When was the last time you heard the word Tupperware mentioned? Was it in reference to Donald Trump? Some say his face reminds them of an empty lunchbox that once housed bolognese.
Actually, Tupperware is talked about all the time, but sweepingly: people aren’t usually citing the brand’s products; they’re discussing food storage in general. Any old box. The name is synonymous with plastic tubs filled with leftovers — the fact is, the name appears destined to outlive the company.
Perhaps distressingly for suburban types loyal to the earliest apparatus in safeguarding old pasta, Tupperware, founded in 1946 by the American businessman Earl Tupper, has filed for bankruptcy. Sales have been declining for years, having peaked more than a decade ago. Shares have tumbled.
The firm first warned of perilous times early last year. In the past 12 months there have been attempts to reposition and evolve; to appeal to a younger audience; to navigate a modern world full of takeaways and sandwich shops.
Tupperware is outdated, a relic of a boomer generation whose post-war attitudes are disappearing
That’s just it: Tupperware is outdated, a relic of a boomer generation whose post-war attitudes are disappearing along with millennial ambitions to have children and settle down. Where would we houseless thirtysomethings store a collection of orange-stained food tubs?
There is also a matter of price. A quick scan of the Tupperware website is eye-opening: a simple, 800ml box was — until a sale likely to have been instigated post-administration — retailing at £17.99. I’m sorry, but this will not do when Tesco offers similar for a couple of quid and when much the same is free by way of a takeaway curry.
Plastic, by the way: not a material popular with those under the age of 40. And rightly so. You can buy all the £30 cheese boxes you like — “a revolutionary cheese preserver” with a “membrane” — but who keeps cheese long enough to need it? The fridge door will do, thanks. It has a built-in protective flap anyway.
I should mention those feted Tupperware parties, where housewives would gather in carpeted lounges to admire the range. Older readers will know about them. Sales boomed and nostalgia whispered from kitchen corners. The brand’s cultural impact has been vast and significant: Tupperware was, and possibly still is, sold in as many as 77 countries.
Some fashion, alas, isn’t cyclical. Where would the company go? It’s not properly tapped into Instagram or TikTok and so relevance is lacking.
Mourn if you will, but for a business built on leftovers, there is nothing leftover. Like its lids, I’m sorry to say that Tupperware’s fate looks sealed.
