Lidl's expands faster than Waitrose & Sainsburys combined. Forget the credit ratings agencies, this is a far more realistic barometer of how sensible we are.
What does Lidl's expansion tell us about modern Britain?
What does Lidl's expansion tell us about modern Britain?
What does Lidl's expansion tell us about modern Britain?
walmart worker
Walmart caused uproar when it organised a food drive for its own employees. Photograph: Tim Boyle/Getty Images
I was about 16 when a Lidl supermarket first opened in my home town. I soon discovered that it was possible to purchase there bottles of sweet cherry liquor; potent enough to get me drunk, but sufficiently saccharine to disguise the taste of alcohol. Lidl will forever be associated for me with that illicit drink in its tacky rouge bottle. I was reminded of it this week, after the supermarket announced it is to more than double the amount of stores in the UK – from 600 to 1,350.
The news led me to wonder whether Lidl's appeal now extends beyond cherry-addled teenagers and to that holy grail of the advertising executive, the ordinary family. When I was growing up, Lidl and its counterpart Aldi were acceptable for the surreptitious purchase of cheap booze, but acutely embarrassing for anyone whose parents actually shopped there. The expansion of stores across the UK is a self-conscious rejoinder to any lingering embarrassment, with boss Ronny Gottschlich announcing he wants to target "Maidstone mums" who are "no longer afraid to be seen in a Lidl store".
What can we infer from Lidl's foray into everyday British life – that something once a source of ignominy has become normalised? We can begin by examining why shopping at Lidl was ever something to be ashamed of: it wasn't a reflection of taste; Lidl was shameful because it was a signal of poverty. But low-price supermarket chains are now benefiting from the downturn for obvious reasons. Note that the keeping-up-with-the-Joneses instincts that might once have deterred families from shopping there are not overcome because we're any less brand-conscious; but because now the Joneses are skint as well. For all the government rhetoric about recovery, it seems the British public are still spending like it's 2008.
It's also worth asking what effect Lidl's expansion has on working, as well as consumer, habits. The NHS has always been Britain's biggest employer with 1.7 million workers, but cutbacks to the public sector mean that supermarkets (nearly 1 million workers and counting) could well catch up. A country once defined by universal free healthcare could soon be known for its economy of vast, alienating monoliths, whose staff barely survive on poverty wages. As a 2012 report by the Fair Pay Network noted, the four big supermarkets – Asda, Sainsbury's, Tesco and Morrisons – enjoyed rising executive wages and huge profits while their staff were living in poverty. Only one in seven supermarket employees are paid a living wage or higher. Couple that with a sharp rise in food banks and it's not outlandish to suppose that supermarket employees are selling food to be donated to food banks, only to visit those food banks later and have the same food given back to them. In fact, in Ohio, Asda's American equivalent Walmart caused a furore when a Cleveland store organised a food drive for its own employees.
The growth of Lidl doesn't merely say something about the extent of belt-tightening happening in Britain right now; it says something about the consequences of eroding the public sector. Once well-paid, stable work with decent terms and conditions is gradually being replaced by minimum-wage, erratic jobs.
In the coming days, government ministers might welcome Lidl's expansion as a sign of recovery. They might hail the creation of jobs as a sign that people's living standards are improving. What they won't do is look at what the replacement of good jobs with low-paid unstable work says about the country, and that where once Lidl was a sign of poverty for individual families, it may soon become a symbol for the endemic poverty of a nation.
walmart worker
Walmart caused uproar when it organised a food drive for its own employees. Photograph: Tim Boyle/Getty Images
I was about 16 when a Lidl supermarket first opened in my home town. I soon discovered that it was possible to purchase there bottles of sweet cherry liquor; potent enough to get me drunk, but sufficiently saccharine to disguise the taste of alcohol. Lidl will forever be associated for me with that illicit drink in its tacky rouge bottle. I was reminded of it this week, after the supermarket announced it is to more than double the amount of stores in the UK – from 600 to 1,350.
The news led me to wonder whether Lidl's appeal now extends beyond cherry-addled teenagers and to that holy grail of the advertising executive, the ordinary family. When I was growing up, Lidl and its counterpart Aldi were acceptable for the surreptitious purchase of cheap booze, but acutely embarrassing for anyone whose parents actually shopped there. The expansion of stores across the UK is a self-conscious rejoinder to any lingering embarrassment, with boss Ronny Gottschlich announcing he wants to target "Maidstone mums" who are "no longer afraid to be seen in a Lidl store".
What can we infer from Lidl's foray into everyday British life – that something once a source of ignominy has become normalised? We can begin by examining why shopping at Lidl was ever something to be ashamed of: it wasn't a reflection of taste; Lidl was shameful because it was a signal of poverty. But low-price supermarket chains are now benefiting from the downturn for obvious reasons. Note that the keeping-up-with-the-Joneses instincts that might once have deterred families from shopping there are not overcome because we're any less brand-conscious; but because now the Joneses are skint as well. For all the government rhetoric about recovery, it seems the British public are still spending like it's 2008.
It's also worth asking what effect Lidl's expansion has on working, as well as consumer, habits. The NHS has always been Britain's biggest employer with 1.7 million workers, but cutbacks to the public sector mean that supermarkets (nearly 1 million workers and counting) could well catch up. A country once defined by universal free healthcare could soon be known for its economy of vast, alienating monoliths, whose staff barely survive on poverty wages. As a 2012 report by the Fair Pay Network noted, the four big supermarkets – Asda, Sainsbury's, Tesco and Morrisons – enjoyed rising executive wages and huge profits while their staff were living in poverty. Only one in seven supermarket employees are paid a living wage or higher. Couple that with a sharp rise in food banks and it's not outlandish to suppose that supermarket employees are selling food to be donated to food banks, only to visit those food banks later and have the same food given back to them. In fact, in Ohio, Asda's American equivalent Walmart caused a furore when a Cleveland store organised a food drive for its own employees.
The growth of Lidl doesn't merely say something about the extent of belt-tightening happening in Britain right now; it says something about the consequences of eroding the public sector. Once well-paid, stable work with decent terms and conditions is gradually being replaced by minimum-wage, erratic jobs.
In the coming days, government ministers might welcome Lidl's expansion as a sign of recovery. They might hail the creation of jobs as a sign that people's living standards are improving. What they won't do is look at what the replacement of good jobs with low-paid unstable work says about the country, and that where once Lidl was a sign of poverty for individual families, it may soon become a symbol for the endemic poverty of a nation.
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