From the off, I am happy to acknowledge I am male and therefore not necessarily best qualified to judge the merits or flaws in advertisements for ‘sanitary protection’. But, as media planners have yet to find a platform completely invisible to men, I glimpse such campaigns from time to time. Ever the critic, I also tend to form opinions on the work.
Interestingly enough, there are two campaigns running right now epitomising the difficulties agencies experience when tackling this area of personal hygiene. One is very successful (or at least unforgettable), the other is excruciating beyond belief.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Although the English always find great humour in bodily functions, we are simultaneously very coy and awkward when faced with the stark reality. Probably the reason we use the phrase ‘sanitary protection’ rather than anything more frank. ‘Sanitary protection’ just as amply describes the lock on a lavatory door as it does tampons or pads, but it spares blushes. Indeed, it’s only in recent years the word ‘period’ has started to appear in UK tampon and towel marketing – although usually accompanied by images of flowers, bunnies and bicycles.
The Japanese are far more forthright about this stuff (some of their lavatory paper ads would drop your jaw). Americans, meanwhile, are even more reticent than us when it comes to grasping the menstrual nettle, referring to towels as ‘napkins’. Perhaps it’s just me, but doesn’t ‘napkin’ initiate a whole new range of inappropriate connotations?
Of course, the market for these products is both ready made and permanent, so the need to advertise them is ever present. Unsurprisingly, those advertisements have tended to veer from the po-faced to the ridiculous. There was a time when it was felt (probably by men) that women really needed to see the mechanical efficacy of the goods – and so ‘absorbancy’ was the watchword. This gave rise to increasingly bizarre but imaginative ways to show how good the fabric was at soaking things up. Naturally – or unnaturally – the slightest suggestion of blood was out of the question, so blue water was deployed as a substitute. They did the same with urine in nappy ads. I feel sure a generation of kids grew up in a panic, terrified they were unable to pass any azure liquid and therefore assuming they must be terribly poorly.
In these bloodless executions, the viewer was inevitably treated to an imaginary laboratory, where a white-sleeved arm would insert the tampon or towel into the liquid, where it would expand 10% more than its competitor. Having tired of this faux-scientific scenario the industry suddenly lurched to a pop-video format. This was not about biology, this was about lifestyle, so on came the clips of women sky-diving, disco dancing and being towed by dogs on roller skates (the women, not the dogs). A Tina Turner soundalike would then roar the brand name over the pack shot. No mention of menstruation here. After all, who has time for a period, when there’s a pack of Dalmatians to harness to a skateboard?
Product design always has a key role to play in the marketing process and ‘sanitary protection’ is no different. In much the same way as air fresheners constantly re-invent themselves in order to appear ‘improved’ and therefore desirable, so the manufacturers of tampons and towels are constantly tweaking their size, packaging, technology and delivery system. From the pads into whose packet one could safely slide its predecessor, to the increasingly streamlined and narrow tampon applicators (wouldn’t you just make them streamlined on day one?), the specifications for these goods have been refined more times than sugar cane.
Which brings me to the two campaigns I mentioned earlier. The first is promoting a tampon called ‘Pearl’ and without doubt, sets the possibility of speaking about these matters like adults back 50 years.
This is the concept: a woman’s period was once thought so disturbing it was known as ‘Mother Nature’s monthly gift’. The brains behind this campaign, instead of recognising, such a toe-curling phrase as the nonsense it obviously is, chose to actually portray ‘Mother Nature’ as a post menopausal old bat who shows up to tell young ladies in white jeans that she has their ‘gift’. They dismiss her with their Pearl tampons in applicators more aerodynamic than a cruise missile and we all die a little inside.
Then there’s the press work for a brand new product called ‘Mooncup’ – which is quite extraordinary*. Mooncup is a reusable device and its USP (at least as far as the advertising is concerned) is that it prevents used, disposable sanitary products washing up on beaches. So the photography in the ad shows us a clean, attractive beach with some shrubbery on a dune. Only the shot has been manipulated to also look exactly like a naked, female torso. You don’t need me to tell you how the – ahem – bush adds to the illusion. The whole thing quite stops you dead on the page, which is more than most press advertising can ever hope to do. Admittedly, the headline ‘Love Your Beach, Love Your Vagina’ helps.
Unfortunately, I fear the makers of Mooncup have their work cut out for them in terms of uptake. A straw poll of female colleagues tells me the notion of a disposable device, designed to be washed in the dishwasher (yes, really), has so little appeal, they would avoid the Mooncup regardless of how many beaches it protects.
But good luck to them, for their ad genuinely boasts some brilliant art direction, which surprises and impresses without remotely patronising or embarrassing its audience. And on the evidence of their competitors, that’s quite an achievement.
