What image comes to mind when you picture the word “natural?” Wide open spaces?
Pristine forests? Take that same word, “natural,” and put it on a bag of chips
in the grocery store. Now what do you picture? For me, “natural” evokes visions
of kettle chips instead of regular potato chips, or trendy sweet potatoes versus
boring russett. Whatever image your mind created, chances are some company out
there has spent money trying to influence it.
Putting claims such as “natural,” or certifications such as “USDA Organic,”
on a food package is a prominent way food companies attempt to influence our
purchase behavior. Some cite consumer “certification fatigue” as a sign there
are too many of these declarations out there, but within the concept of food
declarations is powerful insight into our motivations for buying and consuming
certain foods.
First, let’s start with how and why food declarations get defined. For basically
every word other than a food declaration, the word is defined through a
process of convergence. Dictionary editors (yes, there is such a thing) scour
the written universe for patterns of word use. They also search for new uses of
existing words, and cite these uses in a large database. When there are enough
citations for a given use of a word, that use is formally defined by adding the
definition to the dictionary (think of how our use of “text” has changed over
the years). Food declarations, however, tend to be defined through a process of
divergence. Rather than noticing patterns of a food term’s ubiquitous use,
authorities look for differences in the ways food terms are used as their
trigger for the need to define.
Take “natural” as an example. As health-conscience foodies began to seek out
better food 50 years ago, the claim “natural” on food packaging began to cause
problems. Food companies began to greenwash their products with the “natural”
claim, even if they were highly processed or contained artificial
ingredients.
Consumers were duped by food companies taking advantage of the haphazard and
divergent array of definitions (or lack of definitions) of “natural.” You can’t
really blame these food companies, because if there was no centralized
definition, they were not doing anything wrong, right? Apparently not. Lawsuits
emerged, and eventually the FDA had to step in to provide an official
meaning for the claim to prevent more conflict. In 2016, it announced that it
was close to a final decision, informed by a public comment period, but to date
there’s still no clarity on the official meaning of the claim.
So, uniquely, food declarations are born out of necessity — due to conflict,
rather than consensus. This is significant, because it means that a food
declaration is fundamentally intended to solve some problem within the food
system.
A similar process was recently undertaken to define “upcycled food.” Six months
ago, the fledgling industry was struggling to provide a credible answer to the
most basic question: “Yes, but what is ‘upcycled food?’” How do we classify
this new food category, which reduces food waste by including ingredients made
from otherwise wasted ingredients?”
To answer this question, the Upcycled Food
Association (UFA) convened a task force that
included representatives from Harvard Law School, Drexel University,
NRDC, World Wildlife Fund,
ReFED
and more. The official
definition was released
last month, along with a research paper summarizing the group’s findings. Again,
here we see a consensual food declaration being spurred through divergent uses.
A step beyond claims are more rigorous certifications, where third-party
organizations come in with strict standards for accreditation. USDA Organic and
Non-GMO Project
Verified
are brands in themselves, and their branding — when found on food packaging —
provides extra assurance to the consumer that the claim being made has legs. But
as consumer demand for more healthy and environmentally sustainable products
grows, a business model has emerged for these certifications themselves, which
provides legitimacy to products in an increasingly competitive and scrutinized
grocery shelf.
Food brands feel the need to add new certifications to their packaging, lest
they appear insensitive to a given sustainability trend; not having a
certification, like Non-GMO Project Verified, makes a bigger statement than
having it at this point. Some say the proliferation of dozens of certifications
has led to certification fatigue, as consumers’ attention is spread
increasingly thin over a larger number of more narrowly specific
certifications.
One of the most recognizable and influential certifications is USDA Organic, which has been contentiously and passionately toiled over and
iterated on for decades. The certification speaks volumes to consumers who want
to eat healthier, more sustainable food, free from pesticides and other
chemicals (although there’s a lack of evidence that organic food is, in fact,
healthier). The brand of the USDA Organic certification has successfully carried
the message that purchasing organic food is not only the progessive thing to do,
it’s the right thing to do.
