Mindlessly scrolling through Instagram one day, I found myself watching a banal “what’s in my bag” video that made me pause. The unknown bag owner had labeled a small pouch as “women’s products.” Either the video creator had used this nondescript phrase to appease the fickle Instagram algorithm – entirely within the realm of possibility, given the extreme measures the algorithm will resort to in filtering content – or the creator felt the need to self-censor. But why, in 2021, are we still scared to say “tampon?”

Even though the menstrual equity movement has been making progress (think the “year of the period” in 2015), we still don’t talk about periods nearly enough. Too often, we’re silent on a process that billions of people go through every month for decades of their lives. When we do talk about periods, it’s in a derisive and dismissive sense that invalidates many people’s experiences, with abdominal cramping and PMS turned into tired and sexist jokes. This collective cultural silence, on the individual level, prevents people from seeking the help they need, and in the larger sense, inhibits essential policy. 

The first – and often only – time we formally discuss menstruation is usually sex ed classes, which have a reputation for not providing a substantive education. A lack of comprehensive and informative education around periods leads to delayed treatment for potential medical complications and for help for unnecessary pain and associated symptoms of menstruation. The social stigma can feel isolating for those first experiencing their periods, and people who menstruate but do not identify as female face additional layers of stigma and other distinct obstacles to meeting basic needs.

Policy needs go unmet when we don’t have these conversations. Take an example that’s close to home: Washington University offers free menstrual products in some bathrooms, starting in September 2021, only about 2 months ago at the time of publication. It’s bad enough that WashU didn’t have free, widely available menstrual products on campus until recently, but based on my conversations with others on campus, these menstrual products are rarely, if ever, refilled, showing that access to these products is not high on the university’s list of priorities. While the WashU student body trends higher-income, affordable and accessible menstrual products are still a serious issue for our community inside and outside of the university. A 2019 study found that one in five women in St. Louis could not afford period products in the past month.

Things aren’t much better at the governmental level. Fights against the “tampon tax,” a term referring to menstrual products not being exempt from sales tax, persist in many states. According to Period Equity, a menstrual equity policy organization, Missouri is one such state with a tax on tampons. Legislation for research into materials used for tampons, in response to deaths from toxic shock syndrome, have been introduced to the House of Representatives since 1997 (most recently in 2019), but have never received enough support to move forward. In a recent essay, writer and menstrual equity activist Jennifer Weiss-Wolf details the tampon tax and tampon safety battles. Weiss-Wolf speaks to other gaps in policy, such as the fact that:

“Tampons and pads have not been designated as allowable budgetary expenses for publicly funded shelters or crisis and emergency centers; they are not provided in a consistent or fully accessible way in correction and detention facilities; menstrual products are not covered by public health and nutritional benefits programs …”

It isn’t difficult to see that an absence of conversation creates an absence of policy. Without sufficient public support garnered through attention, necessities are going overlooked. And this is just for policy directly about menstruation; missing conversations mean missing perspective on associated issues, such as the debate over birth control access, as many use birth control to address menstrual symptoms.

Yet even if we work on these specific problems, some argue that we are not doing enough to change the broader conversation. Scholars Chris Bobel and Breanne Fahs with the University of Chicago claim that by diverting too much attention to “respectability politics” and smaller changes like the tampon tax, we avoid getting to the root of the issues of stigma surrounding menstruation. Focusing too much on menstrual “commodities” such as tampons, or only viewing menstrual equity through a public health and sanitation lens, may discourage investigations into why these inequities exist in the first place, as well as policies to combat this stigma, such as education initiatives.

Indeed, WashU’s halfhearted attempts at providing period products and the lack of investigation into tampon materials are both symptoms of this deep-rooted social stigma. Enacting these long-overdue policies means continuing these conversations, even if society says we should feel uncomfortable doing it.