The question of whether adopting a "zero-waste" lifestyle can effectively address climate change is increasingly relevant in today's world, where the actions of individuals often feel dwarfed by the magnitude of the crisis.

About five years ago, I stumbled upon an extreme lifestyle choice while exploring YouTube, one that promised to combat pollution by aiming for zero trash output. While it might seem unachievable, I attempted this lifestyle in 2019, managing to avoid generating waste for about two weeks. This was achieved by using shampoo bars, reusable face wipes, and consuming primarily bananas and bulk-bin rice.

However, I soon abandoned the effort due to rising costs and the closure of the eco-friendly shops in my area. Nevertheless, I have continued to seek ways to minimize my waste, participating in annual "zero-waste weeks." Yet, I often ponder whether this costly and inconvenient endeavor truly makes a difference.

In a world filled with celebrity private jets, oil companies boasting record profits, and affluent nations neglecting their climate commitments, I question the real impact of my bamboo toothbrush.

Kathryn Kellogg, founder of the website Going Zero Waste, notes, “Sometimes, the zero-waste movement can place excessive pressure on individuals, leading to personal turmoil and judgment within the community.” She emphasizes that while individual waste reduction is commendable, it’s essential to recognize we exist within a linear economy where products are often designed to end up as waste.

“Feeling guilty about the plastic straw you couldn't avoid doesn't aid anyone. Instead, we should focus our energy on the plastic industry that has effectively marketed such items, making them ubiquitous,” Kellogg adds.

I first learned about the zero-waste lifestyle through Lauren Singer, a notable eco-influencer who famously fits nearly a decade's worth of non-recyclable waste into a small mason jar. While her extreme approach filled me with hope, the onset of the Covid-19 pandemic complicated my journey. My own mason jar began to fill with the non-recyclable waste from frequent testing and medications housed in plastic.

Feeling overwhelmed with climate guilt, I became disillusioned with the idea of a zero-waste lifestyle. It appeared unattainable for individuals outside urban areas or those lacking financial resources for eco-friendly shopping. Additionally, it posed challenges for people with disabilities who rely on plastics for medical necessities.

Kellogg herself has criticized the "trash jar" concept as performative, stating, “Nearly everyone with a trash jar has exceptions for items they don't include, leading to a distorted perspective.”

After the pandemic, I attempted to adopt a zero-waste lifestyle again, but the sheer scale of pollution became apparent. News of wildfires in Australia, celebrities flying in private jets, and raw sewage being dumped into UK coastlines made the notion of abstaining from a plastic straw seem naïve.

This prompted me to explore alternative methods to address the climate crisis. I shifted my focus from individual zero-waste actions to collective efforts, as climate experts suggest these are more impactful. Lorraine Whitmarsh, an environmental psychologist at the University of Bath, explains, “While reducing plastic consumption can lessen your carbon footprint and benefit biodiversity, it’s essential to realize that individual actions are often less effective than changing travel habits, dietary choices, and energy use.”

Whitmarsh encourages individuals to engage with broader systems: “Using your voice, writing to representatives, signing petitions, and discussing issues within your community are vital actions. We are not merely consumers; we are professionals, community members, and citizens.”

She further notes that collective action can alleviate climate anxiety, emphasizing that systemic barriers to zero-waste living cannot be dismantled by individual efforts alone. “People often feel guilty for not doing enough, but the reality is that it is challenging.”

To take meaningful action, I participated in climate marches, signed petitions, and wrote articles addressing climate change's impacts. I realized that combating climate change extends beyond waste reduction; it includes advocating for justice for marginalized communities disproportionately affected by its consequences.

This perspective shift allowed me to approach my zero-waste efforts with greater compassion. While I may not fit all my waste into a mason jar, I have adopted practices like composting and using reusable makeup wipes. Other content creators advocating for practical waste reduction have shown me that while zero-waste might not be entirely feasible, minimizing waste is certainly attainable.

Kellogg reinforces this notion: “The term zero-waste can intimidate many. Ultimately, it’s about reducing waste as much as possible, even if that means simple actions like declining straws or using a reusable water bottle — these choices do make a difference.”

No one can single-handedly halt climate change, not even someone like Lauren Singer with her remarkable jar. However, reducing waste can foster environmental awareness and inspire engagement with local politics and impactful actions.

Perhaps the concept of "zero-waste" is unrealistic — it was for me — but moderating consumption and reducing waste can serve as a crucial first step toward fostering a kinder relationship with the planet.

Emily Chudy is a London-based writer and journalist, published in outlets including The Independent, Slate, Glamour Magazine, and PinkNews.