the swiffer wet jet: has patriarchy won?
I am procrastinating again (3 speaking engagements coming up, and none fully fleshed out), but this time it is a glorious day, and I am feeling the proverbial "heavy weight lifted from my shoulders." It is truly an overused phrase, but it works for today. Plus I found a bathing suit that fits me and covers the biggest problem area (rhymes with beauteous exodus. Sort of. Which I wish it would have).
I had a fit of cleaning yesterday, and mused on something I have spent much more time on than is reasonable: Swiffer Wet-Jet pads are actually rectangular Always Maxi Pads, the same size as the ones you get after giving birth.
* side note* I am not the only person who has had these strange thoughts. Whew? Google "swiffer maxi pad" and see for yourself!
Of what am I talking? I have a Swiffer Wet-Jet, and with that and my Dustbuster I keep dirt entropy at bay. I really like it because there is minimal prep work involved, unlike the buckets, cleaning solution, and the need for an empty sink to dump the cruddy water into. The mop pads on the Swiffer are disposable, and come right off when you're done.
The first time I got the pads, I noticed the curious design of the surface that picks up the wet dirt and keeps it there. Lo and behold: dri-weave! Stay-dry protection for your heaviest days. Now with wings! Gross, I thought at first. But why not? Every pad and diaper out there has a gel core that soaks up liquids, and a plastic backing to keep them contained. But it's still gross to think that mere placement stands between wet kitchen dirt and...other stuff.
Which got me thinking, "Did a man or a woman design the Swiffer Wet-Jet?" Did a woman excuse herself from a design meeting at Procter and Gamble to take care of necessities, and then have a flash of inspiration? Or did a man look at the overstocked Always warehouse (overstocked because they are very uncomfortable to wear) and think, there's got to be something else we can use these for.
I suppose it doesn't matter who designed the buggers, but I am still uneasy about the blatant re-purposing of such intimate items as maxi-pads. It just seems wrong. Maybe it's all the 19th century modesty in which I have steeped myself (though it hasn't sunk in, has it, if I am writing about all this?). It just feels dehumanizing, that's what. That a corporate giant--who downsized my dad after 24.5 years of faithful service--would just recast the pad-cutter machine and put velcro on the back and voila! the Wet-Jet pad. The solution to my womanly problems is heartlessly commodified, dragged from obscurity and proudly attached to a mop handle. Vulgar. Only a man could be that callous.
The thing is, I really like this mop. I actually clean the floor more than once a month now. So my white kitchen floor (blast those former owners! what were they thinking with WHITE?) doesn't look grey. I am a little sad to be so psyched about a cleaning implement, as it means I am the target audience for soap opera commercials with smiling, well-dressed women cutting an obvious path through the dirt and leaving only sparkles and joy behind. I remember thinking, "Why is she so dang happy? Her little brat is just going to chuck another bowl of spaghetti overboard." Now that I have a little...angel of my own, who banishes his leftovers when he's finished dissecting them, I can think twice about the serene look on the mom's face. She's really thinking, "In a couple of minutes, he's going to take a nap, the floor will be clean and I can have a screwdriver." Vive la patriarchy.
I had a fit of cleaning yesterday, and mused on something I have spent much more time on than is reasonable: Swiffer Wet-Jet pads are actually rectangular Always Maxi Pads, the same size as the ones you get after giving birth.
* side note* I am not the only person who has had these strange thoughts. Whew? Google "swiffer maxi pad" and see for yourself!
Of what am I talking? I have a Swiffer Wet-Jet, and with that and my Dustbuster I keep dirt entropy at bay. I really like it because there is minimal prep work involved, unlike the buckets, cleaning solution, and the need for an empty sink to dump the cruddy water into. The mop pads on the Swiffer are disposable, and come right off when you're done.
The first time I got the pads, I noticed the curious design of the surface that picks up the wet dirt and keeps it there. Lo and behold: dri-weave! Stay-dry protection for your heaviest days. Now with wings! Gross, I thought at first. But why not? Every pad and diaper out there has a gel core that soaks up liquids, and a plastic backing to keep them contained. But it's still gross to think that mere placement stands between wet kitchen dirt and...other stuff.
Which got me thinking, "Did a man or a woman design the Swiffer Wet-Jet?" Did a woman excuse herself from a design meeting at Procter and Gamble to take care of necessities, and then have a flash of inspiration? Or did a man look at the overstocked Always warehouse (overstocked because they are very uncomfortable to wear) and think, there's got to be something else we can use these for.
I suppose it doesn't matter who designed the buggers, but I am still uneasy about the blatant re-purposing of such intimate items as maxi-pads. It just seems wrong. Maybe it's all the 19th century modesty in which I have steeped myself (though it hasn't sunk in, has it, if I am writing about all this?). It just feels dehumanizing, that's what. That a corporate giant--who downsized my dad after 24.5 years of faithful service--would just recast the pad-cutter machine and put velcro on the back and voila! the Wet-Jet pad. The solution to my womanly problems is heartlessly commodified, dragged from obscurity and proudly attached to a mop handle. Vulgar. Only a man could be that callous.
The thing is, I really like this mop. I actually clean the floor more than once a month now. So my white kitchen floor (blast those former owners! what were they thinking with WHITE?) doesn't look grey. I am a little sad to be so psyched about a cleaning implement, as it means I am the target audience for soap opera commercials with smiling, well-dressed women cutting an obvious path through the dirt and leaving only sparkles and joy behind. I remember thinking, "Why is she so dang happy? Her little brat is just going to chuck another bowl of spaghetti overboard." Now that I have a little...angel of my own, who banishes his leftovers when he's finished dissecting them, I can think twice about the serene look on the mom's face. She's really thinking, "In a couple of minutes, he's going to take a nap, the floor will be clean and I can have a screwdriver." Vive la patriarchy.
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