reaction, the reaction is not with the product but with deep-seated feelings, not about sex but thatsegment of sex.” Another pause. “In terms of body odor, feminine odor, in terms of that, each man would give you a difference of opinion, ranging from acceptance of it or disdain of it. Some people would consider it a problem. Others would say, ‘What the hell’s the difference whether you spray or not?’ I don’t know why I wax eloquent, but I do think everyone’s missing the point.”
All this vagueness and euphemism is entirely appropriate, of course, since the name of the product itself is a total euphemism. The feminine-hygiene spray is the term coined by the industry for a deodorant for the external genital area (or, more exactly, the external perineal area). The product has been attacked continuously since its introduction in 1966—by women’s liberationists, who think it is demeaning to women; by consumerists, who think it is unnecessary; and by medical doctors, who think it is dangerous. In spite of the widely shared belief among these groups that the product is perhaps
the
classic example of a bad idea whose time has come, and in spite of the product’s well-publicized involvement in the recent hexachlorophene flap, the feminine-hygiene spray appears to be here to stay. It is currently being manufactured by more than twenty companies (one industry source claims to have seen some forty different brands) and being used by over twenty million women, and this, according to those in the industry, is just the beginning. Says Steve Bray, who is in charge of Pristeen at Warner-Lambert Company: “It will be as common as toothpaste.”
In a time when the young are popularly assumed to be, if not the great unwashed, at least free from the older generation’s absurd hang-ups about odors, the sprays are selling most briskly to teen-agers and women in their early twenties. “Secretaries and stewardesses,”says the clerk at Manhattan’s Beekhill Chemists, which cannot keep the products in stock and which has been having a run of late on a corollary product, the raspberry douche called Cupid’s Quiver. Secretaries and stewardesses. It figures. Scratch any trend no one you know is into and you will always find secretaries and stewardesses. They are also behind Dr. David Reuben, contemporary cards,
Jonathan Livingston Seagull
, water beds, Cold Duck, Rod McKuen, and Minute Rice.
“American women are pushovers for this product,” says Dr. Norman Pleshette, a New York gynecologist. “I think it comes down to menstruation, which many are taught is unclean. There are euphemisms for it, like The Curse. This is something instilled in women from girlhood on.” Adds Dr. Sheldon H. Cherry, another New York gynecologist: “It’s capitalizing on a small minority of women’s fears and sensitivities about odors in this area. The average woman certainly does not need the routine use of a feminine deodorant. And women who do have odors should see a gynecologist to see if there is a pathological cause.”
The success of the feminine-hygiene spray provides a fascinating paradox in that its manufacturers have taken advantage of the sexual revolution to sell something that conveys an implicit message that sex—in the natural state, at least—is dirty and smelly. To make matters more complicated, these same manufacturers are oblivious to the paradox: in their eyes, the mere fact that the sprays are being marketed is a breakthrough, a step forward in the realm of sexual freedom, a solid thrust in the never-ending fight against hypocrisy and puritanism. We didn’t invent the problem, they say. It has always been there. The feminine-hygiene spray has just come along to save the day. “Somewhere out there,”says Jerry Della Femina, whose advertising agency did the campaigns for Feminique, “there is a girl who might be hung up about herself, and one day she goes out and buys Feminique and shoots up with it, and she comes home
All this vagueness and euphemism is entirely appropriate, of course, since the name of the product itself is a total euphemism. The feminine-hygiene spray is the term coined by the industry for a deodorant for the external genital area (or, more exactly, the external perineal area). The product has been attacked continuously since its introduction in 1966—by women’s liberationists, who think it is demeaning to women; by consumerists, who think it is unnecessary; and by medical doctors, who think it is dangerous. In spite of the widely shared belief among these groups that the product is perhaps
the
classic example of a bad idea whose time has come, and in spite of the product’s well-publicized involvement in the recent hexachlorophene flap, the feminine-hygiene spray appears to be here to stay. It is currently being manufactured by more than twenty companies (one industry source claims to have seen some forty different brands) and being used by over twenty million women, and this, according to those in the industry, is just the beginning. Says Steve Bray, who is in charge of Pristeen at Warner-Lambert Company: “It will be as common as toothpaste.”
In a time when the young are popularly assumed to be, if not the great unwashed, at least free from the older generation’s absurd hang-ups about odors, the sprays are selling most briskly to teen-agers and women in their early twenties. “Secretaries and stewardesses,”says the clerk at Manhattan’s Beekhill Chemists, which cannot keep the products in stock and which has been having a run of late on a corollary product, the raspberry douche called Cupid’s Quiver. Secretaries and stewardesses. It figures. Scratch any trend no one you know is into and you will always find secretaries and stewardesses. They are also behind Dr. David Reuben, contemporary cards,
Jonathan Livingston Seagull
, water beds, Cold Duck, Rod McKuen, and Minute Rice.
“American women are pushovers for this product,” says Dr. Norman Pleshette, a New York gynecologist. “I think it comes down to menstruation, which many are taught is unclean. There are euphemisms for it, like The Curse. This is something instilled in women from girlhood on.” Adds Dr. Sheldon H. Cherry, another New York gynecologist: “It’s capitalizing on a small minority of women’s fears and sensitivities about odors in this area. The average woman certainly does not need the routine use of a feminine deodorant. And women who do have odors should see a gynecologist to see if there is a pathological cause.”
The success of the feminine-hygiene spray provides a fascinating paradox in that its manufacturers have taken advantage of the sexual revolution to sell something that conveys an implicit message that sex—in the natural state, at least—is dirty and smelly. To make matters more complicated, these same manufacturers are oblivious to the paradox: in their eyes, the mere fact that the sprays are being marketed is a breakthrough, a step forward in the realm of sexual freedom, a solid thrust in the never-ending fight against hypocrisy and puritanism. We didn’t invent the problem, they say. It has always been there. The feminine-hygiene spray has just come along to save the day. “Somewhere out there,”says Jerry Della Femina, whose advertising agency did the campaigns for Feminique, “there is a girl who might be hung up about herself, and one day she goes out and buys Feminique and shoots up with it, and she comes home
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