What we see in public space shapes what we consider normal
On the first of May, Amsterdam quietly redrew the boundary between public space and commercial persuasion, becoming the world's first capital to ban advertisements for both meat and fossil fuels from its streets and transit systems. The decision is less a prohibition than a confession — an acknowledgment that a city cannot simultaneously profit from promoting what it has pledged to undo. In the long arc of how societies have renegotiated the visibility of harmful products, from tobacco to leaded fuel, Amsterdam has placed itself at a new frontier, asking whether the walls of a city are a commons or a marketplace.
- Amsterdam's tram shelters and metro stations have been stripped of burger deals and airline promotions overnight, replaced by cultural announcements — a visible, immediate rupture in the city's commercial landscape.
- Industry groups are pushing back hard, with the Dutch Meat Association calling the ban an overreach and travel companies warning of unfair constraints on commercial freedom.
- Advocates are framing the move as a 'tobacco moment' for high-carbon consumption, hoping Amsterdam's dual meat-and-fossil-fuel model becomes a legal template for cities worldwide.
- Researchers point to London's 2019 junk food ad ban as cautious evidence that removing visual cues from public space can shift social norms and purchasing behavior.
- The experiment has a conspicuous blind spot: digital platforms remain entirely untouched, leaving the same ads to follow residents through their phones even as the city's walls go quiet.
On May 1st, Amsterdam's billboards changed. Where budget airline deals and chicken nuggets once competed for commuters' attention, museum posters and concert announcements took their place. The Dutch capital had become the world's first to simultaneously ban public advertising for both meat products and fossil fuels, clearing them from tram shelters, metro stations, and outdoor spaces across the city.
The logic behind the ban was one of consistency. Amsterdam has committed to carbon neutrality by 2050 and to halving local meat consumption over the same period. GreenLeft councillor Anneke Veenhoff argued the contradiction had become untenable: the municipality was renting public space to promote the very behaviors its climate policies sought to reverse. Anke Bakker of the Party for the Animals, who championed the restrictions, reframed the freedom argument entirely — the relentless commercial pressure to buy cheap meat and fossil-fuel-dependent travel was itself a form of manipulation, not neutral information.
Amsterdam did not act alone. Haarlem had pioneered a meat advertising ban in 2022, with Utrecht and Nijmegen following on fossil fuels. Globally, cities from Edinburgh to Florence have moved against fossil-fuel advertising, and France enacted a nationwide ban. Campaigners hope Amsterdam's approach of linking meat to fossil fuels will serve as a legal model for others.
Skeptics were not silent. The meat and travel industries objected to what they saw as inappropriate interference in commercial freedom. And a sharper question lingered: if the same deals still populate social media feeds, does removing them from a tram shelter actually shift behavior when most commuters are already staring at their phones?
Researchers offered measured hope. Epidemiologist Prof Joreintje Mackenbach described the ban as a natural experiment, drawing on evidence from London's 2019 junk food advertising ban in the Underground, which appeared to reduce such purchases. The mechanism, she argued, was social normalization — what surrounds us in public space quietly defines what we consider ordinary. Lawyer Hannah Prins invoked Johan Cruyff advertising cigarettes as a reminder of how swiftly the unthinkable can become unthinkable again.
The digital realm remains untouched, and the long-term impact is genuinely unknown. But Amsterdam has made its position legible: its public walls will no longer sell the future it is trying to prevent.
On May 1st, Amsterdam's billboards changed. Where chicken nuggets and budget airline deals once caught the eye of commuters, museum posters and concert announcements now hung in their place. The shift was deliberate and sweeping: the Dutch capital became the world's first to ban public advertisements for both meat products and fossil fuels simultaneously, stripping them from tram shelters, metro stations, and outdoor advertising spaces across the city.
The decision reflects a deeper alignment between what Amsterdam's government promotes and what it actually wants its residents to do. The city has committed to becoming carbon-neutral by 2050 and to cutting local meat consumption in half over the same period. As Anneke Veenhoff of the GreenLeft Party put it, the contradiction was too stark to ignore: the municipality was profiting from renting public space to advertise the very things its climate policies worked against. The logic was straightforward—if you're serious about environmental targets, your walls shouldn't undermine them.
