99 Cent II, Andreas Gursky, 2001
In my opinion, supermarkets are beacons of gentrification that perpetuate wealth inequality, social isolation and food capitalism. Since they have been allowed to create a perfect triplex for contemporary food attitudes - Choice, Convenience and Luxury - we are experiencing Supermarket Stockholm Syndrome. We are trapped in an abusive system that we have been forced to love; the vast sociocultural power that these organisations wield hides a skilful manipulation of our perceptions and the constant threat of restricting access to our basic needs.
This learned dependency has created a public tolerance, and in some cases a demand, for low-cost, processed foods that are often devoid of nutritional value. Take bleached bread, reconstituted meats and microwave meals, all containing countless chemicals and preservatives to prolong the shelf-life while retaining the aesthetic appearance of edibility.
I struggle to write about this subject as I am privileged enough to have educated myself out of the food trap, but for many it’s an inescapable daily reality. It’s such tricky territory because I don’t want to alienate anyone, particularly those who shop there out of necessity, or work there by choice. The last thing I would want is to reinforce the demonisation of the working families that is embodied by the Government’s framing of benefit-receivers as tax frauds while aspirational middle-class hipsters sell extortionate (and sometimes faux-) artisanal products to the wealthy.
I wouldn’t say that I can financially afford to not shop in supermarkets - my boycott is oftentimes expensive and inconvenient - but I originally made the decision based on how I psychologically feel when I enter these sorts of spaces. Since then I am fortunate that I can attribute any further exploration to time I have spent thinking and reading or trying to understand these reactions. Time that I can afford to spend because of my education, employment and lack of dependents. My reasons are now myriad and deep-rooted, it would be impossible to turn back.
I recall the first time I read Baudrillard as a university fresher, desperate to discover the library and myself. I think it was Hyperreality that crystallised this bodily sensation I had whenever I entered a hotel, supermarket or motorway service station: temporal and spatial confusion, sensitivity to day-glo lighting, noticing the rigidity and flimsiness of architecture. This saw non-places the way I saw my town, and I’ve been unable to shake it since. Thinking about it now, that would have been my first conscious acknowledgement of neoliberalism in suburbia. I’m really grateful for meeting that text when I did, I think I’ll revisit him soon.
Our national addiction to driving to enormous out-of-town shopping in supermarkets (rather than walking to our local vendor) is largely because their names, brands and colourways have become so ingrained in our daily lives. Through aggressive marketing we have been convinced, in a shrewd business sense, to trust them outright and to be wary of imitators and independents. It also feels like this journey to the fringes of your town creates this monopoly over our time, we’ve made the trip so we must get everything we need now.
When we walk around the orange-lit aisles, we are seduced by seemingly unlimited options, all presenting just enough individuality for us to embrace a favourite. There is almost no item, bar alcohol and tech, that the average person couldn’t afford and this sense of power is pretty attractive (as an outsider). This infinite paradise, for me, creates Choice Paralysis. Having too many options overwhelms the individual who reverts to safety. Consumers are creatures of comfort and tend to stay loyal to an extremely narrow basket. Even something so miniscule as changing tea brands can be anxiety-inducing, and can lead to harsh critical comparisons. The smallest differences in products, despite knowing they’re fundamentally identical, can cause havoc in a pantry. The reality is that we have been gaslit by acute hegemony and are persuaded to stick with our repetitious ways rather than push against the superstructure.
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My amazing mother mostly brought me and my brother up alone while working more-than-full-time as a nurse. Our fridge was always understocked but never bare; bright white bread, some cans of cola, margarine, ham slices, half a jar of mayonnaise, a wilted iceberg lettuce. Our dinner frequently consisted of “bits n bobs”, a selection of beige bitesize pieces from the freezer (potato smilies, turkey twizzlers, waffles, chicken nuggets, peas or chopped carrots). Our family’s unbalanced diet was a result of this poverty trap, illustrated by my mother’s high-skill-low-pay profession and her reliance on supermarket basics.
Magnified during the global coronavirus pandemic by an insidious Conservative Government bent on profiting off peoples’ misery, the UK has become a nation of haves-and-have-nots. Around 50 British billionaires have increased their wealth by 35% since 2019, while 35% of children in my home borough Lewisham are living in food poverty. The government has also just voted down a motion to give children free school meals over half-term and into winter, so it’s been left to Marcus Rashford, a professional footballer who grew up on these free school meals, to instigate a nationwide campaign to ensure the nation’s kids get fed.
This is no longer a political argument, but a moral one. MPs defend their vote by claiming food poverty should incentivise parents to work harder, and that the treasury cannot afford the #120m to put food on the tables of struggling households (which makes up 20% of the population). Meanwhile, the same MPs who have just been given a £3k payrise are eating meals in Parliament that are subsidised by taxpayers’ money while £12b in contracts are being handed out to zombie companies run by Tory donors for PPE and a Track & Trace app that doesn’t work.
Participating in a national despondency is cynical. We are pursuing a large, impenetrable, amorphous negativity. We are inside a circus tent falling down in slow motion. I cannot possibly describe the nuances of this hellscape, so I feel extremely grateful that writers like Josina Calliste, Owen Jones, Ash Sarkar, Nosheen Iqbal and Jonathan Nunn are all putting the hard work into deciphering the mess and laying accountability at the appropriate individual’s feet.