15 Once-Popular 90s Candies That Have Been Discontinued

You remember the crinkle of those wrappers and the sugar rush that could power a bike ride across the neighborhood. Some of these treats were everyday heroes, others were playground legends, all of them now living rent free in your memory.

Consider this your sweet time capsule, a tour through the candies that defined after-school snacks and movie nights. Get ready to nod, grin, and maybe whisper, I can still taste that.

1. Shockers

Shockers felt like a dare wrapped in shiny foil, the kind of sour that made your whole face fold. You would brace, pop one in, then ride that zingy wave like a champion.

It burned in a good way, the kind that made friends clap and laugh.

There was strategy too, sucking first to survive the sour halo, then crunching the tart core. You swore never again, then immediately reached for another.

Somehow pain and pleasure shook hands.

They vanished without a proper goodbye, leaving just puckered memories. You still crave that first lightning-bolt hit, fearless and fizzy.

2. Butterfinger BBs

Butterfinger BBs were perfect for sneaking into movies and glove compartments. Tiny marbles of crispy peanut-butter goodness, they rattled like treasure and disappeared by the handful.

You told yourself one more, then realized the box was basically air and echoes.

They nailed the crunchy-to-melty timing, leaving that unmistakable Butterfinger flake. Sharing was theoretically possible, but not recommended.

The portion control plan did not survive first contact.

When they vanished, it felt personal, like losing a favorite seat at the theater. You still shake imaginary boxes sometimes, hoping to hear that sweet clatter.

3. Soda-Licious

Soda-Licious tasted like a dare from your sweet tooth and your dentist at the same time. Gummy bottles dusted with tangy crystals made your tongue tingle like pop fizz.

You swore it tasted like real soda, even though your brain knew better.

The cola ones hit first, then cherry, orange, and mystery flavors that felt like arcade lights. They were ideal lunchbox contraband and bus-ride currency.

Trades got serious when only the cola shapes remained.

When they disappeared, fizzy pretenders tried filling the gap. But the memory of that tingling dust still bubbles up, stubborn and happy.

4. PB Max

PB Max felt like a peanut-butter thesis written in chocolate and cookie. Thick, unapologetic layers made it a square meal disguised as candy.

You needed two hands and a napkin, and still wore crumbs like a badge.

It had real heft, the kind that silenced afternoon hunger and conversation. Fans still argue it was too good to lose.

The disappearance felt like a mystery with no satisfying ending.

You remember the dense bite, the cookie crunch, the chocolate seal. Every new bar gets measured against it.

PB Max remains the mythic standard you keep chasing.

5. String Thing

String Thing turned candy into a craft project and snack time into performance art. You peeled slow, twirling neon strands like edible yarn.

Half the fun was shaping initials and spirals before finally taking a bite.

It lived in lunchboxes and after-school desks, a sweet distraction with sticky fingers. Friends asked for a piece and got a string—fair is fair.

The peel was oddly satisfying, like popping bubble wrap.

When it left shelves, snack time got less interactive. You still miss the gentle tug and snap.

Edible doodling does not get better than that.

6. Tongue Splashers

Tongue Splashers turned your mouth into show-and-tell. One piece and your tongue blazed electric blue, green, or purple, a recess flex that demanded witnesses.

The flavor hit fast, loud, and then ghosted like a summer crush.

It was all about the reveal: Stick out your tongue, cue the laughter. Even teachers tried not to smirk.

You chased the strongest stain like a badge of honor.

When it disappeared, the playground lost a tiny spectacle. Gum still exists, sure, but where is the drama.

You miss that bold, messy magic on demand.

7. Bonkers

Bonkers were chewy squares with a juicy center and commercials you can still quote. The texture combo did the heavy lifting: soft outside, splashy inside.

Bite, pause, grin—repeat until the box betrayed you with emptiness.

They felt bigger than other chews, almost theatrical. Flavors like grape and strawberry hit with friendly swagger.

