The worst possible outcome was a yeast infection. The best possible outcome was ruling an empire!
Aug 4, 2011 at 3:02pm
There’s been much talk of this goofy Summer’s Eve ad.
I imagine them as simple workaday types who would rather be doing other, more wonderful things besides pimping a silly and unnecessary product. I can’t help but feel bad for these people. There’s no good way to market a floral-scented non-soap cleanser intended for a vulva, is there? I’d hate to be asked. Last year’s try was in a soft-focused advertorial that tried to say women they could improve their salaries by washing with Summer’s Eve “as part of your usual routine.” And be sure to tuck the companion towelettes into your attache for touch-ups during the day. Nobody wants a busted vulva in the boardroom, right? That stuff stays in the cubicles.
This year we have a reversal of sorts. (That “of sorts” is important.) Our accursed stinkpots are now the “cradle of civilization”– at least when attached to coy or regally silent women throughout history. We can birth babies and curl them photogenically in our forearms! We can rule ancient Egypt!
We’re not actually going to use the word “vulva” ever at all for some reason, even though a vulva [NSFW] and a vagina [NSFW] are obviously different parts, and it’s kind of like calling your nose the “central undereye.” But we are big fans of what a bottle of Summer’s Eve Cleansing Wash calls the “external vaginal area.”
Just the same, I was in a dangerous place when I watched “Hail to the V.” I’d just been dumped. I felt meek and tiny, as sexy and as helpless against my destiny as a particle of grit trapped in a filter. I was subject to magical thinking.
I’ve also mentioned that I have no sense of smell (yes, it is so a thing), so my baseline level of anxiety about controlling my body’s odor is ordinarily high. I can never sniff-check my underwear, ever. Think about it. I kind of have to assume the worst.