Change the blade. Sounds quaint to us, who in our thoroughly modern way, don't need to change blades anymore. No, if a man is old-fashioned enough to actually use a razor (as opposed to an electric shaver), it is a disposable razor, and the whole plastic item is chucked into the bin when it gets too dull for a close shave (they can't be used to scrape paint, alas), with a replacement pulled out of a bag bought during a weekend run to the big box store, where he also likely picked up a two-pack of shaving cream.
We only need to walk down that aisle of that same big box to see how thoroughly "modern" we have become: disposable razors to be sure, but diapers and wipes and tissues and feminine products, and "adult diapers" also take a great deal of shelf space. When we clean our homes, we use disposable dust mops, paper towels and single-use disinfecting wipes. We have throw-away liners for our cutting boards, single-use washcloths, paper napkins, single-use cameras and even disposable cell phones. And yes, there are disposable socks and underwear for people who can't be bothered to do laundry.
My parent's generation was born in a severe economic depression and lived through a world war, where shortages meant learning to make due. But even though this depression has been deemed equally severe, we have seemingly no such constraints, and our government doesn't hang posters of Uncle Sam urging us to save bacon grease and forgo meat once a week, quite the contrary: they tell us we need to keep buying to keep America strong. And yet the garbage patch in the middle of the Pacific continues to grow, and the consequences of our throwaway society are refusing to be ignored anymore.
There's an interesting economic term: "durable goods." It refers to items that are manufactured that we can assume will be used for at least three years. These are generally big-ticket items, ones worth repairing--think cars and DVD players. But what is interesting to note is how many things that used to be considered durable goods have now moved to the "consumables" side of economic reports.
But if we are going to count beans, the numbers in support of re-use add up as well as for the impact on the planet: 100 razor blades can be had for around $15; that same $15 will get you only 32 plastic-handled razors. Granted, you will have to invest around $50 in a handle and lovely badger bristle brush, but amortized over fifty years worth of shaving, that's literally only two pennies a week--still cheaper by far than the disposable.
The same calculation can be applied to diapers, mops, plates and napkins, to be sure, but also to feminine products and dishtowels and the like. If you had told my grandmother that in 50 years we would be able to get up in the morning, put on fresh disposable socks and underwear, shave and throw away the blade and handle, pour a cup of coffee made with a plastic throwaway pod into a paper cup with a plastic lid (cleaning up the inevitable spill with a paper towel), throw a prepackaged Styrofoam bowl of just-add-water noodles and a plastic bottle of water into a paper bag for our lunch--and that's just a few hours into the day--she would have said you were either living in a fantasy world or a very wasteful person.
They say that convenience is why we opt for throwaways: but how is it more convenient to always be putting buying replacements on our shopping lists (and paying for them) instead of refilling (discount for bringing your own cup) or washing something durable? Sorry, I just don't buy it.
