Why single-use plastic takeaways make me sick
When the average human being leaves their home, they take the essentials. Wallet. Keys. Cell phone. Maybe a snack for the road or a spare cardigan, just in case. When I leave my home, it looks a little different. Wallet. Keys (if I’m not on my bike). Cell phone. Definitely a snack for the road, always an extra cardigan because I live in Auckland after all, but what’s that clinking in my designer tote bag? A reusable drink bottle, a collapsible coffee cup, a stainless steel takeaway container, bamboo cutlery set for me, spare cutlery set for him, cute cloth napkins your nana probably used to own, and since you’re wondering: sometimes the kitchen sink.
I’m a reuser. I boycott single-use takeaway packaging just as religiously as I walk Tchaikovksy, my labradoodle. Every, damn, day. I believe in reusing what already exists and saying no to throwing rubbish in the bin that will exist for hundreds or thousands of years, simply because I wanted my almond chai latte and I wanted it NOW. Carrying reusables with me may sound like a massive undertaking and absolute nightmare for someone who only once took carry-on luggage with her for two weeks away at an overseas fashion week, but it’s become my norm. That part is easy. The part that brings me the most ‘I want to go die in a hole’ moments is the social side of things. My values are strong, but my friendships are valuable. I refuse to alienate anyone because of my planet saving habits, but I refuse to stand by and let lovely people use takeaway packaging because they’ve never been told how ridiculous and harmful it is for our planet.
I am constantly choosing my moments, strategising my words, and walking a two millimetre tightrope.
For example, what do you do when you’re about to go out with friends to get takeaways? Do you bring your own reusable takeaway container to house your own curry? Do you forget about it that night because one flimsy plastic container doesn’t matter in the scheme of things? Or do you carefully ask your friends if it’s okay for you to bring a bag of reusable containers for everyone? I’ve done all three of these things, but the third option is the best. Though, if you chose option three, pick your words carefully.
Going against social norms while respecting your loved ones is an art form. Just two years ago, I don’t think I could have done it. For your own future reference, here are a few tactics I implement and have carefully crafted during years of experience.
While I take a few extra minutes to gather up reusable takeaway containers, I like to say to my friends “ah sorry, don’t mind me, being difficult again!” Teasing yourself and making sure you know how ridiculous you may seem will go a long way. They are probably already thinking this, so best you say it outloud for them and make light of a situation that could turn sour.
When I ask my friends if they are happy for me to bring reusable containers for them, I ask like this “would it be really rude for me to bring a takeaway container for you?” Or like this “is it helpful for you if I pack a reusable takeaway container for you too?” Pick your sentence, depending on the friends, the mood, the vibe, the context.
See; it’s art.
Other awkward reusable moments I find on my list include every time someone has asked me if I want a coffee. I usually say “no, thank you” to reduce the risk of it coming in a disposable cup/rubbish - I’m actually a chai latte drinker, if anyone is keeping a record. Apparently, refusing a free beverage (especially when you are a poor student or recent freelancer) is unheard of, so they always double check, and make sure I am doing okay. It’s almost like they are thinking ‘you’re refusing free food, are you sure you’re mentally stable?’ Yes, I’m sure. I’m just switched onto the fact that disposable takeaway packaging is as unnecessary as crop tops in winter.
Okay, so I’ve been reading your mind too, as you devour my words and reflect on your own takeaway packaging habits. You’re thinking ‘I’m okay, even though I don’t carry reusables with me like this crazy chick does, I always make sure the packaging is compostable and I don’t litter.’ Meep. That was the sound of the buzzer I hit when packaging companies try to fool you into thinking compostable packaging is the best thing for the planet.
Compostable packaging may be better than plastic in some cases, however, it’s still single-use and it’s still rubbish. Nearly all plant based single-use takeaway packaging is commercially compostable. That means it will only break down if it ends up at a commercial composting plant, and let me ask you: do you have access to that waste stream? The chances are low.
Suppose it does end up in a commercial compost plant - that item still took energy and resources to create. It had to be transported from the factory to the store and then to the composting plant, most likely all done in petrol guzzling trucks. Creating a compostable cup involves water usage and carbon emissions. And even if you don’t have the time to care about those types of things, it’s generally unnecessary to throw something in the bin when you have a bunch of cute mugs sitting at home, Tupperware passed down from your darling grandmother that will last another 1000 years, and cutlery that works just as well in public as it does at your dining table.
To address litter briefly: most litter doesn’t happen on purpose. It blows out of bins, flies away from landfill sites, and makes its way into our environment. A rubbish bin is not a safe place.
With all the complexity of socialising as a reuser, you’d think I’d just give up. Nope. Papatuanuku deserves better than single-use litter, and I know that one day, reusing will be the absolute norm. It makes so much sense when you wake up and smell the fresh, organic flowers. Plus, it’s already freaking happening.
Over 40 cafes across Aotearoa have gone single-use cup free (find these on the UYO Responsible Cafe Directory), and the Takeaway Throwaways campaign is out in full force. It’s a petition, signed by people who are calling on the government to ban single-use disposable food and drink serviceware containing plastic (including degradable, biodegradable or compostable plastic), and mandate co-designed, accessible, reusables alternatives instead. I know that’s a mouthful, but effectively, banning these pain-in-the-butt single-use takeaway items and implementing reusable systems that are accessible to all humans, including groups such as the disability community, would make my social life far less stressful and the planet way more okay. There’s this thing called the Waste Minimisation Act 2008, which already means the government has the power to implement bans and systems exactly like this… they just need a shove in the right direction and for Aotearoa New Zealand to shout “DO IT”.
The Takeaway Throwaways campaign is a people’s campaign, pushed by all sorts of individuals and groups. It looks like social media influencers tagging @takeawaythrowaways whenever they use a reusable coffee cup. It also looks like families writing #takeawaythrowaways on their arms (with natural lipstick or dirt of course) and sharing the picture with everyone in their network. Community groups and events are involved, all with the common cause to change the ‘throwaway’ culture, and get every New Zealander to sign the petition so the government will actually listen.
When the Takeaway Throwaways campaign is presented to the government with a massive pool of signatures to support it, my social life will soar. I’ll no longer sweat a little bit when someone suggests we grab takeaways for dinner and I’ve forgotten my reusables. I won’t miss the weird looks from food vendors when I present them with my own container. Takeaway systems will also mean I don’t always have to look like a dork with my Mary Poppins bag of reusables, because I can borrow a container and give it back later.
So, I hope you have one minute to sign it, for the sake of my social life. One day soon, I won’t be the weirdo; the person with the single-use disposable cup will be. The new social norm will be reusables and we’ll remember back to when single-use packaging used to roam Aotearoa New Zealand, just like plastic bags and dinosaurs once did.
Words — Kate Hall
