Spoiler: Your recycling bin is a landfill with better branding...
Hey Reader,
I’m doing newsletters now. My therapist (Old Faithful) says I’m being passive-aggressive. Apparently, melting ice caps and weird weather patterns don’t count as “clear communication.” So, I started my own ad agency because, let’s face it, I need better PR.
Speaking of marketing genius, let’s talk about plastic’s branding team. They pulled off one of the greatest heists of all time, with nothing but a triangle. I’m kind of jealous. I’ve been trying to get your attention for decades with hurricanes and droughts, and they drew an old-school emoji and called it a day.
You know those little numbers in triangles on your plastic containers? They’re not recycling symbols. They’re just… numbers. In triangles. Pretending really hard.
What are the odds? (100%. They were designed that way.)
Most think those numbers tell you how recyclable something is. Like #1 is the best, #7 is basically garbage. Makes sense, right?
Wrong. The numbers just tell you what type of plastic it is.
So you see that triangle and go, “Perfect, this baby’s recyclable.” Then you rinse out your #5 yogurt container like you’re prepping it for surgery and place it gently in the recycling bin.
That container is going right to a landfill.
But you felt great about it.
Meet the Resin Identification Codes (AKA The Numbers Game)
Here’s what those numbers really mean:
#1 (PET): Water bottles and soda bottles. These make it through the recycling gauntlet. You win this round. But here’s the catch: the bottle caps are made from #5 plastic, which means they get tossed even when the bottles get recycled. It’s like ordering a salad and throwing away the croutons, except the croutons last 400 years.
#2 (HDPE): Milk jugs and detergent bottles. These are widely accepted, too. Two for two, you’re on fire. The caps are even made from the same #2 plastic as the jug, so you’d think they’d get recycled together. But they’re too small for the sorting machines. Apparently, recycling facilities have the same problem as toddlers: if it’s smaller than a tennis ball, it’s a choking hazard.
#3 (PVC): Pipes, credit cards, and some food containers are almost never recycled. A material that’s made for your drain but sneaks into your dinner.
#4 (LDPE): Plastic bags and squeeze bottles. Nope. But thanks for trying. Those squeezable honey bears look natural and wholesome, but they’ll outlast a grizzly by 500 years.
#5 (PP): Yogurt containers and bottle caps. Your recycling center laughed.
#6 (PS): Styrofoam cups and disposable plates. Come on.
#7 (Other): Everything else. It’s literally called “Other.” That should tell you something.
So out of seven categories, maybe two get recycled. But they all get the same official-looking triangle. Less than 10% of plastic finds a second life. The rest becomes archaeological evidence. Future scholars will dig up ancient Egyptian papyrus scrolls and our Walmart bags, and wonder which civilization was more advanced.
Plot Twist: Even the “Good” Ones Are Complicated
Getting the “right” number still doesn’t guarantee a happy ending. Black takeout containers are almost always trashed, regardless of whether they’re #1 or #2. Companies use black because it makes food look more premium and appetizing, like putting your leftovers in a tuxedo. But most optical scanners can’t see black plastic, so even your upscale-looking container has the same fate as yesterday’s greasy pizza box (and no, you can’t recycle that either).
On top of that, it can’t be dirty. It can’t be too small. It can’t be covered in a label that clings harder than your ex. And it has to live in a city with decent recycling infrastructure.
Basically, your plastic needs to win the synthetic lottery.
How Did This Happen?
In the 1980s, the plastics industry was getting heat for all the waste they were creating. So they developed these resin identification codes to help with sorting. Helpful, right?
Except they designed them to look like the recycling symbol that environmental groups had been using. Same three arrows. Same triangle. Just with a number inside.
Then they sat back and watched everyone assume all plastic was recyclable.
It’s like putting a stethoscope around your neck and letting people think you’re a doctor. You never actually said you were one, but that stethoscope is doing a lot of heavy lifting.
Spoiler Alert: The Numbers Game Is Rigged
So what gets recycled? It’s pretty much just clear #1 and #2 containers that survive the Hunger Games of waste management.
Everything else is expensive garbage sorting.
But here’s what’s wild: instead of making less plastic or better alternatives, the industry convinced you that you’re the problem. “Are you recycling correctly? Are you reading the numbers? Are you rinsing thoroughly enough?”
Meanwhile, they keep making black takeout containers that sorting machines can’t see.
It’s like selling you a car with square wheels and asking why you’re not driving it right.
You could just… use less plastic. I know, revolutionary concept from someone who’s been running a zero-waste operation for 4.5 billion years.
Of course, using less plastic isn’t as easy as snapping your fingers. (If it were, I’d have done it somewhere between the dinosaurs and dial-up internet.) But every small swap adds up. Start where you can, and I’ll handle the hurricanes.
Need a survival guide for plastic detox? I’ve got stories—and science—coming next week.
Mother Nature
P.S. Next week: Why reusing that plastic water bottle might be turning you into a microplastic smoothie chef.
Know someone who thinks all triangles mean recycling? Forward this. Know someone who works in plastic PR? They're killing it.
