Not Just For Homemakers Anymore...

In the 1950s, Tupperware had a novel idea to promote its product. Instead of mailing catalogues to the suburban housewives who bought their plastic storage containers, they decided to send fellow homemakers--called "Tupperware ladies"--to do the peddling.

Avon Ladies and encyclopedia salespeople had already hit upon the idea of ringing the doorbell. But Tupperware wouldn't stop at the front door--their representatives charged right into the living room.

These days, not a whole lot has changed. "Tupperware consultants," as they're now called, find willing hosts and turn a sales pitch into a social phenomenon. Consultants bring the goods, "hostesses" (still the official term, despite its gender specificity) provide a space, and the festivities begin.

Think the elite "10,000 Men of Harvard" might turn up their noses at a Tupperware party? Think again.

Tupperware consultant Joan Maimonis of Arlington says that men and women of all ages, ethnicities, and social classes sponsor Tupperware parties these days.

Sanjay Krishnaswamy '93, who held such a party in a Lowell House tower room earlier this month, is living proof.

"Sanjay is a young male who, like many these days, saw a need to make his food preparation and storage easier and cleaner," Maimonis says. "He saw a chance to take advantage of the potential to earn free Tupperware by hosting a party."

Krishnaswamy first encountered Tupperware last summer when Maimonis held a party in the biology lab where Krishnaswamy was doing research.

"I went nuts, I ordered everything," says Krishnaswamy, who was living and cooking on his own over the summer. "Because I cook a lot of Indian food, the spices I need are only sold in a few places and they're hard to store. Tupperware was perfect."

Tupperware got Krishnaswamy through months of preparing his own food. Surprisingly, though, he maintained a similar closeness with his kitchen-ware even after he returned to the world of Harvard dining halls.

Krishnaswamy, who lives in Lowell, decided he wanted to share the exaltation of owning Tupperware with his neighbors.

For his efforts, Krishnaswamy received a complimentary microwave reheatable bowl, a "beer thing," and "the joy of knowing that I was able to be of help to others."

He and Maimonis arranged to hold the party in Lowell's F-entry on January 11. Maimonis, who had conducted a party in Canaday earlier in the year, was anxious to participate.

"College parties are so much fun, because the kids who come seem to be genuinely open-minded and interested in learning about Tupperware," she says.

Some of the students who attended were themselves Tupperware "veterans." Sean F. Whalen '93 revealed that his own mother had been a Tupperware lady.

"I grew up with a very positive attitude toward Tupperware," Whalen says. "I think that, with this, we're edging toward a major societal paradigm."

As the party progressed, students wandered in--about 20 in all eventually arrived. But a myriad of motivations compelled them forth to the tower room.

Some came looking for the omnipotent draw of promised free food, some just needed a study break, and others really wanted to buy a few pieces of Tupperware.

Maimonis, a former Spanish teacher, opened the party with a round of introductions, reminiscent of the first day of a new class. This, she says, is a customary Tupperware activity.

To begin, she addressed the misconceptions which she predicted must abound on a college campus regarding the "hipness" of Tupperware.

"This is not your mother's Tupperware," she asserted. "The quality that you know Tupperware for is still the same, but we have changed with the times, changed to suit your needs."

To illustrate her point she brought out Meals in Minutes," a Tupperware-style microwave meal.

As Maimonis bantered with the students, it seemed that, despite their outward flippant attitudes, her message was indeed being carefully considered.

"I didn't really know or care much about Tupperware before--it was such a Donna Reed-type thing," says Mark C. Alonge '96. "But [Maimonis] made it seem sort of worthwhile."

If Maimonis stirred excitement for the plastic products, Krishnaswamy was almost as animated.

"The party I went to this summer was such a mind-altering experience that I felt a need to spread the joy and warmth I found to all Harvard undergraduates," Krishnaswamy says.

He says Tupperware changed his life. "After having shared that classic experience of post-war America, I felt more a part of the community," he says.

