The Tupperware Dilemma: Why Circular Thinking Struggles in a Disposable World

The circular economy is often described as a way to move beyond the wasteful “take, make, dispose” system that dominates today’s world. At its core, it is about keeping resources in use for as long as possible, minimizing waste, and restoring natural cycles. However, studies show that the concept is often applied in a narrow way. Many definitions focus mainly on recycling and reuse while leaving out wider social and systemic aspects such as fairness and inclusiveness (Kirchherr, Reike, & Hekkert, 2017). This limited view risks reducing the circular economy to little more than waste management rather than a true transformation of our economic model. Others argue that while circular economy and sustainability share common goals like reducing environmental harm and improving resource efficiency, the lack of clear and consistent definitions makes it hard for policymakers and businesses to act on them effectively (Geissdoerfer, Savaget, Bocken, & Hultink, 2017).

In contrast, some research highlights the economic opportunities it can create. For example, one influential report shows that by adopting circular practices, industries could improve competitiveness, reduce risks, and save huge costs, with Europe’s manufacturing sector alone potentially saving up to $630 billion (Ellen MacArthur Foundation, 2012). Taken together, these perspectives suggest that the circular economy is not just about recycling but a broader vision for redesigning growth in ways that balance environmental responsibility, economic opportunity, and social well-being.

Recently, the concept of Circular Business Models has also gained prominence. A circular business model is a way of doing business that reduces waste and makes the most out of resources by keeping products, materials, and components in use for as long as possible. Instead of the traditional “take, make, dispose” system, it promotes strategies like reuse, repair, recycling, and remanufacturing to extend product life and cut down on resource consumption (Geissdoerfer et al., 2017). Some businesses are shifting to product-as-a-service models, where customers pay to use a product but the company keeps ownership. This encourages firms to design goods that are durable and easy to maintain (Bocken et al., 2016).

Such approaches not only reduce reliance on raw materials but also help companies lower their environmental impact while opening up new opportunities for innovation and competitiveness (Kirchherr et al., 2018). The success of these models, however, depends heavily on supportive policies, advances in technology, and the willingness of consumers to adopt new ways of using products. Ultimately, circular business models strike a balance between profitability and sustainability by rethinking how businesses design, deliver, and recover value (Geissdoerfer et al., 2017; Kirchherr et al., 2018).

These circular business models aim to transform how we use resources by promoting reuse, longevity, and service-based models. Yet they must operate within predominantly linear economic systems, creating what scholars call a paradox of embeddedness (Alpsahin Cullen, 2023; Granovetter, 1985). For circular ventures to survive and scale, they often need to align with existing market structures, institutions, and supply chains. Paradoxically, this alignment—while necessary to access resources and legitimacy—can also limit the organization’s ability to innovate, adapt, and fully achieve circularity (Linder & Williander, 2017; Polanyi, 1944).

Tupperware was not just another kitchen product. For decades, it symbolized smart living: durable, reusable, and surprisingly ahead of its time. Back when throwaway culture was just beginning to take root, Tupperware offered something different. These containers could be used again and again instead of tossed after one meal. In many homes, they were more than plastic tubs. They became part of daily life, passed from one generation to the next, proudly stacked in kitchen cupboards. Buying Tupperware felt like a responsible choice, both practical and sustainable (Korhonen, Honkasalo, & Seppälä, 2018).

Here lies the irony. What made Tupperware so beloved also brought it to the edge of collapse. The containers lasted. Families did not need to replace them often, sometimes not for decades. In an economy that thrives on constant consumption, that durability became a problem. Competitors stepped in with cheaper, flimsier versions designed to be replaced without a second thought. These quick-sell products fit neatly into the fast-paced, throwaway model we have all become accustomed to (Hobson, 2016). Meanwhile, Tupperware’s sales slowed. By 2023, the brand that once revolutionized kitchens around the world was warning of bankruptcy, not because people disliked the product, but because it did not wear out fast enough (BBC, 2023; Bloomberg, 2023).

This is the paradox at the heart of Tupperware’s story. It represents everything we say we want today: less waste, more reuse, longer-lasting products. It was a practical example of what a circular economy could look like, where products are designed to last (Ellen MacArthur Foundation, 2013). Yet it struggled to survive in a world built on the opposite. Our current economy rewards quick turnarounds, not longevity. A product may be sustainable, but the system around it must also make sustainability viable (Murray, Skene, & Haynes, 2017).

Tupperware was also slow to adapt. Its iconic “Tupperware party” model, once empowering for women and revolutionary for its time, did not evolve with the digital age. Social media and online shopping reshaped how we buy, but Tupperware clung to outdated methods. It failed to show up where younger, sustainability-minded consumers were looking. It did not tell its story in ways that felt current or connected. Meanwhile, newer eco-brands built sleek websites, collaborated with influencers, and made sustainability feel stylish. Tupperware, for all its legacy, seemed left behind (The Guardian, 2023). Inside the company, financial struggles, leadership shake-ups, and a lack of direction made recovery even harder (Bloomberg, 2023).

In the end, Tupperware’s near-collapse is not only about one company. It is a reflection of what society values. We say we want products that last, that reduce waste, that help the planet. But our economic, cultural, and political systems still reward the opposite (Bocken et al., 2016). If a company like Tupperware cannot survive while doing the “right” thing, what does that say about the environment we have created for sustainable business? Tupperware’s story is both a warning and a call to action. It shows that we need more than good products. We need systems that support them. That requires changing how businesses make money, how consumers make choices, and how governments shape policy. Until then, even the most well-intentioned, long-lasting solutions will continue to struggle in a world hooked on the disposable.