*Despite my best efforts I could not obtain a copy of the Mooncup press ad.
It appeared in the Guardian Weekend magazine on Saturday 13th August.
Interestingly enough, there are two campaigns running right now epitomising the difficulties agencies experience when tackling this area of personal hygiene. One is very successful (or at least unforgettable), the other is excruciating beyond belief.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Although the English always find great humour in bodily functions, we are simultaneously very coy and awkward when faced with the stark reality. Probably the reason we use the phrase ‘sanitary protection’ rather than anything more frank. ‘Sanitary protection’ just as amply describes the lock on a lavatory door as it does tampons or pads, but it spares blushes. Indeed, it’s only in recent years the word ‘period’ has started to appear in UK tampon and towel marketing – although usually accompanied by images of flowers, bunnies and bicycles.
The Japanese are far more forthright about this stuff (some of their lavatory paper ads would drop your jaw). Americans, meanwhile, are even more reticent than us when it comes to grasping the menstrual nettle, referring to towels as ‘napkins’. Perhaps it’s just me, but doesn’t ‘napkin’ initiate a whole new range of inappropriate connotations?
Of course, the market for these products is both ready made and permanent, so the need to advertise them is ever present. Unsurprisingly, those advertisements have tended to veer from the po-faced to the ridiculous. There was a time when it was felt (probably by men) that women really needed to see the mechanical efficacy of the goods – and so ‘absorbancy’ was the watchword. This gave rise to increasingly bizarre but imaginative ways to show how good the fabric was at soaking things up. Naturally – or unnaturally – the slightest suggestion of blood was out of the question, so blue water was deployed as a substitute. They did the same with urine in nappy ads. I feel sure a generation of kids grew up in a panic, terrified they were unable to pass any azure liquid and therefore assuming they must be terribly poorly.
In these bloodless executions, the viewer was inevitably treated to an imaginary laboratory, where a white-sleeved arm would insert the tampon or towel into the liquid, where it would expand 10% more than its competitor. Having tired of this faux-scientific scenario the industry suddenly lurched to a pop-video format. This was not about biology, this was about lifestyle, so on came the clips of women sky-diving, disco dancing and being towed by dogs on roller skates (the women, not the dogs). A Tina Turner soundalike would then roar the brand name over the pack shot. No mention of menstruation here. After all, who has time for a period, when there’s a pack of Dalmatians to harness to a skateboard?
Product design always has a key role to play in the marketing process and ‘sanitary protection’ is no different. In much the same way as air fresheners constantly re-invent themselves in order to appear ‘improved’ and therefore desirable, so the manufacturers of tampons and towels are constantly tweaking their size, packaging, technology and delivery system. From the pads into whose packet one could safely slide its predecessor, to the increasingly streamlined and narrow tampon applicators (wouldn’t you just make them streamlined on day one?), the specifications for these goods have been refined more times than sugar cane.
Which brings me to the two campaigns I mentioned earlier. The first is promoting a tampon called ‘Pearl’ and without doubt, sets the possibility of speaking about these matters like adults back 50 years.
This is the concept: a woman’s period was once thought so disturbing it was known as ‘Mother Nature’s monthly gift’. The brains behind this campaign, instead of recognising, such a toe-curling phrase as the nonsense it obviously is, chose to actually portray ‘Mother Nature’ as a post menopausal old bat who shows up to tell young ladies in white jeans that she has their ‘gift’. They dismiss her with their Pearl tampons in applicators more aerodynamic than a cruise missile and we all die a little inside.
Then there’s the press work for a brand new product called ‘Mooncup’ – which is quite extraordinary*. Mooncup is a reusable device and its USP (at least as far as the advertising is concerned) is that it prevents used, disposable sanitary products washing up on beaches. So the photography in the ad shows us a clean, attractive beach with some shrubbery on a dune. Only the shot has been manipulated to also look exactly like a naked, female torso. You don’t need me to tell you how the – ahem – bush adds to the illusion. The whole thing quite stops you dead on the page, which is more than most press advertising can ever hope to do. Admittedly, the headline ‘Love Your Beach, Love Your Vagina’ helps.
Unfortunately, I fear the makers of Mooncup have their work cut out for them in terms of uptake. A straw poll of female colleagues tells me the notion of a disposable device, designed to be washed in the dishwasher (yes, really), has so little appeal, they would avoid the Mooncup regardless of how many beaches it protects.
But good luck to them, for their ad genuinely boasts some brilliant art direction, which surprises and impresses without remotely patronising or embarrassing its audience. And on the evidence of their competitors, that’s quite an achievement.
*Despite my best efforts I could not obtain a copy of the Mooncup press ad.
It appeared in the Guardian Weekend magazine on Saturday 13th August.
