Your Child Made the Meme. A Company Owns the Brand. What Parents of Viral Kids Need to Know.

By Brooke Watson, Partner, Dynamis LLP

This summer, two companies found themselves in federal court over chicken nuggets shaped like the numbers “6” and “7.” Perdue Foods sued John Soules Foods, claiming rights to “67,” the internet’s favorite number, born from a viral 2025 video of a boy yelling “six seven” at a basketball game (if you’re a parent and have, at any point, uttered the word “67” or 6 followed by 7, you know).

The legal implications are where it gets genuinely strange. The young man who made that number mean something, Maverick Trevillian, has no claim to it. He doesn’t own “67.” He created a moment, not a brand. Perdue moved first to commercialize the phrase as a branded product, according to its filings. It launched its limited-edition “6 7 Chicken Nuggets” in April 2026, sold them in Walmart stores nationwide, and filed federal trademark applications for the “6 7” name and logo. It claims commercial use, backed by registration, and enforceable brand rights.

Soules moved about a month later and hired Trevillian as the face of its competing launch. So, the kid at the center of the whole phenomenon now sits on the defendant’s side of a federal lawsuit, attached to the company being sued, while the company that had nothing to do with him, the meme, or the movement, is the one claiming the rights.

That’s a real trap. Your child can create something the entire internet repeats and own none of it. The law often rewards the first company to turn an idea into a brand, not the person who had the idea.

You usually cannot own the cultural moment itself. But you may be able to protect the commercial identity built around it.

Most people assume that whoever starts something owns it. You go viral, and the thing you did, the dance, the saying, the raised eyebrow stare, is yours. Trademark law does not work that way, and the gap is where creators get hurt.

In reality, two different things are in play. In Trevillian’s case, the meme itself, the phrase “67,” the gesture, the joke, is cultural material. No one owns it. Your child cannot own it, and neither can Perdue or Soules. It belongs to everyone and to no one.

A trademark is a different animal. It protects a word or symbol that identifies the source of a product. Trademark rights generally depend on priority of legitimate commercial use and whether consumers recognize the mark as identifying a source of goods or services. That is a race about commerce. It has nothing to do with who created the culture underneath it.

Put those two facts together and you get this case. Trevillian made “67” famous. Perdue had nothing to do with the meme. It is asserting the trademark claim, because it put “67” on a package of chicken and sold it first.

For a viral kid, the lesson is blunt. Being first in the culture buys attention. It does not buy ownership. A company you have never heard of can watch your child’s moment go viral, register an aspect of it, and lock up the commercial lane before you have called a lawyer. If your child later wants to sell something built on what they started, or signs with a company that does, the ground may already be taken, and your family may be the one forced to fight for it.

What your child does own

But the legal picture is not entirely one-sided. Your child never owned the meme, but your child owns their identity.

The right of publicity is the right to control commercial use of a person’s name, image, voice, and likeness. If a company wants to put your child on a package or in an ad, it generally needs permission. The rights, and how they are enforced, depend largely on where you live. New York and California protect these rights most strongly.

A minor also cannot be bound to a contract the way an adult can. In many states a child’s contract is voidable, and states like California and New York let a court approve a minor’s deal so it holds up, which protects the child and the company at once. Your child also has a right to keep the money. Some states have additional protections for minors’ earnings, including California’s Coogan Law and newer laws addressing child creators’ online income.

This is your child’s real asset. Whoever wins the fight over “67,” Trevillian’s name, face, and voice are still his. The identity survives the brand fight.

What this means for parents

The lesson is not that your child is powerless. It is that value moves fast and protections do not attach on their own. The families who come out ahead are the ones who plan before the moment passes.

Document and date the original content, because timing is what wins these arguments. Claim the assets you actually can. No one can own the meme, but your child’s name or stage persona can sometimes be registered as a trademark and held cleanly through a business entity, which beats fighting for the ground later. Put any deal in writing, with clear terms on scope, duration, money, and an exit, and have a court approve it where your state requires. A brand that partners directly with the young person behind a moment, as Soules did here, is doing it the right way, and a properly structured, court-approved deal protects the company as much as the child. Set up the trust before the checks get big, not after.

Get a lawyer, early

The single most important step is the one families skip in the rush of a viral moment. Talk to a lawyer before you sign anything, not after a dispute lands. It is the same lesson we draw for families facing a very different crisis in Can a Teenager Go to Jail for Hacking?: the earlier you act, the more options you have. The right counsel will review the deal your child is offered, make sure the terms protect them, structure the earnings so they keep them, secure what can be secured before someone else does, and put you in a position to respond if their identity is misused. The companies in the nuggets case had lawyers from day one. A child whose identity becomes a business asset deserves the same protection.

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This article is for general informational purposes and does not constitute legal advice. The law governing publicity rights, child performers, trademarks, and AI-generated content varies by state and is changing rapidly. For advice on a specific situation, contact a qualified attorney.

About the author

Brooke Watson is a Partner in Dynamis LLP’s Miami office and a decorated former federal prosecutor who served in senior leadership positions in the U.S. Attorney’s Office for the Southern District of Florida, most recently as the district’s Deputy Criminal Chief. She represents individuals and companies in white-collar criminal matters, crypto litigation, internal investigations, regulatory inquiries, and complex litigation. At the Department of Justice, she served as the district’s Digital Asset Coordinator and Computer Hacking and Intellectual Property Coordinator, helping shape the Department’s response to emerging technologies.