Lowell House Senior Tutor Alexandra Barcus, who was also in attendance, called the party "a blast."

With all the glowing words of praise, one might have forgotten that the party was an idea conceived in a corporate boardroom.

Maimonis refused to discuss the profits reaped at the event, instead following the Tupperware tradition of spinning the party as a purely social affair.

"It's a very social product, one that draws people together," she says.

"Everyone who attended was so fun and enthusiastic, I had a wonderful time," Maimonis says. "It would be fantastic if these people were indicative of the next `Tupperware generation."

Maimonis called Krishnaswamy to the front of the room so that he could demonstrate the many wonders of the purchases he had made over the summer.

In a presentation brimming with youthful exuberance, he elicited sighs of appreciation from the crowd as he introduced his own microwave reheatable set, "perfect for storing Chef Chow's leftovers."

When chattering ensued, however, Maimonis was quick to pipe in with a "Would you mind sharing your comments with the rest of us? eradicating any doubt as to who was in charge that Monday night.

She even gave these learned Harvard students a refresher course in arithmetic as she revealed Tupperware's newest venture into educational plastics: addition and multiplication flip-cards called "Fun in a Flash."

Several volunteers tried their luck with the addition set, but one skeptical student whose answer was disputed by the suggested response on the back of the card replied, "You've failed to convince me, actually. I've been taught to distrust what I read."

Contention was not in the spirit of the evening, however. Interspersed with friendly reminders regarding how to keep munchies from going stale, Maimonis initiated a few party games to entertain the masses.

As Krishnaswamy interjected with helpful hints like, "my roommate even stores his baseball glove in Tupperware," Maimonis was offering to lead the group in efforts to "Name that Mixed Drink."

Chances are that this would not be an accurate sketch of the Tupperware parties of years past. Of course, Maimonis doesn't fit the precise mold of the "Tupperware lady" either.

After teaching for 14 years, she decided that she needed to be home to raise a family. That was five years ago--Maimonis now has two children, ages four and two-and-a-half with a third on the way.

This trend is the reverse of what is often associated with women breaking out of their roles as homemakers and into the world of careers, she says.

Whalen says Maimonis's children will benefit from her experience. "My mother was out selling Tupperware, so she didn't have time to bake cookies with it. But now I use it to cook, so it turned out all right in the end anyway," he says.

And as both Maimonis and Krishnaswamy can attest, once you let Tupperware organize your life, its permanent influence is inescapable.

"I'm obsessed, totally into it," gushes Maimonis. "I've always felt good about Tupperware, maybe because when I was young I went to parties with my mother."

Now she says that it is indicative of a woman's lifestyle, the way she takes care of her belongings and her food.

"Even the new styles are reflective of the changing nature of today's world," she adds.

The newest models range from their limited release Fireworks Speckled collection of luncheon plates and butter dishes to their updated old standby, the ever-popular Modular Mates--standard box-shaped containers for dry goods.

"Tupperware is 41 years old now, but there are still people who believe that it hasn't changed since the 1950s," she said. "That's simply not the case anymore."

Last year at the annual Tupperware convention in Orlando, the designer, Morrison Cousins, led a retrospective on the evolution of Tupperware aesthetics.

While some remained unconvinced that Tupperware can save the world by color coding cabinets, the converted will still defend their "Maxi-Cake Takers"--portable containers for cakes--to the bitter end.

At the Lowell party, Tupperware's inherent usefulness was never in dispute. But guests all had their own favorite uses for the plastic.

"I like Tupperware because the dogs that search for drugs can't sniff through that guaranteed air and liquid-tight seal," says Daniel N. Webb '96.

Krishnaswamy offered his hypothesis that "maybe it's something they cook the plastic with that makes it so cool."

Maybe it all comes down to "Sanjay's Economic Theory: Tupperware is so important to us," he says, "not only because it appeases our anal retentive roommates, but also because it is representative of the American capitalistic spirit which ultimately led the United States through the Cold War while the USSR collapsed."

They didn't have Tupperware, you see.