RACHEL'S COLUMNS

These articles appeared in Rachel's column every Friday in the A3 section of The Age

Stop getting our knickers in a twist
29th October 2004

OK – I know most of you guys out there like to be a fly on the wall when we women are being open and chatty with each other about all things – well – how to put this – girlie. This does not, in Arnie's words make you a "girlie-boy" nor does it mean that you should start attending a men's grief workshop or The Healing Drum classes – you're just curious. And let's face it, the more we understand each other – the less damn difference it makes!

I'm a little bit angry and it's over something girlie I figured had been worked out way back in the hideous I-me-myself-and-back-to-me-greed-is-good Eighties. Before we worked out that women were not chemistry sets to be experimented on with whatever novel hormones were available nor were we just merchandising opportunities on legs – more accurately in stockings and stilettos. So guys if this is more than you bargained for, it's time for you to fly away from that wall or join in the conversation – but don't hover or you may get squatted.

I get a call the other day from my friend Sam – a woman of impeccable taste and the kind of husky laugh that could make Fidel Castro give up cigars. "You're not going to believe this", says Sam. There's no "hello Rachel", no "how are you – how's work?" Nothing. This is an important exchange between women, rife with undercurrent, most often signaling the end of a relationship or a shoe-sale. I know Sam is blissfully married to Adam, a man who knows when to leave the room and more importantly when to come back with the chocolate. I also know she's not a bona fide shoe strumpet so I'm certain it's neither of the above which makes me curious and a little scared. I respond accordingly, "Uh-oh! Go ahead try me – I've had my soy protein shake, I am a goddess, just call me Isis, queen of the underworld."

"I bought a packet of pantyliners today and they've got odd spots". Sam said, enunciating every consonant in the words "odd spots". To be frank dear reader this sounded kooky – even for me. "Whaddya mean Sam – are they covered in crazy lava-lamp type shapes or are they peculiar at one end?" I asked, hesitating.

"No, no, they tell you things", said Sam.

Because I'm worried that my friend is hallucinating, I inhale and bung on my aerobically empathetic psychoanalyst's voice. "Sam, pantyliners don't speak – they're flexible and adhesive but as far as I know, they don't talk to you."

Sam called me a word I can't repeat here and explained that she'd unsuspectingly bought a packet of pantyliners that have a list of facts, called "odd spots" printed onto the strip of paper that protects the adhesive liner. That's when I got cranky. I can get my head around the hidden message in a fortune cookie or the schmaltzy romantic wrapping protecting a Baci chocolate, but fergodsake who's got time to read the removable strip on a pantyliner? And more importantly who needs to know that if you sneeze too hard, you can fracture a rib. If you try to suppress a sneeze you can rupture a blood vessel in your head and neck and die – odd spot #101

Why do the creative monkeys who design this sort of packaging believe they must maximize every opportunity? What's next? Pantyliners with a photo of the Prime Minister with a personal girlie message and a 1800 number in case you notice a suspicious character in the loo? Back when there was a Feminine Hygiene section in the supermarket I thought it was bizarre that all the scents were anything but female. We could choose to smell like an apple, a Swedish fjord or even a pine forrest. What sort of men were we expected to attract – Japanese wood-chippers?

If as Dorothy Parker once said, "Brevity is the soul of lingerie," then can't these packaging designers learn that understatement might be the soul of female products. What women want is a discreet reliable product that isn't covered in cutesy daisies, baby-doll pastels, head-splitting Seventies fluoro swirls or mindless graffiti masquerading as useful information.