanson quietly became a self-sustaining cottage industry. They run their own label. They host an annual fan festival in Tulsa called "Hanson Day," which sounds like a cult recruitment event but is apparently just a bunch of middle-aged women in flower crowns having a lovely time.
And now they've got beer money.
Gen Z, who discovered "MMMBop" through TikTok and treat it like an ancient artifact from a lost civilization, is reportedly bewildered. "Wait, the MMMBop guys are still alive?" Yes, sweetie. They're not just alive. They're thriving. They've got a brewery, a fanbase, and more financial stability than most of your favorite SoundCloud rappers.
The irony here is thick enough to spread on toast. Hanson spent their entire career being dismissed as a one-hit-wonder novelty act. Now they're cashing checks from adults who want to drink a beer named after the song they hated in middle school. That's not a comeback. That's a long con executed with surgical precision.
Of course, the beer itself is probably fine. It's just a pale ale. It won't change your life. It won't make you feel young again. But it will get you buzzed, and it will make you think about how weird time is. One minute you're a teenager mocking a boy band, the next you're a middle-aged person paying $14 for a six-pack of their irony-branded beer because it's the closest thing to a personality you've got left.
America, baby.
So raise a glass to Hanson. They survived the '90s, the '00s, the '10s, and now they're selling suds to the very generation that once rolled their eyes at them. That's not just a business move. That's a masterclass in spite-based longevity.
**Final Take:** Hanson didn't peak in 1997 — they just waited for everyone else to catch up and get thirsty. The beer is a gimmick, but it's a gimmick that works, and honestly, that's more than most of us can say about our careers. Drink up, you beautiful nostalgic weirdos.