You could taste the ad’s goofy laughter somehow.

When they vanished, a whole mood went missing. Other candies chew, but few surprise.

You keep hoping for a triumphant reboot that nails that juicy burst again.

8. Starburst Hard Candy

Starburst Hard Candy took the juicy flavors you loved and gave them a pocket-friendly makeover. No wrappers sticking, no squish, just glossy little drops that lasted.

Perfect for desks, carpools, and long bus rides where chewing felt risky.

Lemon and cherry worked overtime, bright and dependable. You rationed them like tiny lifelines during boring classes.

One piece could carry you through three chapters.

When they disappeared, the convenience disappeared with them. You still imagine them clinking in a pocket.

Hard-candy patience with Starburst payoff was a winning formula.

9. Life Savers Holes

Life Savers Holes turned the punchline into a product. The missing centers became their own snack, poured from flip-top tubes that clicked satisfyingly.

You could eat five without admitting anything happened.

They were perfect for pockets and whispered trades. Flavors matched the rings you knew, just smaller, faster, sneakier.

The container made you feel official, like a candy librarian.

When they vanished, we lost both the joke and the jolt. You still miss that clicky cap and colorful scatter.

Tiny circles, big personality, gone too soon.

10. Bubble Beeper

Bubble Beeper nailed the 90s pager aesthetic so perfectly it felt contraband. Flip it open, peel a gum strip, and pretend you had messages waiting.

The novelty hit before the flavor, which came and went in a sprint.

It turned hallway walks into mini performances. Friends asked to page you, and you answered with a bubble.

The plastic case clicked shut with satisfying authority.

When it disappeared, so did the gimmick you did not know you needed. Gum became just gum again.

You still remember that tiny swagger in your pocket.

11. Reese’s Peanut Butter Bites

Reese’s Peanut Butter Bites were dangerously snackable. No cups, no fuss, just poppable chocolate-peanut butter spheres that disappeared during a single episode.

You promised restraint, then abandoned the plan and the evidence.

The texture was spot on: smooth chocolate outside, creamy center inside. They were perfect for sharing, which of course rarely happened.

Movie nights turned into grab-and-go ambushes.

When they left shelves, it felt like a personal attack on momentum snacking. Bowls looked emptier without them.

You still scan candy aisles, hoping for a familiar orange whisper.

12. Reese’s Swoops

Reese’s Swoops looked like chocolate chips that raided a potato chip factory. Thin, curved pieces stacked neatly, inviting reckless snacking.

The peanut-butter swirl softened into a melt that felt fancy for a couch.

They nailed the novelty of grabbing candy by the stack. Friends were suspicious, then suddenly invested.

The tin or tray made it feel like a tasting flight.

When they disappeared, you missed that delicate snap and swoop shape. Cups are classic, sure, but chips were weirdly brilliant.

The idea still deserves another lap around the aisle.

13. Nestlé Alpine White

Nestlé Alpine White felt like grown-up candy sneaking into kid pockets. Smooth white chocolate dotted with almonds gave it a wintery vibe.

You ate it slow, pretending sophistication while still licking your fingers.

It stood out in a sea of caramel and crunch bars. The wrapper whispered cool like ski-lodge posters.

One square, then another, then the mountain was gone.

When it vanished, white-chocolate fans lost a signature voice. Alternatives exist, but none carry that alpine mood.

You still picture frosty peaks every time you spot almond-studded bars.

14. Fruit Stripe Gum

Fruit Stripe Gum lived in the checkout lane and your pocket, a quick burst of technicolor flavor. The zebra mascot promised wild fun, and those temporary tattoos sealed the deal.

Flavor sprinted, not marathoned, but the first seconds were fireworks.

Each striped stick felt like a tiny party favor. You shared tattoos, then traded sticks, then chewed in chorus.

The wrapper art alone could lift a mood.

Even if it is gum, it belongs in the candy conversation. When it faded, a bit of whimsy faded too.

You still chase that rainbow rush sometimes.