Anke Bakker, who leads the Party for the Animals in Amsterdam and championed the restrictions, rejected the charge that this amounted to government overreach. She framed it differently: by removing the constant commercial pressure to buy cheap meat and fossil-fuel-dependent travel, the city was actually expanding people's freedom to choose. The omnipresent advertising, she argued, wasn't neutral information—it was a form of manipulation that normalized consumption patterns the city was trying to shift. Meat accounted for only about 0.1 percent of Amsterdam's outdoor ad spending, while fossil-fuel-related advertising made up roughly 4 percent. The real market was dominated by clothing, films, and phones. But politically, grouping meat with flights and petrol cars reframed it from a private dietary choice into a climate issue.
The move didn't arrive in a vacuum. Haarlem, just 18 kilometers west, had pioneered a broad meat advertising ban in 2022, which took effect in 2024 alongside fossil-fuel restrictions. Utrecht and Nijmegen followed with their own measures. Globally, dozens of cities—Edinburgh, Sheffield, Stockholm, Florence—have moved to restrict fossil-fuel advertising, and France implemented a nationwide ban. Campaigners hope Amsterdam's approach of linking meat and fossil fuels will become a legal template others adopt.
Yet skeptics raised hard questions. The Dutch Meat Association called the ban an inappropriate way to shape consumer behavior and insisted meat should remain visible and accessible. The travel industry argued the restrictions unfairly constrained commercial freedom. And there was a deeper puzzle: if the same burger and flight deals still appear in people's social media feeds, does removing them from a tram shelter actually change anything? Most commuters would be looking at their phones anyway.
Researchers offered cautious optimism. Prof Joreintje Mackenbach, an epidemiologist at Amsterdam University Medical Centre, described the ban as a valuable natural experiment. When advertisements for fast food are everywhere, she explained, they normalize that consumption. Remove those visual cues from public space, and you shift the social norm itself. She pointed to London's 2019 ban on junk food advertising in the Underground, which appeared to reduce such purchases in the capital. There was no direct evidence yet that removing meat ads led to wholesale dietary shifts, but the mechanism seemed plausible.
Hannah Prins, a lawyer and founder of Advocates for the Future, saw the ban as creating a "tobacco moment" for high-carbon food. She invoked the memory of Johan Cruyff, the legendary Dutch footballer, advertising cigarettes—something that now seemed bizarre and unthinkable. What we see in public space shapes what we consider normal, she argued. Local businesses, she believed, would benefit too; people discover neighborhood shops and restaurants through word-of-mouth and walking past, not ads. The big polluting companies, meanwhile, might be forced to reconsider what they were actually selling.
Amsterdam's experiment remains incomplete. The digital realm remains untouched, and the long-term behavioral impact is unknown. But the city has made a choice: its walls will no longer sell the future it's trying to prevent.
Citas Notables
If you want to be leading in climate policies and you rent out your walls to exactly the opposite, then what are you doing?— Anneke Veenhoff, GreenLeft Party
We're giving people more freedom because they can make their own choice, right?— Anke Bakker, Party for the Animals
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why did Amsterdam decide to ban meat advertising alongside fossil fuels? They seem like separate issues.
They're not, in the city's view. Both are climate issues. Meat production generates significant emissions, and the ban groups it with flights and petrol cars to signal that high-carbon consumption—whether food or travel—is no longer aspirational. It's a reframing.
But meat ads were only 0.1 percent of outdoor advertising spend. Why bother?
Because it's not about the market share. It's about the message. By banning it, Amsterdam is saying meat is a climate problem, not just a personal choice. That's politically significant, even if the actual ad revenue is tiny.
The travel industry complained the ban was unfair. Don't companies have a right to advertise?
That's the real tension. The city argues that public space—billboards, tram shelters—isn't neutral. It's a shared resource, and they're choosing to align it with their climate commitments. Companies can still advertise online, in private spaces. Public space has different rules.
Will it actually change what people eat or buy?
That's the honest answer: we don't know yet. There's no direct evidence that removing meat ads shifts diets. But researchers think it could work by changing what feels normal. If you don't see burgers everywhere, maybe you think about them less. London's junk food ban on the Underground seemed to reduce purchases, but it's early.
What about social media? People still see the ads there.
Exactly. That's the real limitation. If someone's scrolling through their phone waiting for the tram, they're seeing the same burger ad they would have seen on the shelter. The ban only touches public physical space, not the digital world where advertising is arguably more targeted and persuasive.
Is this just virtue signaling?
Maybe partly. But it's also a legal and political blueprint. Other cities are watching. If it works—if it shifts norms or consumption—then it becomes a template. And if it doesn't, at least Amsterdam tried something concrete instead of just talking about climate.