What's the deal with Toothpaste? by Jerry Seinfeld


I can't stand to walk down the toothpaste isle anymore. If I need something that's even on the toothpaste isle, like nasal spray, I'll go around from the other end so I don't have to pass the display of toothpaste. Before there even was toothpaste, people used to sprinkle baking soda on their finger. Later on they used a toothbrush. Then Ipana put baking soda in cans and sold it as "tooth powder." And with that single event began the marketing, advertising, personal and societal nightmare that continues unabated today.

Oddly, we all want toothpaste and we all need toothpaste, but we're not exactly sure why. We know we have to brush, but the reasons are confusing and bewildering. We've been told to brush three times a day; to brush after every meal; to brush up and down; not to brush up and down; to brush sideways; to brush in circles. We all know of someone who takes their toothbrush wherever they go; they brush in restaurants; they save plastic bags; they're the ones who are abducted by aliens.

A Panacea for Humankind
Over time and perhaps out of despair, the makers of toothpaste have proclaimed their product as the solution for every known Human Condition. In the innocent "Golden Age" of toothpaste, there were the Flavor Wars, which continue to a certain extent even today. Ads presumed that kids wouldn't brush their teeth unless the toothpaste tasted good, so yummy, candy-like flavors were added - the ultimate "sweet tooth." One brand of toothpaste even had red stripes, so that the white paste came out looking like a candy cane.

History and Philosophy
No one really knows, for certain, exactly what toothpaste is or what it's for. Toothpaste is a product that has forever been searching for an identity and purpose. The history of toothpaste is a never ending search - and a failed search - for significance and meaning. The toothpaste odyssey has been like a homeless ship, with no port in which to dock, and no market segment to call its own.

And why are there different sizes of tubes? There's the 3.0 oz., 3.5-oz, 4.3-oz., 5.0-oz., 6.4-oz., and my favorite, the 8.2oz. There's no expiration date on toothpaste. It's not like hamburger - the stuff doesn't spoil. What's the reasoning here? You can't afford the 6.4-oz., so you buy the 4.3-oz? You're going on a trip and don't want to overpack, so you get the 5.0-oz size? You're going to die in a month so you only need a 3.5-oz tube?

At the most basic level we all want "clean teeth," but we know that's only a symptom, and the beginning of a much more complex system of emotional needs. A major ad campaign - long since abandoned - was the assault on "cavities." The classic Crest TV commercials had hysterical kids running into the kitchen yelling, "Look Mom, only one cavity!" Consumer groups noted that this was equal to 20 cavities, from ages eight to 18, based on the six-month checkup recommended by the American Dental Association.

The Age of Science
Then, for years the "scientific" approach of controlled studies and statistical analysis was brandished. Naturally, the "Crest" group had "37%" or "22%" or "48%" fewer cavities than the "non-Crest" group. The percentages varied wildly among test groups, but the group using Crest always emerged with a lower percentage of cavities. Statisticians made the point that if Crest were responsible for reducing cavities, shouldn't the Crest groups' percentages show more consistency among controlled testing?

But today the use of toothpaste to control cavities (or as the scientific types like the say, "caries," hangs on almost as an obligatory vestige of advertising puffery. In fact, the ads for toothpaste today seem only to mention cavities out of habit, rather than from any genuine conviction. Occasionally they do make some peripheral reference to "gum disease," or "gingivitis," but for Madison Avenue pros, periodontal problems lack glitz, and are not their mainstream advertising concern.

On the Road to Self Discovery
For a time, the toothpaste boundaries inched into the mouthwash territory, and a blurry area developed encompassing "fresh breath," "kissability," and a Walt Disneyish kind of "sex appeal." This was a perplexing no-man's-land, stretching from the surgical antisepsis of Listerine to the alluring sweetness of a kiss under the moonlight. During this phase, the word "halitosis" was bandied about in TV and magazine ads and became a household word. "Halitosis," or "morning breath" was a quasi-medical condition, a faux pas that could not only could be avoided, but with toothpaste, easily turned into a fresh-smelling, kissable mouth and social success. The pre-date ritual was a flurry of brushing, gargling and flossing, which was followed by periodic and furtive sprays of Binaca for odor-control maintenance throughout the evening.

The Search for Authority
For toothpaste manufacturers, the American Dental Association is God. Any sort of "Seal of Approval" from the ADA carries the weight of the 11th Commandment. The world of toothpaste lives and dies on ADA edicts. For a tube of toothpaste to carry any proclamation from the American Dental Association is tantamount to being blessed by the very hand of Jesus. Most adult Americans can quote the original liturgy of the Dental Bible, (issued by the ADA's "Council on Scientific Affairs": "Crest has been shown to be an effective decay-preventative dentifrice that can be of significant value when used as directed in a conscientiously applied program of oral hygiene and regular professional care."

And what are these "directions" for applying Crest? Fortunately, the directions are printed on the box:
"Brush teeth thoroughly after meals or at least twice a day or use as directed by a dentist or physician. Do not swallow…If you accidentally swallow more than used for brushing, seek professional help or contact a poison control center immediately."

There is a kind of flawed syllogism or logical tease here. If you normally use a certain amount of toothpaste to brush your teeth, how can you swallow more than that amount? The only possible explanation is attempted suicide; i.e., death by toothpaste. So, the somber advice to contact a "poison control center" follows naturally. And then there's the surreal imagery of a physician tutoring the finer points of brushing, then weeks later the inevitable, eerie, swallowing incident, followed by the urgent "800" call to the national poison control center.
And Then Came Fluoride
In the 1950's the addition of fluoride to toothpaste ranked second in grandeur only to the wholesale inoculation of the masses with the polio vaccine. But a general paranoia followed the suggestion that - for dental health - fluoride should be added to the nation's drinking water. It seemed to be a blatant invitation to the Commies to sneak into our water plants and add whatever else they pleased to our drinking water. Thankfully, and with a singular clarity of mind, Americans rejected the universal fluoridation of their tap water.

