Arriving at the checkout in my local Ikea,
waiting to pay for a wooden stool and some paper drinking straws, I looked to
my left in disbelief. The area had been piled high with one impulse purchase, like
you would find chocolate bars when you pay at a supermarket. However, what Ikea had was a giant cube, packed with tiny plastic potted Jurassic succulent
plants, in tiny plastic pots, with a layer of fake plastic soil, for only 95p
each.
I laughed, because that was all I could do, apart from buy one
and take it home. Some
weeks later, I found another of these things sticking out from an array of real
plants, perhaps the result of a customer realising what they were doing, and
buying a proper one. It stuck out badly – something looking more life-like
would cost far more, organic or not. I bought that one as well. They are now
both at work, taking the place of a real Jurassic plant I thought had died, but
thrived once I had put it away in a drawer, the deprivation of water and light
forcing it to grow like rhubarb. That plant is still alive, while its replacements never were.
The
Ikea plant is part of a range that uses the name “Fejka,” the Swedish word for
“fake,” perhaps the most straightforward name they have ever used. The
demonstration photographs on their website show it taking up space in a
bathroom, and on a shelf, much like the “serving suggestion” picture on a microwave meal pack means “on a plate.”
Why does this plastic plant exist? We
are slowly moving away from single-use plastic, hence my buying the paper
straws, but this plant is so small, and so cheap, it approaches disposability,
costing less than a bottle of Diet Coke. They are almost made of the same kinds
of plastic, although ethyl vinyl acetate (EVA), used to give the plant its
rubbery texture, is more likely to be used in shoes and household appliances.
The plant can be recycled, but not a single part of it is biodegradable,
requiring more energy to make something else from it. The idea should not be to
make it easy for the owner to throw the plant away if they don’t need or want
it anymore, especially when its small size (14 cm tall, with a 6 cm diameter
pot), indicates this is a plant
that cannot get any bigger.
Plastic plants feel a step too far now, as if Dr. Seuss had
never written “The Lorax,” and Sir David Attenborough never returned to making
nature programmes – he used to be controller of BBC Two, creating programme
strands such as “Horizon” and “The Natural World.” This is even before you consider
its position as postmodern simulacra – do you buy the fake plant to replace the
experience of owning the real thing, or could you just not be bothered to take
care of a real one? It would have been simple enough to spend £2 to buy a real
plant, and remember to take care of it, like owning a goldfish. Here is my
problem: I have never owned a pet, I thought my real plant had died, and I have
added to the plastic problem that we all have. I guess I am stuck with my two
Fejkas, unless they somehow start absorbing carbon dioxide and releasing oxygen - oh yeah, no fake photosynthesis, as even the soil is
fake.
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