Pinkwashing
In 1990, a woman named Charlotte Haley mailed cards to friends and family, as well as prominent businesswomen, in honor of her loved ones who had been diagnosed with breast cancer. The cards highlighted the fact that at the time, only 5% of the National Institutes of Health budget was designated for breast cancer research. Most importantly, however, a salmon colored ribbon was glued to each card. The ribbons caught the attention of Evelyn Lauder, the then CEO of the cosmetics company Estee Lauder. Consequently, Estee Lauder teamed up with Self magazine to create a special insert for Breast Cancer Awareness month that included a ribbon, inspired by the ones Haley had mailed out. But when Haley refused to let Estee Lauder profit off of her orangey-peach colored ribbons, the company changed the color to pink (both to avoid a law suit and because the color pink is so closely tied to femininity and womanhood, as is breast cancer). Ever since those inserts were sent out, Estee Lauder has distributed more than 70 million pink ribbons around the world. (Harvey, 27).
Once those pink ribbons were first sent out in Self magazine, almost everything has been sold to us at some point with a pink ribbon on the packaging and the promise that part of the price we were paying would be going to breast cancer charities. Even without the use of pink ribbons, breast cancer is still a disease that many people have a connection to. Over 3.1 million have had breast cancer, and approximately 40,000 women die from breast cancer each year (Carlso, 168). More so, “for women globally, the breast is the most common cancer site diagnosed, and breast cancer is the most common cause of cancer death” (Mark et al, 1541). There is not doubt that breast cancer research and awareness is a worthy cause- many people have been touched by the disease and genuinely want to do something to help. But born out of those good intentions was pinkwashing, “the phenomenon of businesses aligning themselves with breast cancer as a way to raise money or awareness for their product or service” (Carlos, 169).
And it sounds great on the surface- people buy pink lipsticks or vacuums or NFL jerseys and get to publicly display their solidarity with a cause that pretty much everyone can agree is worthy, as well as making a monetary donation that could theoretically lead to the next big cancer breakthrough. But it sounds a little too good to be true. Ending breast cancer, or any cancer for that matter, seems like it would be more difficult than that. I get that “breast cancer awareness is bad” is a hard argument to make, but this essay is basically going to be saying that breast cancer awareness, at least in its current form, is bad.
I know it sounds pretty good on the surface. People can buy things they were already going to buy, but with the added bonus that a worthy cause will be getting a portion of the sales because the packaging was pink. Spoiler alert, it’s bad. The crux of the problem is the fact that the pink ribbon is not now, and never will be trademarked. As a result, anyone can use the pink ribbon in anyway they want. Furthermore, “the lack of federal and state regulations [regarding the use of the pink ribbon] means that breast cancer fundraisers are not legally required to disclose the amount of proceeds that will be dedicated to breast cancer charities” (Carlso, 170). The only thing that bares resemblance to regulations regarding cause marketing in general are the Better Business Bureau’s “Standards for Charity Accountability”. But those of course are just recommendations, and aren’t actually legally enforceable. In short, anyone can use the pink ribbon, without having to disclose almost any information about what the pink ribbon is actually being used for.