Honestly, I’d forgotten about the existence of scented tampons until the other day, when I forgot to bring tampons to work, and a coworker generously gave me one of hers. And it was one of them. While I appreciated the favor, I was reminded that I truly don’t understand why or how these things still exist. Why would I need fragrance inside of my vaginal canal? And if someone’s vagina truly does smell badly, that’s usually a sign they need to shower or go to the ob-gyn—the solution is usually not to add some perfume to the mix. Plus, would anyone really prefer that their vag smell like a chemical-y imitation of a dewy meadow rather than…a vagina?

Look, if you’re a scented-tampon user, that’s your choice. (America. Freedom.) But we need to talk about why these exist in the first place.

Scented tampons came on the scene around 1945, which means women had been using tamponlike appliances for a long-ass time before some boardroom of men (yes, I’m just assuming it was men, but…you know I’m right) had the idea that women wanted their menstruating genitalia to smell like a bouquet of roses or whatever. And while that might seem strange (it’s not like anyone as of yet has invented a product that makes dicks smell like manly alpine wood) but relatively innocuous, when you look at these tampons through a more feminist lens, the implication is that periods should be hidden—even from yourself.

Which brings me to my next point of rage against scented tampons: No one is smelling your period. I’ve given this a lot of thought, and my hypothesis is if you’re the kind of person who opts for eau de “fresh laundry,” then you probably aren’t the kind of person who’s comfortable enough with your cycle to have period sex or let someone go down on you while you’re bleeding—meaning most likely, no one’s nose is getting close to your nether regions. And in my experience, it’s not like the scent of period blood is so strong that it’s wafting over to the neighboring stall when you use the restroom (for that matter, probably neither is the scent of the tampon). So really, the fragrance is only there for the users, to help them rest assured that no one—including themselves!—can smell what’s going on in there.

Ultimately, after digging into the history of these things, I walked away thinking that more than anything, they perpetuate the offensive cultural message that periods are shameful, dirty, or bad. And despite the boom of organic cotton tampons, scented tampons are still a thing, so people clearly are still buying into that message (literally). Not to mention that the additives in scented tampons are more than likely not great, health-wise.

If someone really wanted to invent a tampon that women actually needed, how about one laced with a drug that helps with cramps? Or one that can remind me when I have my period so I won’t keep forgetting to bring tampons to work? But I’m still not in the market for one that smells like a knock-off Dolce & Gabbanna Blue. How vaginas smell—every week of the month—is just fine.

Source link