The Cost of Sustainability
Monday, September 29th, 2008Portland’s Pearl District, where I live, has a good sustainability story. The neighborhood is compact, walkable to all basic needs and convenient to public transportation. But that particular brand—the one that sold the neighborhood at the beginning—now falls second (or lower) to the brand that’s been imposed upon it.
When reporters for everything from the neighborhood newspaper to the New York Times mention the Pearl, they usually preface it with an adjective like "trendy" or "upscale" and allude to million-dollar condos, art galleries and expensive restaurants. The fact that these amenities can be found in lots of other neighborhoods too doesn’t seem to mitigate the assumption that the Pearl is for snobby rich people. It isn’t a sustainability story any more—it’s a conspicuous consumption story.
Most of the Pearl’s housing takes the form of condos and apartments, which typically means people live in less space for the money. And yes, these places are pretty well designed and well outfitted. Still, living in one, with no yard, no sprawl, means making a choice to take up less room and accept that your neighbors can see into your windows. As if they care anyway.
But this isn’t about some virtuous Pearl lifestyle. (All those SUVs in condo garages say otherwise.) It’s just a way of saying it’s hard to reclaim a brand once its image gets away from you, and that’s especially true with far too many sustainability brands. Which, in an economy like today’s, is worrisome.
For the moment, many green choices—be they condo living or organic food—are costlier choices that are perceived as choices for those who can afford them. Sign up for renewable energy and pay higher rates. Buy recycled copy paper and pay a buck more per ream. Build a LEED-certified building and pay more per square foot. Spend more for a hybrid car, and so on. That’s why so many news stories say environmental priorities are fading for many people as the economy tanks.
The solution is far from clear to me, but allowing environmental progress to come to a halt isn’t it. At the very least, it seems important to continue to tell the economic side of every sustainability story.
But after that burst of unboxing ecstasy, what’s left? Nothing but the shell of something that was once so exciting and mysterious—a cardboard box that sits around your home for weeks until you’re forced to commit to the fact that you’re not going to return the product; plastic wrapping that you attempt to gather and throw away, but of which small pieces will undoubtedly reappear as invisible banana peels during a late night trip to the bathroom; and polyurethane crumbs that squeeze into the weaves of your carpet and the cracks of your hardwood and tile floors.