In a series of recent studies, researchers presented hundreds of shoppers with two granola bars, and asked which is more environmentally friendly: the one in a plastic wrapper enclosed in an additional layer of paper, or an identical plastic-packaged bar, minus the paper. By a large margin, the research subjects chose the plastic-plus-paper option, despite the fact that they both contained the same amount of plastic and the over-packaged granola bar is clearly far less environmentally friendly.
It’s an understandable, if illogical, mistake. Plastic has become the world’s most vilified material, especially for single-use packaging. It’s not only environmentally damaging; it’s become socially unacceptable. Polling consistently finds that consumers want to see plastic replaced. Consumer product companies, hoping to shield their brands from the fury, are seeking sustainable solutions.
Paper has become a favored alternative. Consumers see it as more “natural.” But it’s not always the green choice that advocates seek — or claim. In some cases it can be worse than plastic.
For as long as humans have had the desire to move and preserve stuff, they’ve needed more and better packaging. The ancient Greeks manufactured ceramic wine vessels in bulk quantities; mid-century Americans bought convenient Ziploc bags by the billions. But whether in 1000 B.C. or 1970, packaging had to be cost-effective, easily transported and durable.
Over the last two decades, though, brands and consumers have begun demanding an entirely new property in their packages: sustainability. It’s an amorphous concept. For some, sustainability represents recyclability. For others, it suggests a commitment to reduce carbon emissions and combat climate change. But most agree on this, at least: plastics don’t qualify. Among other perceived problems, they’re derived from petrochemicals, and they persist in the environment if not recycled or disposed of properly.For many brands, the solution to the plastics-packaging revolt is to embrace paper as the natural alternative. There are ways to do this, some sincere and some not.For example, many brands recognise that unbleached (brown) paper packaging (or packaging that looks unbleached) projects a natural, sustainable image to eco-conscious consumers — even when the product is being sold as single-use. Others attempt to boost their sustainable packaging credentials by replacing plastic with recyclable paper. For example, earlier this year Nestle SA piloted paper KitKat wrappers in Australia. It was an impressive technical feat, though one with limited impact. Nestle produces billions of KitKat’s annually; in Australia, it introduced “more than a quarter of a million” in paper wrappers.
Most of these paper solutions focus on what happens to a package after it’s thrown into a waste or recycling bin. But end-of-life isn’t — and shouldn’t be — the most important sustainability benchmark. Other factors are arguably far more impactful. For example, what kinds of greenhouse emissions are associated with different packages? The answers often surprise.
A recent McKinsey & Co. study of milk containers in the US found that paper cartons (which must be lined with plastic) generate 20% more greenhouse emissions over their lifecycles, from production to disposal, than plastic jugs. Other plastic packaging, from meat packages to shopping bags, showed similar to greater climate advantages over paper.
And even if a brand focuses on the end-of-life — or recyclability — aspect, there are complexities. Food-grade paper packaging is often lined by plastics that render packages unrecyclable, or they’re only recyclable in a few locations. KitKat’s paper wrappers are lined by foil that the company touts as recyclable in Australia; however, Nestle didn’t respond to a follow-up question as to whether and where they could be recycled in North America and Europe. If they aren’t recycled and they end up in landfills, they can become potent sources of methane, a greenhouse gas.
Meanwhile, plastic isn’t the recycling disaster it’s often portrayed to be. PET, the resin used in water and soda bottles, is highly recyclable and in high demand by manufacturers looking to make everything from carpets to new water bottles. Last year there were at least 180 plastics recyclers in the US handling PET and other resins. But there are also notable problems. Even if the packaging is technically recyclable, excess food scraps are often disqualifying, whether it’s plastic or paper.
The raw material challenges aren’t confined to recycling and petrochemicals. The production of virgin papers for packaging has its own challenges, starting with the destruction of carbon-sequestering trees. As demand for paper packaging grows, who will supply the pulp? Sustainable forestry is a growing and important option, but consumers and brands will increasingly face questions about whether single-use paper packaging represents the best use for slow-growing resources. Consumers may decide they don’t, and regulators may follow.
That doesn’t mean paper packaging is unsustainable. Rather, like plastic, this seemingly natural material has environmental pluses and minuses of its own. Unfortunately, the highly emotive debate over ocean plastics has made it difficult and even unwise for brands to provide a nuanced explanation for their packaging choices. Instead, they must wrestle with how to reach consumers whose perceptions of sustainability have been repeatedly biased in favour of a less-than-perfect solution.
Rebalancing those perceptions, and laying the groundwork for an honest discussion about packaging sustainability, won’t be easy. But it must start with transparency. Brands with resources should voluntarily disclose the emissions associated with their packaging decisions, placing the number near the recycling symbol. To ensure the validity of those numbers, regulatory agencies should begin sketching out standards for calculating them.
Over time, these environmental “nutrition labels” could spur competition and innovation, benefiting consumers, the environment and brands, alike. Even better, such labels may become a competitive incentive for brands to reduce their packaging altogether. If consumers learn to trust the labels, then “paper or plastic” becomes a less fraught question — it’s only a matter of which material is more sustainable in that use case.
Complex problems rarely have simple solutions. Consumers, above all, must understand that complexity if they have any hope of achieving sustainability.
