Ghosts of Periods Past

A tour of Harvard Radcliffe Institute prompts reflections on period care in the United States over the course of the past century.

Note: Throughout this piece, I often use the term “women” in discussions of people who menstruate. This is because efforts to market period products have historically targeted cisgender women, and I wanted to capture the thought process at stake. However, not all women menstruate, and not all people who menstruate are women. I thus also use the terms “menstruators” and “people who menstruate” throughout my essay.

In a glass box on the wall of Schlesinger Library sits a compact navy box. A caricature of a nurse stares out from her home within the cardboard. Her dwelling—“Hexol,” the label reads—could be mistaken for a pack of cigarettes by the untrained eye. But, an American woman in the 1950s might know better; she would instead purchase the box of germicide to vaginally cleanse during her period (please, literally please, don’t do this).

On the shelf beneath sits a cylinder labeled “saalt” (it is critical that the word be spelt lowercase). It draws the gaze easily; the package is larger, with crisp edges and an ivory color not yet eroded by decades of storage. The packaging incorporates many of the hallmarks of Gen Z design: sage green markings allude to agate, while a sleek font brings forth simplicity and cohesion.

Since the first sanitary pad was advertised in print in 1921 (after their development almost 30 years earlier), marketing teams have adapted to changing trends while continuing to embody certain tenets. In their exhibit “Out for Blood: Feminine Hygiene to Menstrual Equity,” Harvard Radcliffe Institute chronicles changes in the menstrual marketplace—in terms of both product diversity and presentation—since it was created. As they describe, advertisements in the early twentieth century “sought to emphasize the discreetness, reliability, and comfort of their products while manufacturing a vision of femininity, freedom, and modernity for the wearer.”

Alt. text: A shelf of period products dating from 1930-2021.

All items from Schlesinger Library, Memorabilia collection of the Schlesinger Library, 1886-2022. Featured in “Out for Blood: Feminine Hygiene to Menstrual Equity.” September 2022.

Radcliffe cites the 1970 women’s movement as “changing the narrative [around menstruation] from one of secrecy and primarily a hygiene problem to affirmation of a healthy, natural process to be openly discussed and experienced with pride as unique and powerful.” However, as with any social movement, there was no one moment that fully flipped the American consciousness: Radcliffe also notes the persistence of trans-exclusionary feminism and “period poverty,” or inaccessibility of menstrual products, within and outside of the United States. 

Though the conversation around menstruation in the United States has indeed become more transparent, there is still an element of stigma that refuses to be exorcised. A look at the evolution of period packaging over time provides evidence. In the 1950s, when Hexol produced their germicide, they encouraged discretion by deliberately modeling their product in the mode of its surroundings. For a woman to pull a tampon or box of germicide out of her bag would be quite improper; but, for a woman to slide out a pack of cigarettes would be a fashion statement. In fact, U.S. cigarette consumption steadily rose between 1950-1952, as well as between 1954-1963. Though these numbers were dwarfed by the consumption of the 1970s and 1980s, these trends are evidence that the 375 billion cigarettes consumed in the United States in 1950 likely had a substantial impact on marketing and lifestyle choices at the time.

Though many menstruators are no longer inclined to hide their period products outright, many products are still designed to camouflage with a woman’s surroundings. saalt’s menstrual cup, from 2021, fits nicely with the minimalist aesthetic favored by Gen Y and Gen Z, while the brand’s assonance and soft colors soothe the consumer. The box’s agate imagery lends a hint of the supernatural, almost transporting the act of menstrual cup insertion into another realm. 

Of course, the argument can be made that keeping up with trends is simply a wise business decision. Indeed, it is; however, given the historic sensitivity surrounding menstruation, it’s only a fraction of the story. There are a few critical phenomena driving American culture’s need to camouflage period products. As Julie Beck notes, quoting Sharra Vostral, “the existence of tampons and pads in the first place allows women to ‘pass as non-bleeders:’” i.e. cisgender men. In one sense, this means that tampons, pads, and other period products enable their user to move comfortably in the public sphere while menstruating—going to work, exercising, dating, etcetera—thus empowering greater social and economic participation. In another, it means that periods are removed from male visibility for their benefit.

Alt. text: Poems by Audre Lorde and Pat Parker and a photo of the authors on display at Harvard Radcliffe Institute.

All items from Schlesinger Library. Featured in “Out for Blood: Feminine Hygiene to Menstrual Equity.” September 2022.

The relationship between period care and female economic participation is bidirectional. Though on one hand we see the economic empowerment of the user, we also see period products co-opted by the corporate drive for labor. As Radcliffe notes, “by the time World War II began, women were depicted working dependably and uncomplainingly in factories and offices during their periods.” In this case, the framing of period care within the lens of economic participation was clearly impacted by the national labor shortage.

I have used the term co-optation. Key to co-optation of the image of menstrual hygiene is use of the image without adhering to a standard of care: as we see, for example, in a lack of safety regulation. Douching, for example, is not recommended by medical professionals: particularly not with disinfectant or germicide, like Hexol. Yet, brands like Hexol and Lysol did advertise their products for “feminine hygiene” during the twentieth century, and they were used to “[scrub] away” both the real and “the metaphorical dirt that stigmatises female sexuality.” However, they were also used as contraceptives and abortifacients. This is a harrowing reality that deserves its own piece: and one that feels all too near given congressional incursions on reproductive rights in the United States.

In addition, Radcliffe notes that, “in a competitive market driven by new materials and innovations in ‘feminine care,’ products claimed to be more absorbent and longer lasting, to provide better protection from leakage, to be more invisible, to mask odors.” Though these claims sound like benefits, the market disregulation described by Radcliffe meant that many tampons until the 1980s put users at risk of Toxic Shock Syndrome (TSS), a potentially fatal bacterial infection caused by tampons made of toxic material, that have been left in too long, or have over-absorbed. It wasn’t until pads and tampons became classified as class II medical devices by the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) in 1980 that the market saw safety testing. Even then, the FDA did not require TSS warning labels on tampon packaging until 1982, or absorbency labeling until 1989. 

It is true that the accessibility and regulation of period products have greatly increased since the days of Hexol. Yet, from ingredient uncertainty to persistent stigma, consumers still have much to navigate in the menstrual marketplace. Even as of 2022, menstrual products do not require ingredient labeling, though the Robinson Danielson Menstrual Product and Intimate Care Product Safety Act of 2022 re-introduced the push for labeling in August of 2022. For now, many Americans can safely access abortions; yet, the avenues for safe abortive services have decreased state by state since the overturn of Roe v. Wade in June. And, though research has disproved the efficacy of douching, products like Summer’s Eve wipes—which are almost as dangerous, but likewise benefit from appealing branding—continue to emerge.

But, through it all, it is citizen lobbying that will keep safety at the forefront of menstrual care: just like lobbying from groups like the Boston Women’s Health Book Collective (BWHBC) helped spur the passage of the FDA’s 1989 guidelines. As part of its exhibit, Radcliffe showcased writings by feminists Audre Lorde, Pat Parker, Anne Sexton, and Adrienne Rich engaging with experiences of menstruation in the public and private spheres. Activist collectives like the BWHBC and Love Your Menses remain dedicated to increasing knowledge and accessibility of period care. This discourse is critical to eroding the shroud of secrecy—and thus stigma—that still persists around menstruation.