Arriverderci My Toxic Friend

Tupperware, a symbol of our past, has followed the path of leftovers, expired, hitting its expiration date, and filing for bankruptcy.

Housing billions of leftovers crammed and stuffed into their various-sized containers, some never to reappear as they once were, this steadfast safe keeper of the sweet and savoury has become a victim of the times. Oh, the fridges and pantries you’ve graced and the millions of shelves and drawers you’ve called home. Ah, the global flavours you’ve sheltered and protected. The desserts you held packed all snug, with enough calories to power a small village, under a lid with a burp as satisfying as the one let out after devouring them. Let’s not forget the decadent chocolate frosting, pressed desperately against the lid like it’s one buttercream sigh away from bursting free, no different than flesh screaming to be released from body shapewear. Or the rich pasta sauce clinging on for dear life, waiting to unleash its messy potential, with a lid pressed on as tight and tense as a family reunion waiting for that one offhand comment to cause a delicious explosion. All those indulgent foods chanting, “You know you want me – come and get me, I’m all yours if you can handle it?”

I recall my aunts attending Tupperware parties. In hindsight, how desperate must you be for entertainment to RSVP to a soirée celebrating petroleum products?  But it was a sign of the times.  Only the classiest hostess would dare send you off with leftovers in Tupperware – forget a flimsy paper plate wrapped in saran or wax paper.  It was the Louis V of leftover storage. A high fashion vault for your day-old lasagna. Owning it was less about food storage and more about flexing on the neighbours that you had containers as elegant as you are. Yes, this is the same container that slowly evolved into ‘fridge surprise’ as the lid peeled open, releasing the aroma of that lone turkey slice that had stealthily transformed into a biological experiment, hidden from every fridge-raiding eye except the hostess—who, months later, discovers it still lurking having transformed from turkey to alien.

In our household, Tupperware and aluminum foil symbolized two distinct eras of food storage. While my aunts flaunted their Tupperware collections, my mother remained loyal to the wrinkled, reflective metal foil sheets. She was convinced food cocooned in metal would survive indefinitely. Forget you could never see what was wrapped in the rustling metal and were typically too lazy to check it out.

Tupperware was the glamorous gal of the food storage world. She was transparent, sleek, and revealed just enough to know exactly what you were about to snack on. She was the Marilyn Monroe of storage, offering instant gratification—no foil negotiation required. If you were an organizational freak, you could slap a label on her or use a marker to describe the distorted visual suggestions otherwise exposed.

But plastic, our old friend, is now facing the ultimate reckoning. From the time of condom furniture to lamp coverings and hallway runners, once reigning supreme, now those chic black take-out containers and utensils are deemed toxic. I purged all of my black gadgets. It turns out that I may have absorbed more toxins than my old spatula handle!

And Tupperware? Even the sexy ‘burping’ seal couldn’t escape the BPA wave. Anything pre-2010 likely came with a side of chemical seasoning, especially if that little number at the bottom read a toxic ‘7.’ We loved Tupperware for its convenience, but who knew it and other containers came with a dash of toxins?

But Tupperware does bring to mind post-menopausal women due to its strong associations with mid-20th-century homemaking. It is not only a time for parties but also for social events led by women who were also making money hosting them. It symbolized domestic skills, organization and independence and the first step down the Martha Stewart yellow brick road open to everyone. It represented an era of family life and meal prep that we all witnessed in our mothers. As post-menopausal women share their kitchen wisdom with younger generations, it cannot be complete without Tupperware’s legacy.  But like the women who embraced it then, Tupperware became associated with durability and staying power. It aligned with the sensibility of care and dependability. These two groups’ associations blend nostalgia and shared cultural history to connect Tupperware and the generation that championed it.

Tupperware, however, could only keep food fresh. We do that with knowledge and advice, enriching generations—far more valuable than what a Tupperware container could hold. Though Tupperware was available in different sizes, our generation was about establishing self-acceptance, confidence, and grace when it came to sizing. The truth is that Tupperware aged while we expanded in the best way possible through our mind, body, and soul. Though it was designed to last, post-menopausal women are the ones who will have legacies that will endure.

Tupperware served its purpose against a background of change. In contrast, our generation of women continues to find new purposes and passions, adapting, growing and evolving.  We don’t store baggage because we want our vessel that houses the soul to be free, so there’s space for absolute goodness, void of any crap that can rot over time.  Yeah us!

So goodbye, Au Revoir, Arrivederci, and a final burp to you for the decades of protecting that one bit of gorgonzola cheese, the thin morsel of cherry cheesecake, or the chicken soup that should’ve been eaten but turned into a swamp because it was ignored. We thank you for the years of exposing your truths to us as we peeked through sleepy contact lenses and prescription glasses, glaring at you in unrepented guilt to satisfy our gurgle, which would ultimately turn into a well-deserved burp.

Farewell, dear keeper of mystery leftovers and a relic of the living room sales pitch. Though our kitchen fridge and cabinets may close on you, and your burps may fade, you’ll forever live in the pantries of our memories.

You may be gone, never to be forgotten, and remain the owner of a lid that, over time, didn’t quite fit.