JAKARTA, Indonesia — The party had the feel of 1960s America, almost. A group of women, thrilled to get a break from the daily routine of hanging laundry and shuttling their children to and from school, sat in a circle, listening to a friend hawk plastic storage bowls in a dizzying array of pastels.
Some shushed babies on their laps; others occasionally leaned in for juicy pieces of news.
The women were, in fact, at a modern-day Tupperware party in the company’s biggest market. The twist? That market is halfway around the world from the product’s Massachusetts birthplace — in Indonesia.
Once a fixture in middle-class American kitchens, Tupperware has become a bit of an afterthought in its home country even as its popularity has risen abroad. (Germany was the top marketplace until Indonesia slid past it two years ago.)
Indonesia is, in many ways, in Tupperware’s sweet spot. As the economy has taken off in recent years, an expanding middle class now has more disposable income for containers of all shapes and sizes that are sturdier than those found in local markets. And, as in 1960s America, many women stay at home to keep house and raise their children, creating a captive audience for parties run by saleswomen who have begun to sidle past conservative social mores and into the work force.
“There are tens of millions of Indonesian women currently not in the work force who are potential targets to not only buy Tupperware, but also sell it,” said Emma Allen, an economist in Jakarta.
The company — whose business model is built on tapping into social networks — has also piggybacked on an Indonesian tradition, called an arisan, or “gathering,” in which women regularly meet with a set group of friends to catch up on family news, the latest recipes and neighborhood scuttlebutt.
Sellers use some of the gatherings not only to push their products, but also to recruit new agents, who can repeat the pattern among other groups of friends. An added bonus in Indonesia: the arisan often serve as informal banks, with women pooling their money and giving the pot to one participant per gathering.
Tupperware saleswomen say that can often help customers buy more expensive sets, some of which can run into the hundreds of dollars.
At the party in Villa Mutiara, a quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of Jakarta, the Indonesian capital, the differences from midcentury America were clear. Many of the potential buyers had arrived on scooters, not station wagons, and, unlike their American counterparts from last century, their hair was tucked away under Muslim jilbabs rather than teased into a bouffant.
But their concerns about the Tupperware they were considering buying would not be alien to American women, past and present, whose jobs include stretching the family budget, while buying products that will last.
Proof of longevity was enough of a priority at the Indonesian gathering that the bubbly sales agent, Rosa Amelia, took the unusual step of slamming a pink cookie container into the white-tiled floor in answer to the question, “Are you sure they’re indestructible?”
The women were shocked enough to temporarily cease their background talk about cooking and the challenges of storing food in Indonesia’s tropical heat. Then they burst out laughing, satisfied that the relatively expensive plastic containers were worth the price.
Tupperware’s Indonesian sales force, now about 250,000-strong, racked up sales of more than $200 million last year, according to the company.
For some women who choose to join the salesteam, the company has provided a way out of poverty — about half the population lives on less than $2 a day — and prescribed social roles.
Although women are increasingly joining the work force, the Indonesian government and religious groups have for decades pushed traditional values in which the primary roles of women are as wives and mothers. The country’s 1974 Marriage Law states that the husband is the head of the family and the wife is the caretaker.
As it has done in other emerging markets, Tupperware encouraged women to move past any insecurities about taking on a new role. The company has a campaign called “Chain of Confidence,” in which it posts video interviews of saleswomen talking about how their lives have changed for the better. The company also has a inspirational campaign for Indonesia, “Tupperware She Can,” that also posts aspirational videos.
“Everyone talks about how the dynamism of Asia is the emerging middle class, and the emerging middle class is driven by women who previously didn’t have the opportunity,” said Rick Goings, global chairman and chief executive of Tupperware Brands Corporation. “I’m not saying men didn’t work hard, but there’s a new opportunity for women in Asia.”
Upi Hariwati is one of the Indonesian women who has seized the opportunity. Four years ago, the 39-year-old wife and mother of a young son began looking for solutions after growing tired of her family’s living paycheck to paycheck from her husband’s job.
In a testimonial for “Chain of Confidence,” Ms. Upi said that when she started out as a Tupperware saleswoman, she had to deliver products to customers using public transportation minivans. But within two years, she says, she was earning enough that she bought a new car and a house. “I became more confident, knowledgeable and disciplined,” she said.
Ms. Amelia, the saleswoman at the Villa Mutiara party, had a similar tale. Six years ago, she was trying to keep afloat a restaurant that she ran in South Jakarta with her husband. Then she was invited to a Tupperware party that she said changed her life.
After being recruited as a saleswoman and struggling to get her husband to agree to let her take the job, she started off selling part-time, squeezing the parties in between her duties at the restaurant. Today she is a regional manager, running about 20 parties a month in and around Jakarta. Ms. Amelia, 41, earns the equivalent of about $2,400 a month — six-times her monthly profits from the restaurant, which they have sold.
“Initially, my husband refused to let me sell Tupperware even part-time because he thought it might affect the restaurant,” Ms. Amelia said. “Now he works for me.”
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