I took delivery of my new menstrual cup last week. I went for the Juju cup- simply because I liked the name. Juju! It’s fun to say. It’s also locally made, so I am supporting the economy.
The box was decorated in gorgeous flowers and swirls, and opened like the petals of a flower revealing a silky purple drawstring padded bag inside.
I inspected the new cup, and once it had my approval, put it back in said glorious silky bag and reassembled the floral box. Then I saw it ... the sticker Juju had put on the box.
‘MODEL 2 – FOR WOMEN WHO HAVE HAD A VAGINAL BIRTH.’
Way to make a woman feel special, Juju! My enormous vagina was so happy to know that size 2 is the largest cup you make.
Are they serious?
I understand that because the cup is more specialised than a generic tampon that anatomical factors should be taken into account when purchasing. However, I really think they could come up with better names than Size 1 and Size 2.
Look at the plethora of size names for other feminine hygiene products:
Regular: A little bland and non-descript but highly relatable because are times of the month when we just want to ‘blend in’ and perhaps be invisible while we deal with the monthly that can leave us either a homicidal maniac, a blithering mess or three kilos heavier from chocolate cravings. (Or a mixture of all three).
Slim/slender: Who wouldn’t like to use this size? It’s very flattering.
Mini: I’m not sure if this is in reference to a mouse, or a female the size of a mouse? It’s a little too rodent for my liking.
Maxi: My dog’s name is Maxi, and yes, I have occasionally slipped and called him ‘Maxi pad’ instead of ‘Maxi pup’. I think this was the size of the first pad my mother gave me and it was like wearing a brick between my legs. They didn’t call pads ‘surfboards’ for nothing back in the 70s and 80s. It does, however, imply safety; a menstrual prison- no leaks or escapes here.
Overnight: Sounds exciting! Who doesn’t love a sleep over? Can we toast marshmallows, shine torches on our faces and tell scary ghost stories until we are all too scared to go to the toilet on our own?
Junior: Sounds quite masculine. I get visuals of the under-nines soccer team. No thanks.
Super: Yeah baby! Super! I’m diggin’ it. Who wouldn’t like a super twat? Does it come with its own cape?
Super-plus: Sounds like a superannuation fund. Far too sensible and bureaucratic. Where’s the spontaneity in this one?
Maternity: Pure hell. Purchasers of these puppies know that they are in for a relentless six-week period that never ends. Been there, done that. Never again.
And the Grand Mammy of them all...
ULTRA: It’s thrilling, action-packed and dangerous; the Avengers of sanitary protection. It wears a shiny cape, can fly and fears nothing. It’s the duck’s guts of feminine hygiene.
Imagine a Naughty Ninja marketing department. Our sizes would be so freaking awesome:
Glitter: For the days when you need a little extra sparkle.
Unicorn: When you wish your period was a mythical creature.
Celebration: For when you’re on the last day and tomorrow will signal hormonal freedom!
Couch Potato: When you have no intention of getting off the couch, unless it’s to refill the M&M bowl or devour another tub of ice cream.
Fuck Off and Leave Me Alone or I Will Kill You: No explanation needed.
So, clearly Juju’s marketing department is run by men because women wouldn’t assign a number to indicate vaginal size. A woman-led marketing team would understand that if there’s one thing we don’t want to be classified by size, it’s our vagina!
We are already judged on the number of lovers who have gained access to our vagina as well as the number of babies that have exited our vagina. Why whack a size on it as well?