Reducing plastics in supermarkets is hardly a level playing field

Different supermarkets cater to different customers with different budgets, we can’t expect all of them to be able to do the same when it comes to zero waste, writes Caroline Bullock

Iceland has come bottom in a new ranking on how sustainable the major supermarkets are (AFP/Getty)

Speaking to Iceland’s manager director, Richard Walker, this week was a reminder that the collective mission of UK supermarkets to reduce their use of plastic isn’t quite a level playing field.

Different stores attract a different customer with varying budgets and priorities and degrees of receptiveness to the sustainability agenda, a nuance that a narrative heavy with targets and pledges doesn’t always address. Some of the socio-economic barriers which can inform customer buy-in and make sustainable shopping a harder sell in Iceland than say, Waitrose, says Walker, are not addressed or acknowledged enough.

It’s an interesting point. As a budget supermarket, the Iceland customer spends an average of £25 on their weekly shopping in store. Perhaps inevitably for a business rooted in the frozen readymade meal, they prioritise speed and convenience, more of grab and go as opposed to a browse and procrastination. Furthermore, says Walker, his customers don’t necessarily have access to cars during the week, all of which is less compatible with both the effort and inclination needed to be on board with refill and zero-waste shopping. For the cash and time-strapped, flicking a Findus in the basket will seem more attractive than bringing your own tubs and jars to fill with nuts, pasta and lentils and possibly paying more for the privilege.

It may explain why Iceland’s trial of selling loose fruit and vegetables alongside pre-packed proved to be short-lived, while the concept got a better reception at the independently-owned Thornton’s Budgens in the affluent area of Belsize Park, north London. As the first UK supermarket to introduce plastic-free zones in 2018, the traction expanded to some 1,800 refillable products and saw a four per cent sales lift, drawing a wider customer base among those for whom food, its provenance and environment was a priority. Yet, even here, there had to be some concessions – pre-packed tomatoes from Holland were reinstated for a small minority struggling with the higher prices of the loose alternative, at odds with the theory that bulk-buying should be cheaper.

Having spoken to supermarkets involved in trials of refill schemes along with the global environmental charity, WRAP, working with Asda and Unilever on a 20-strong refillable product line, it’s hard to get a steer on cost implications of buying loose versus pre-packed. The general response is that it’s still a data-gathering exercise, too early for specifics, a haziness that will not do the cause any good. The concept has been around for almost four years; shouldn’t we be at a stage where we have some clearer information on this most basic of points and a level of insight to inform more standardised approaches?

As inflation rises to 7 per cent and the cost of living crisis heightens, never has it been more critical that initiatives to encourage sustainable consumerism are accessible and make economic as well as ethical sense. If not, then Walker’s summation that the current refill trials in supermarkets will remain ‘middle-class virtue signalling’ has merit. For many, supermarket shopping can follow a well-worn routine and behavioural change won’t be easy. If there are savings to be made by buying loose then there is no better time for this to be communicated more clearly, to nudge behaviours and stop people bypassing the unfamiliar to get to their usual aisle and products.

All too often the distant and ambitious pledges of the bigger supermarkets don’t match the in-store reality

Conversely, if it isn’t cheaper or at a comparable level then perhaps the whole approach needs a rethink because the longer that initiatives aimed at reducing our environmental impact are pitched at a premium and stay niche and on the fringes means the more inconsistencies and cases of tokenism, which stunt meaningful progress.

When I talked to the former manager of the Budgens in Belsize Park his most repeated word was purpose, yet it didn’t feel trite or like he was following a script. It had, he said, propelled his plastic-free initiative and with it came a determination to find solutions regardless of the size of the challenge or barrier or his store’s own modest scale – the result was consistent and cohesive because a clear ethos and strategy had permeated the entire offering.

Perhaps this is destined to be the sole preserve of the smaller independent. All too often the distant and ambitious pledges of the bigger supermarkets don’t match the in-store reality. My own natural inclination and tendencies around sustainability are at best lazy and inconsistent yet at the same time I never feel I’m incentivised, challenged or encouraged to do more by the big brands. When I ask for a bag, I’m given an option in thicker, sturdier plastic and charged more for it, the steady escalation from the 5p to 50p charge that seems to have had negligible effect on cutting their use. I don’t see some of the simplest measures more commonly found on the continent that could make a difference. What about the cardboard boxes routinely left at the end of the till for anyone to use to pack their shopping in French supermarkets for example?

Interestingly, Rachel Watkyn, owner of green packaging company Tiny Box, may have discovered why. She approached a few of the big names to suggest sponsoring free-reusable carrier bag points at the end of each aisle. Here, customers could return their old bags for use by those who had forgotten theirs. The response from one, she claims, was that the carrier bag sales were: “A major revenue stream for the supermarkets, so not something they wanted to actively discourage.”