Saabira Chaudhuri, senior journalist at The Wall Street Journal, recently published the book Consumed: How Big Brands Got Us Hooked on Plastic.
In a freewheeling conversation with Outlook Business, Chaudhuri talks about the insights and surprises from her research—how corporations didn’t just respond to a demand for disposable plastic; they created it. She explains how we were sold the idea that convenience is progress and disposability is modernity.
We often talk about individual responsibility. But your book suggests brands play a far greater role. How so?
Consumption doesn’t happen in a vacuum—a much larger system shapes it. One of the things my book explores is how companies have spent billions convincing us that disposability is the ideal way to live. Yes, individual choices matter, and I think it’s important to reflect on our daily habits. But it’s also critical to recognise the sheer amount of money, strategy, and psychological engineering that’s gone into selling us this idea—that their products are the path to a better life.
The reason I advocate for systemic change is because the culture of convenience and disposability is now deeply ingrained. To rewire, we must make reusable and recyclable packaging not only available but also cheaper and more convenient.
That means introducing policies like extended producer responsibility, a virgin plastic tax, incentives for reuse, and laws that promote standardised, refillable containers. We also need to take a hard look at the chemicals being used in plastics.
If we could reduce the hundreds of plastic types down to just a few and design packaging with reuse and recycling in mind—limiting colours, additives and complexity—we could actually manage plastic waste. But no one individual can make that happen. Lawmakers and corporations are in the driver’s seat. That said, I do believe individuals can help steer them by pushing for change.
The plastics problem can feel overwhelming. That’s one reason I wrote this book—to put a face to it. Companies make daily choices to package products in plastic. These are conscious decisions, and brands rely on our trust—and our wallets. We have influence, not just in what we buy, but in what we say. If a brand is over-packaging or making misleading claims, call them out—on social media, via email, or through customer support. I believe in both systemic change and personal responsibility—and they’re closely linked.
You argue that consumers were never asking for plastic-wrapped convenience—it was sold to us. How did that happen?
Take shampoo in India. Before brands like Unilever and Procter & Gamble introduced sachets, most people washed their hair with homemade mixes, such as reetha and amla, or bar soap. Hair conditioning was done with oil. That was normal.
Then came sachets, accompanied by extensive advertising and market research.
These companies promoted Western beauty ideals—straight, shiny, flowing hair—and told Indians, “this is how your hair should look.” At the same time, they offered a cheap, accessible product in single-use plastic. The packaging didn’t meet an existing need—it created one.
It was the same with disposable diapers. In the 1950s, they weren’t widely used. Then Procter & Gamble launched Pampers with marketing that made cloth diapers seem old-fashioned, unhygienic, and even irresponsible. In China, ads claimed disposables improved babies’ brain development by helping them sleep through the night.
The messaging has been incredibly persuasive—and persistent. And that’s how disposable packaging helped build huge, profitable markets. In most cases, there was no demand from consumers. Companies created it.
Were there any surprises while researching how companies justify their reliance on plastic?
What struck me was that plastic, when it first appeared in the 1920s, was marketed as eco-friendly. It was framed as a sustainable choice—no more ivory from elephants, no tortoiseshell, no beetle shellac or deforestation for wood. It was a byproduct of fossil fuels and was considered a byproduct.
Even in 1975, McDonald’s switched from paper to plastic containers, in part due to concerns about deforestation. Internally, they believed it was a more sustainable move. But just a decade later, there was a major public backlash in the US as people realised plastic that lasted seconds could linger for centuries. McDonald’s had to pivot, claiming its containers were recyclable—though, in practice, they weren’t.
What surprised me most was how little thought these companies gave to what would happen to the packaging after use. The focus was on product innovation, beating competitors, and growing market share. The environmental consequences weren't evident until the late 1980s, when waste began to become a public issue, and brands like McDonald’s, Coca-Cola and Pepsi faced pushback.
Another unexpected finding was the number of plastic-based products that were intended to be niche. Shampoo sachets were originally designed for low-income, rural markets—not to become the norm. Plastic bottles were meant for bulk storage, not daily consumption. Disposable diapers were created for travel, not everyday use. These products just snowballed—cheap, effective, and wildly profitable.
Many companies now claim to be investing in recycling or plastic alternatives. Are these steps meaningful—or mostly greenwashing?
Recycling has barely evolved in 40 years. Only PET bottles and HDPE milk jugs—especially in Europe—are recycled at scale. For most plastics, sorting by type and colour is too complex and expensive. Virgin plastic remains cheaper and more attractive.
To fix that, companies need to bear the cost of managing their own waste—funding the collection, sorting, and processing systems. We also need laws that require a minimum amount of recycled material in packaging. That would help build a viable market for recyclables.
We also need to drastically cut down on the number of plastic types in circulation. Instead of hundreds, we should standardise a few that are chemically stable and compatible with recycling. It’s a straightforward step that would have a huge impact.
We should also bring back deposit systems. If you buy a plastic bottle, aluminium can, or glass jar, you get money back when you return it. It’s simple—and it works.
Some of the most harmful plastic products—like sachets and diapers—are targeted at the Global South. What role do global inequalities play in plastic pollution?
Western countries have long exported their plastic and paper waste to the Global South, claiming it’s being sent for recycling. But often, the waste isn’t truly recyclable—it’s contaminated, mixed, or degraded. So, it ends up dumped or burned.
This has created deep inequalities. Wealthy nations have taken advantage of weak regulations to offload their waste. If the materials had real value and were being reused effectively, that would be fine. But that’s not the case.
As we mark World Environment Day, what do you want readers to take away from Consumed?
There are two things, mainly. First, I want readers to feel empowered. We're not helpless. Yes, the problem is enormous, but we can act—by demanding better, by recognising greenwashing, and by making more conscious choices. Simply switching from plastic to paper isn’t enough. Every material has a footprint. We need to rethink consumption itself.
Second, I want people to speak up. If a local café doesn’t offer reusable options, speak up. If your favourite brand uses misleading eco-claims, call it out. These little pushes add up.
We also need to accept that real change might come with some short-term costs. But pollution already carries huge hidden costs—especially in countries like India, where public health is bearing the brunt.
Finally, I hope readers reflect on how deeply consumption is tied to celebration. We’ve been conditioned to think that joy requires shopping. However, there is richness in old practices—such as repairing clothes, passing things down, and celebrating through food, community, and care. I just want people to pause and ask: Is this something I truly need—or something I was sold?
