There are brands that buy advertisements and brands that, unwittingly, buy problems. A few weeks ago, Frisby woke up to an Iberian clone that appropriated its name, its smiling chicken, and, by the way, its rights in the European Union. What seemed like a minor legal dispute transformed into an international problem where thousands of people lined up to defend the native bird. Here, the consumer watches the spectacle with a mix of patriotic indignation and voracious hunger; and that combination, paradoxical as it may seem, could become the secret sauce that drives Frisby's sales during the battle.

The episode illustrates the theory of "involuntary marketing." The Colombian company denies any deliberate strategy behind the controversy, "this is a strictly legal matter," it clarified in a statement, but public opinion has never needed corporate permission to grant hero status to those it perceives as victims. The conspiracy theory ("surely it's just publicity") runs into official confirmation, as Frisby insists it didn't design the storm, it's just trying to come out dry from it. However, the average consumer cares little about who lit the fuse; what matters is the epic narrative that unfolds on their screen every time they open their news app. And that's where consumer neuroscience explains why legal shields can turn into cash registers.

As seen these days, the Spanish company "Frisby España S.L." registered the brand in the EU and is preparing to open restaurants, generating confusion on social networks and headlines that border on gastronomic surrealism. The Superintendence of Industry and Commerce warns that Colombians have little chance of winning the litigation, given their zero commercial use in European territory, although they could demand the removal of misleading advertising. In parallel, the National Registry published an institutional video in which it "grants citizenship" to the original chicken, a gesture that creatively mixes trademark defense with national bureaucratic idiosyncrasy. The matter escalated from intellectual property offices to patriotic memes, and with each meme, brand awareness climbs to levels that no paid advertising would have achieved.

Many studies exist on the subject, explaining that "Top of Heart surpasses Top of Mind when loyalty is grounded in stories and emotions." In other words, if the mind remembers, the heart buys. Neuromarketing studies conducted in Colombia confirm that emotionally charged stimuli (particularly those that activate the P300 wave, associated with memory and purchase propensity) increase the probability of brand preference even against more economical offers. The Spanish controversy meets all the requirements to trigger that brain chemistry, namely, a foreign "villain," a local "hero," and the possibility of supporting the good guy with an act as simple as ordering an eight-piece combo. The perceived pain (that "sorrow" for the outrage) is reconfigured by the narrative into gratification.

It's worth reading the case in light of "audacity marketing," a concept that rewards the competitor capable of occupying a territory before the legitimate owner. That's what Frisby did in Spain, registering someone else's brand arguing lack of use. It's legal, although ethically quite questionable. The move, besides forcing a legal duel, gave Frisby Colombia a free effusion of visibility. In this sense, the public denial of any strategy reinforces the authenticity of the victim brand, one of the most powerful emotional triggers recorded in neuromarketing literature. The public rewards perceived honesty.

If the Streisand effect teaches that trying to hide something multiplies its dissemination, the Frisby effect suggests that trying to usurp a brand multiplies its original sales. The peak in searches, mentions on social networks, and the avalanche of comments evidence an organic engagement that any marketing team would sign for in blood. The Telefónica Foundation study warns that 95% of purchasing decisions are generated in the unconscious. When consumers feel that their choice contributes to a just cause, defending national originality against European deception, dopamine does the rest.

Internal projections are not known, but if the correlation between digital conversation and average ticket is measured, Frisby would have reasons to uncork champagne. At least while the news flurry continues. However, staying in euphoria would be naive. Consumer "love" is volatile and lasts as long as the trending topic. In the long term, the firm will have to decide whether to expand its operation to materialize the emotional footprint into physical presence or if it trusts that global nostalgia will be sufficient shield. History indicates otherwise because where the product is not tried, the idea ends up fading.

Seen in perspective, the facts reveal that collective empathy (more than billboards or jingles) can turn a legal setback into the greatest advertising boost of the decade. The challenge is to ride the wave without losing balance, and to capitalize on emotion without falling into triumphalism that obscures the urgency of protecting the brand globally.

The curtain falls with a very clear lesson for everyone: in times of hyperconnection, each brand is a character exposed to becoming a hero or villain in the blink of an eye. Frisby, today, enjoys the heroic role thanks to someone else's audacity; tomorrow, other brands could face the same test. Those who underestimate the emotional dimension of the consumer will be trapped in the labyrinth of those who litigate too late.