I, like countless pre-teens before and after me, felt that way from Judy Blume's God Are You There? " You can learn a lot of hard evidence about puberty, menstruation and breast enlargement exercises. It's me, Margaret. Since the book was published in 1970, I, like many other young women, have been completely baffled by the mention of the "sanitary belt" that Margaret used when she eventually menstruated. I knew about tampons, pads, and other scary gear that I would encounter in my own upcoming menstrual life—but what was a sanitary belt?
Before the invention of self-adhesive extra-long sanitary napkins, an elastic band that actually held sanitary napkins in place, Margaret went the way of the dinosaur almost immediately after she started printing - the invention of sticky extra-long sanitary napkins In the 1970s, less than ten years ago. In that publication, Margaret's fight with the sanitary belt is as meaningful to readers as the part in The Cabin in the Woods where they play with a pig's bladder. Bloom himself took the lead in modernizing the book, infamously changing Margaret 's "sanitary belt" passage from the 1990s so that modern readers wouldn't be confused — and, well, not just feel a little scared. belt? ! pin? ! Who wants these things near their precious ladybugs? !
Yet, 20 years into my own menstrual life, I still often wonder about sanitary pads. Although they sound ancient—like something that fell out of favor with the advent of the horseless carriage—the sanitary napkin was pretty much the only option for young, newly menstruating women in the early 1970s. Although tampons have been around since the 19th century, and Tampax has been selling modern applicator tampons since 1936, young women—as you may remember Margaret (and maybe your own life) - their use is discouraged as it is considered sexual misconduct. This left women in the first half of the twentieth century having to argue with belts.
My own mother got her period in the early 60s, but I never heard any talk about belts from her or her friends when I was growing up. A cursory internet search revealed that most online discussion of belts involves older women reminiscing about how terrible belts were—women on Yahoo! An answer thread devoted to sanitary tape memory described it as "a form of torture" and wrote "I always feel like someone has their tail pinned to me." Likewise, women on the MomsView website recall the sanitary belt era: "Pads with a waistband felt like a giant wedge... You couldn't wear skinny jeans because the outline of the waistband would show through."
Of course, since this is the internet, there are even websites dedicated to sanitary belt sex. But for the most part, sanitary belts seem to be a memory that most previous users are happy to see in their rearview mirror.
However, in our age of seemingly endless menstrual options—I personally have a Diva cup, regular tampons, maternity tampons, and now “overnight” pads under the bathroom sink—I wonder if anyone still has Using a sanitary belt. I have friends who use washable pads, and I myself usually stick a clear rubber cup in my bleeding blouse. Is it imaginable that maybe some people still choose to use sanitary belts?
I discovered that sanitary tapes are still used in medical settings—primarily for women who have just given birth and are still experiencing postpartum bleeding—and that several environmentally conscious websites sell newer versions of sanitary tapes. But if you want to look like poor old Margaret Simon and look like a true "girlie," you're better off heading to Ebay, where antique sanitary napkins are for sale as collectibles. I looked at the belt and before I knew it, I was bidding. As a women's history fanatic and lover of young adult kitsch, I've spent decades wondering what the heck these things are and how they work. What better time than now to find out?
this experiment
It's easy to get a belt, but it's hard to get pads. For those wondering about the physics of a belt: it's basically just an elastic loop that goes around your hips with little clips dangling from the front and back. You have to use special pads to mount these clips, which have loops that hook onto the clip or can be secured with safety pins. I eventually found some pads that fit around the waistband—although I had to order them from Thailand, where the menstrual products company Sanita still makes them. You put on the girdle, then the pads, then the panties and actual pants. My belt looked like this when it arrived, which might give you a little idea of how it actually wears:
Yes, it looks just like the elastic headbands people wore in the late 90s. If I had any doubts before, I was now convinced that this would be a real adventure for women.
The belt arrived, then the pads, then my period – and then, it was show time.
Wardrobe
Some of the problems that seemed to arise immediately were definitely related to my lack of training - without Mrs. Simon to guide me in the right way, I didn't notice when one of the straps holding the clip in was twisted until it turned the pad inside my panties . But just walking around also caused problems - because it was attached to my body rather than my underwear, the pad rubbed all over me and squirted around my crotch like a curious puppy. Roaming in my underwear, sometimes bruising my labia, sometimes giving me a wedge.
