Rhode Island Removes Mr Potato Head Plates After Hasbro Move

Hasbro moved its headquarters from Rhode Island to Boston, and the state is responding by proposing to remove Mister Potato Head as a specialty license plate option; this piece looks at the move, the political reaction from a Rhode Island Republican lawmaker, the history of the plate, and the odd mix of civic pride and petty retaliation unfolding over a toy mascot.

Cities hate losing big employers because jobs and tax revenue walk out the door with them, and Rhode Island is no exception. When Hasbro announced the shift to Massachusetts, local lawmakers reacted quickly, framing the relocation as an economic blow that deserves a political answer. For many residents the change feels symbolic as much as financial; Hasbro has been tied to the state for generations, and losing the headquarters stings in a way that raw numbers do not always capture.

The proposed response is straightforward and pointed: stop offering Mister Potato Head as a specialty license plate in Rhode Island. The plate has been a visible, long-running option that many drivers chose, and it also raised funds for the state’s Community Food Bank. Lawmakers argue that keeping the plate while the company flees the state amounts to promoting a private brand with public resources, and that the state should not continue to advertise a company that no longer contributes to the local economy.

It’s been no small potatoes that Rhode Islanders have been able to choose the image of Mr. Potato Head as a specialty license plate for decades.

Yet with Hasbro’s decision to move its headquarters from the smallest state in the U.S. to Boston, two lawmakers say it’s time to hash out whether Rhode Island should continue promoting one of the company’s most iconic characters.

Rep. Brian Newberry, a Republican from North Smithfield, put the case plainly in a statement about the legislation he filed. He warned the state will face “untold economic harm and loss of tax revenue” and argued that the government has no obligation to advertise a product connected to a company that left. Newberry called the plate issue a matter of self-respect, insisting Rhode Island shouldn’t be in the business of promoting brands that abandon the state.

Under the proposal introduced earlier this month, Rhode Island’s Division of Motor Vehicles would stop providing Mr. Potato Head as an option for a specialty license plate. Currently the plate costs around $40, with half of that amount going to help support the Rhode Island Community Food Bank.

Rep. Brian Newberry, a Republican from North Smithfield, said in an email that he filed the legislation because Hasbro leaving the state will cause “untold economic harm and loss of tax revenue.”

“There is no reason we should be advertising their products on our license plates,” Newberry said. “It may seem trivial compared to many other things but it’s a matter of self-respect.”

There is a real trade-off here. The plate raised money for people who need food, and removing it would cut that stream of support unless the design is replaced with something else that also benefits the food bank. But politics is not always tidy, and lawmakers sometimes choose symbolic gestures to send a message to departing companies and to voters who feel betrayed. That dynamic is exactly what critics of the move point to when they call the reaction petty.

From a Republican perspective the logic is simple: if a business abandons the state, the state should reconsider perks that essentially serve as free advertising. Public resources should serve residents first, not promote corporations that no longer contribute to the local tax base. Removing a specialty plate might seem minor, but it is a visible way to assert that the state will not passively accept corporate flight without any response.

Others will see this as overreach, an unnecessary break with tradition over something whimsical. Mister Potato Head is a cultural oddity more than a policy lever, and for many drivers the plate has been a small, harmless expression of local flavor. Whether Rhode Island lawmakers will find a middle ground—such as redesigning the plate or redirecting funds—remains to be seen, and public opinion will likely shape how far the state goes.

The debate taps into broader questions about economic development, corporate responsibility, and how communities respond when a longtime employer leaves. It’s easy to understand the urge to punch back when a company relocates, but elected officials also have to weigh practical consequences, including lost revenue for charitable programs tied to specialty plates. In the end, the choice Rhode Island makes will reflect both political posture and a calculation about how best to protect local interests.

There’s also a lighter side to the story and a taste for wordplay that surfaced in commentary, but the core issue is straightforward: a company moved, a lawmaker reacted, and a state is considering whether to keep selling a plate that promotes a product no longer headquartered there. The decision will matter to drivers who care about the plate, to charities that benefit, and to voters who expect their leaders to defend local interests.