Once upon a time it was margarine. It came in a tub, it spread without complaint, and nobody felt the need to apologise for it. You bought it because it was cheaper than butter and that was that.
Now it is “plant-based spread”. Plant-based, as opposed to what exactly? Livestock-derived smear? Petrochemical toast compound? Industrial dairy-adjacent emulsion? Margarine was always plant-based. That was its founding mission statement, long before anyone started photographing breakfast next to a houseplant.
But the word “margarine” picked up a reputation. It started to sound faintly refinery-adjacent, like something kept in a drum behind a factory. So rather than defend the word, the advertising industry quietly put it to sleep and invented a new personality with better lighting and nicer typography.
Inside the tub, nothing has undergone an epiphany. Oil is still persuaded to behave in ways nature did not strictly intend. Water is still folded in, with an emulsifier acting as the bored referee. The ingredients list remains stubbornly practical - rapeseed oil, palm oil, water, salt, and a couple of vitamins drafted in to make it look respectable.
What has changed is the mood music. The packaging now implies you are entering into a compact with the planet. Soft greens, sunlit fields, a font that looks like it owns a keep cup. “Plant-based” is less a description of the chemistry than a gentle pat on the head for doing the right thing at breakfast.
It is clever, really. The industry has not altered the physics of oil and water. It has altered the story you tell yourself while you butter a crumpet. Same contents, new halo, and the cow remains entirely unconsulted while I look for the jam.
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