The circular economy explained
“They don’t make them like they used to.”
It may be the nostalgic lament of our grandparents’ generation, but it’s true: so many products just aren’t built to last anymore. And that’s not just down the race to the bottom inevitably created by the need to manufacture products as cheaply as possible to maximise profits in competitive industries. It’s often a deliberate choice to create products that will sooner or later need replacing. After all, if your product is so good that customers only need to buy it once, they have no reason to come back to you. And we all know the value of repeat business.
This artificial limiting of products’ lifespans is the thinking behind ‘planned obsolescence’, the - at best inadvertent, at worst morally dubious - practice of manufacturing products that won’t stand the test of time. That could be because they’re made from inferior materials. It could be because support and spare parts are withdrawn for older models. Or, as in the case of many a tech product, it could be because the design is updated so regularly that customers have no choice but to upgrade to the latest model to enjoy the latest features.
The ‘Batterygate’ scandal in which Apple found themselves embroiled is a classic example of planned obsolescence. Users were forced to upgrade to more recent iPhone models because the regular software updates required to maintain their phones’ security were causing models with older batteries to slow down. And of course, you can’t change the battery in an iPhone. The company’s sudden change to the Lightning charging cable also left millions of devices and chargers redundant. But it’s by no means just a phone thing.
The original proponent of planned obsolescence was the notorious Phoebus Cartel of the 1920s and 30s, which produced lightbulbs with a lifespan artificially limited to 1,000 hours (other bulbs at the time achieved 2,500 hours). Looking at other kinds of product, how many uses does anyone get from a pair of stockings before they’re laddered and need replacing? Seasonable fashion as a concept is arguably a kind of planned obsolescence, giving clothes a limited lifespan as trends go in and out of fashion. To take another example, it’s hard to imagine the IKEA furniture of today gracing the antiques shops of tomorrow.
It’s obvious why businesses adopt this approach; at the end of the day, they need to make money, and repeat business can account for a significant chunk of many businesses’ revenue. But in an age when, as a nation, we’re more aware than ever of waste and its impact on the environment, how long will consumers - and indeed the law - continue to allow this?
Enter the circular economy. An antidote to the prolific waste generated by planned obsolescence, the circular economy is all about keeping products in circulation for as long as possible. That means products that are built to last. Products that can be mended and used again and again. Products that will always have replacement parts available.
Can this circularity be built into a business model? Of course it can. But it means designing products that stand the test of time. It might mean creating products that can be updated or sold on for further use when the buyer fancies a change. It might mean offering an option to rent rather than own. It might mean offering second hand or refurbished products alongside new ones, perhaps for consumers with a lower budget. Failing that, products should at least be capable of being broken down into materials that can go back into the supply chain.
All this is indeed perfectly possible. So how many businesses will rise to the challenge of designing products that are built to last rather than built to fail? As sustainability finally starts to take centre stage, and with the global economy on shaky grounds amidst a major pandemic, this might just turn out to be what separates the winners from the losers in the years ahead.