The “Dirty Dozen” and “Clean
Fifteen”
declarations would have us dig a little deeper. These lists label some foods —
such as strawberries, spinach and grapes — as “dirty,” containing higher levels
of pesticides on the conventional, non-organic varieties. We’re encouraged to
never buy non-organic varieties of anything on the dirty dozen list. Other items
— such as avocados, onions and cantaloupes — are labeled as “clean,” with
smaller traces of pesticides; therefore, it's a wash whether you buy organic or
conventional. But there’s a problem with this analysis: The amount of pesticides
left on a fruit or vegetable when it hits the shelves doesn't tell the whole
story of the food.
What about the soil where the food was grown? How “clean” or “dirty” of
pesticides might the lungs of the farm workers be? Just because the reptilian
skin of an avocado protects its flesh from pesticides doesn’t mean there isn’t
someone, somewhere, being negatively affected by the practices associated with
producing that avocado. Herein lies the power of food declarations: to expand
our minds from seeing ourselves simply as organisms consuming fuel, to actors
playing important roles in a complex and interconnected food system.
So, for that question, “Aren’t there already too many claims and certifications
out there?” My answer: No. Food declarations help us deepen our relationship
with our food, better understanding the systems and people who make it possible.
Claims and certifications are the logical extension of the requirement to list
ingredients on food packaging. The practice of listing ingredients and nutrition
fact panels is based on the belief that consumers need to know what is in their
food. As our understanding of our food system grows, we need to know just as
much about where those ingredients came from, what the conditions during
production were, and what impact they have on people and the environment.
Arguing that there are too many food declarations; and therefore, we shouldn't
use them; is like arguing that there are too many food ingredients for consumers
to understand, so we shouldn’t list them, either.
Over the years, our understanding of ingredients we want to avoid or gravitate
to has deepened. As our relationship with the food system grows deeper, and our
recognition that food is not about boxed brands on a shelf, but rather about
people and the environment, so will our understanding of food declarations.
But of course, there are a lot of these declarations to keep track of, and not
all of them are quite so inspiring or impactful. I often find myself frustrated
by how arbitrary the standards for certification seem. What’s so special about
30% that makes it the threshold for including the “made with organic
ingredients” claim. And even if I buy 100% organic foods, it’s hard to know what
impact I’m having on the world by making those purchases. So, we don’t need
fewer food declarations — we need better food declarations. We need claims
that deepen our understanding of food, inspire us to do better, and align with
our values. Most importantly, we need declarations that show us the impact we’re
having on the world.
That’s the idea behind the upcycled food certification, slated for launch later
this year: to not only show the activities that food companies are
undertaking, but the impact that I — the consumer — am creating when I
purchase upcycled foods. Now that “upcycled food” has been defined, the UFA has
convened the first-ever Upcycled Food Standards Committee, which will meet
between June and October of this year before releasing the world’s first
standard for upcycled food certification.
Ultimately, consumers will not only see what upcycled ingredients are included
in a product, but how much impact they are having by purchasing that product, in
terms of metrics such as pounds of food waste reduced, or pounds of CO2
emissions reduced.
Food declarations have the potential to change consumers’ minds and habits. They
illuminate the lifecycle of food, and deepen consumers’ relationship with the
food system. Just as there are countless food ingredients, some we seek out and
some we avoid, so there will be many food declarations — some that matter to
you, and some that don’t. The ones that do matter, however, should be the ones
that show not only what the food product is accomplishing, but what change you
are effecting by making the purchase.
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Turner Wyatt is an award-winning social entrepreneur focused on reducing food waste. He is co-founder and CEO of the Upcycled Food Association, as well as the co-founder and former Executive Director of Denver Food Rescue. In 2015, he was appointed by the Mayor of Denver to serve on the Denver Sustainable Food Policy Council, and also serves as Board President of Fresh Food Connect.
Published Jun 25, 2020 8am EDT / 5am PDT / 1pm BST / 2pm CEST