Luckily I’m an old bat and it wouldn’t directly affect me but while it’s a Japanese thing that is sort of cute at a distance, the thought of parents, and let’s face it, mostly women, thinking they have to put mental and physical effort into carving Squishmallows out of radishes and creating beautiful and imaginative Bento boxes every day for the delight of their children and the envy of their friends just makes me feel depressed.
It was bad enough in the days of cutting sandwiches and bunging a satsuma, a Mini Babybel and a Penguin in. I’m still surprised at how long it takes to make rounds of decent sandwiches. I loathed doing packed lunches on top of everything else you’ve got to do with young children and full time work. Obviously there is nothing wrong with the Bento box as a receptacle, it’s the Insta-culture expectation as to the contents that make me feel sympathetic dread. Sometimes it seems that as fast as we develop labour saving gadgets and devices; social media and influencers devise tortuous new ways of parting women from any prospect of a moment to theirselves.