But fluoride in toothpaste was another story. Apparently, the Commies could not so easily gain access to our toothpaste factories! And fluoride became to Procter and Gamble what the sacrament was to the Pope. "Here, take this Stannous Fluoride, it is my dentifrice," chanted the CEO's of Pepsodent, Gleam, Crest, Arm & Hammer, Sensodyne, Aquafresh, Ultrabrite, Aim, Mentadent, and others of that persuasion.

The Modern Age
But with so many brands of toothpaste proudly flashing ADA endorsements, the ad boys had to delve deeper into the scientific folklore. Now came the newest magic additives and ingredients to make your entire oral cavity a virtual death chamber for bacteria and other offensive life forms. Enter, from the World Dental Federation's tag-team: "Baking Soda and Peroxide."

Not much new with baking soda - it's an all-purpose powder and the original tooth cleaner. But, somehow the synergy of baking soda and peroxide sparked new fervor in the cosmic awareness of consumers dreaming of oral antisepsis. In tandem, these two potent compounds fizz, bubble, effervesce and burst, in a kind of blinding white blaze to rid the entire mouth of everything foul and objectionable.

"Peroxide" is fierce and explosive. "Baking Soda" has grit and power. Together they work like a sand blaster and sterilizer to provide the Final Solution. What a delightful, Freudian approach! When a child uses "dirty" words he gets his mouth washed out with soap; likewise, baking soda and peroxide destroy the remaining real and imagined oral contamination. And that's on top of the toothpaste.

Farah Fawcett Knew a Thing or Two
But after every brand of toothpaste had saturated the market with baking soda and peroxide, the latest wave became "Whiteness." Somewhat belatedly, the marketers of toothpaste discovered that people want white teeth, so "whitening formulas" now abound. In a futile effort to stem the confusion, Arm & Hammer has recently printed the clarifying phrase, "Formerly Dental Care Extra Whitening" under its newly renamed toothpaste, "Arm & Hammer Advance White."

In fact, the industry has recently replaced the term "whitening" with "extra whitening," along with claims to "whiten beyond surface stains," perhaps along the lines of the fictitious "Dazzledent" toothpaste made famous by Marilyn Monroe in "The Seven Year Itch."

But finally, the business has created a toothpaste monster whose bulk is collapsing upon itself. There is simply too much choice on the shelves for the human nervous system to comprehend.

There's regular mint, clean mint, cool mint, fresh mint, mint gel, mint paste, mint with tarter formula, mint with gum formula, mint with fluoride, mint whitening, and mint with cavity protection. Mint is to mouth cleaning as Lemon is to house cleaning. Even given the historical obsession with "mint" and "minty freshness," there is an overkill of mintiness.

There's unflavored and original flavor paste, gel without mint, gel with fluoride and mint, original flavor with whitening and gum control. You can buy gel with tarter control, paste with tarter control, paste without tarter control, paste with fluoride and tarter control, gel with whitening, fluoride and mint, and also paste with mint and whitening but without tarter control.

There's also a clear gel and a green gel, both with and without cool mint. And don't forget the "sensitive" formula, in both gel and paste, available with fluoride and mint, or without fluoride and mint. As a refuge for the confused, there's the multi formula, in both gel and paste.

To sooth the conscience of those of us who throw cans and bottles in with the regular garbage, there's even some pricey "natural" and "organic" toothpaste, made from bee pollen, oats, kelp and sea water with a portion of the profits going to save the whales and preserve the Rain Forest.

And what's the deal with toothbrushes? I know of people who've gone into therapy to work out their angst. When I bought my first toothbrush, there were a lot of choices to make, even back then. The bristles came in soft, medium, and firm. For years I wavered between soft and medium. But the most vexing choice was the color of the handle: green, blue, red, or yellow? I decided to rotate, and bought a different color each time, although I never really liked looking at a red handle quite so early in the morning.

The very first change I saw in the handle was the "Reach" toothbrush with the "angled" handle. Finally, there was a way to brush your rear teeth! Before they bent the handle I could never figure out how to brush my molars. Struggle as I could with the straight handle, I was only able to brush my front and side teeth. At long last I could get to the tricky ones way in the back.

Now, if they could just put a bend in the handle of hair brushes, we could finally be able to brush the back of our head! For years I've been walking around with scruffy "rear hair," because my old fashioned straight-handled hair brush won't reach there. I have to awkwardly edge my way out of rooms so people won't see what a messy tangle of hair I'm trying to hide. But some day, when the technology permits, hairbrushes too will be made with a "reach."

After the first toothbrush handle innovations, the changes in both the handle and the bristles began morphing mindlessly into a daily assault on the human sensibility. The distressing and complex arrangement, size, position, shape, color, and supposed function of the bristles created and defined an entirely new category of psychiatric disorder.

And the new ergonomically designed toothbrush handles offer as many variations and subtleties as Pokemon trading cards. One nice touch was the invention of the ribbed, concave thumb pad. Cleverly positioned on the handle to provide friction, this engineering feat prevents the thumb, prone as it is, from slipping off the handle and causing some rather nasty toothbrushing injuries.

What's most comforting to know is that there are people whose workaday world consists of creating ever more types of bristles and handles. These people wake up - perhaps brush their teeth - then go to work for eight hours and return home to their families, all with the purpose of developing new and improved toothbrushes. This is their life. This is their work. They have chosen to do this in a free and democratic society.