I was wondering if it was because I wore it with leggings the first day that the pads moved so much, so the next day, I wore it with skinny jeans in the hope that the elasticity of the pants would hold the pads in place. No dice - the tightness of the waistband of my pants is giving me a kind of welt from pinching into the waistband of my waistband, and the tightness of the pants is not holding the pad in place - instead, the pad is now a wrinkly mess. I put a tuck in the front of my panties to make it look like I was wearing a soft bag. Come get it, guys! This got me thinking...
gender
From the moment I put on my seatbelt, sex seemed like a non-issue. I feel particularly unsexy when I parkour with a big wad of cotton in my pants. The free movement of the pad also made my panties stained with blood, which made me even more moody. I don't remember having so much blood on my panties since Margaret was my age and I tried to hide my new period from my mother by making improvised pads out of a pile of toilet paper.
Not only do I think the belt is sleazy, but I can't stand the thought of being naked around my boyfriend while wearing it. In fact, I wear super thick leggings to bed every night just to protect his eyes.
Granted, I've never been an enthusiastic participant in menstrual sex - I don't like the mess, my vulva becomes too sensitive, blah blah blah. But as I spent another night trying to hide my bulky strappy pad from my boyfriend, who certainly wouldn't care to see it, I wondered what the grossness I felt during my period was How much has to do with the culture that still lingers. Luggage for sanitary belts and other older menstrual products. I know that taboos against menstrual sex have existed in nearly every culture on Earth throughout recorded history—but among many women I know, the idea of ritual impurity seems to have been replaced by the idea of ritual unsexiness .
In the early days of commercial extra-long sanitary napkin manufacturing in the United States, "discretion" was key to every pad's marketing campaign—in 1928, the Modess Pad Company even issued "silent purchase coupons" for pads that women could use to Leave it to a woman's pharmacist so she doesn't have to go through the awkwardness of talking (even if it's irrelevant) about her period. There's nothing shameful about the functionality of these clean, efficient pads, but the marketing campaign exposes a deep stigma that's caused not only by centuries of cultural teachings about the "dirtyness" of menstrual blood, but It was caused by previous menstrual products. , such as sponges, reusable rag pads, and other items that are often messy or difficult to clean.
Likewise, the "unsexiness" I feel when using a menstrual belt seems to have little to do with modern tampons and oversized pads, which are not only invisible under clothes but have never deterred any sexual partners in my life. Instead, my feelings seemed to have to do with early cultural baggage that I learned from my mother and other older women in my life—women growing up in an era when the idea of wearing a sanitary belt to feel sexy was laughable.
judgment
By the third day of wearing the belt, any novelty had worn off and I was just shocked by the whole situation and shocked that I was doing this. Even though I treated the belt project as a fool, part of me thought I might learn something enlightening. Over the past decade, many of the blogs I’ve read celebrate old-fashioned women’s fashions and pastimes—can your own preserves, make your own washable menstrual pads, knit your own ugly rag rugs instead of buying more from Good carpet. IKEA – Part of me thinks I could learn some positive lessons from belting. Maybe because of things like only having your period four times a year, we lose being more in touch with our bodies.
But as my five days of wearing a sanitary pad come to an end, I've learned to just be grateful for progress—and more aware of the importance of history in how we think about ourselves during our periods. As a teenager, I was always confused by tampon ads that emphasized how to wear a tampon while swimming or riding a bike. Of course, I would think – why on earth can’t you? But these ads weren’t speaking to me – they were speaking to the women who grew up before me, who certainly didn’t know how to swim or ride a bike, and didn’t find wearing these belts sexy. Although belts disappeared long ago in the 1990s, the cultural memory that menstruating women couldn't wear them persisted.
Fifty years from now, we may have menstrual products so convenient and effective that they will make today's tampons look as ridiculous as our sanitary belts look today. But I wonder if we can ever escape the baggage of all previous menstrual products. My experience with using a sanitary pad has taught me that no woman who bleeds is an island – we are influenced by all the beliefs and taboos surrounding menstruation.
When I took off my girdle, for the first time in my life, I felt grateful for my modern menstrual tools. Like the women in those mind-bending tampon commercials of my youth, I could finally ride a bike. As I tossed the sanitary napkin into the trash, I wondered about the future of my bleeding self. With unlimited tampons and Midol at my disposal, were my periods really as uncomfortable as I always thought they were? Or am I just absorbing their message?
Image: Etsy; Wikimedia Commons , Giphy (2)
