I started reading YM and Seventeen magazines when I was 9 years old. By the time I was 11 or 12, I knew enough about accidental pregnancies, what type of lip gloss to wear to the beach and how to tell if a boy likes you (answer: he accidentally gets you pregnant) and I decided it was time to become a woman. By this I mean that I started buying face wash and deodorant. There is no logical reason why an 11-year-old needs a separate cleansing product for her face, but the fresh-faced models in the Neutrogena ads looked clean, carefree and like they were probably allowed to go to the mall unsupervised – an important marketing angle for the preteen set.

The first face wash I ever bought was Neutrogena and the first deodorant I bought was Secret. To this day, I will only buy Neutrogena and Secret. This is partly because of my irrational brand loyalty (it’s a sickness, a generic brand shunning, sale ignoring sickness) and partly because I have lived my entire life free of acne and bad body odor and who am I to quit a good thing?

Because I only buy Secret, I notice whenever they change their product line. Secret has developed an elaborate marketing system designed to trick the consumer into thinking she has a variety of underarm de-stinking options. They have the “invisible solid” line and the “clear solid” line which, if you think about it, ought to be the same thing. Then there’s the “platinum solid,” the “platinum invisible solid” and the “sparkle collection” (I have no idea). Not to mention all the gels and roll-ons that I never buy because let’s face it, those are lame.

About a week ago, I went to the grocery store to buy new deodorant. Because I’ve been buying the same thing for 13 years, I don’t even have to read Secret’s product labels, I just sort of wander over to the “body care” aisle and pick up the blue stick with either the pink or purple label, depending on my mood and if I’d rather spend the next few months smelling like “spring breeze” or “shower fresh.” But last week, I discovered that they’d changed all the labels. Instead of the usual non-descript geometric pattern test marketed to evoke freshness and youth, there were cartoon women staring up at me.

Apparently Secret (which is owned by Proctor & Gamble) turned 50 this year, and to celebrate they have re-categorized their existing line of “invisible solid” deodorants by decade instead of by fake scent (what does “optimism” smell like, anyway?) So now I own a deodorant that claims to be “Celebrating 50 Years of Strong Women.” I didn’t know this, but feminism smells like lilacs.

But here’s the thing. The deodorants are loosely categorized by the female stereotypes as they pertain to each decade.

Decades

You have someone who looks a little bit like a brunette Donna Reed under the “’50s: Sophistication” label. A disco diva represents “’70s: Independence.” A woman in an 80s business suit and shoulder pads charges into the male work force with “’80s: Power.” A generic t-shirt wearing college student poses coyly for “’90s: Expression” and a girl with sunglasses on her head represents “Generation Me” which I guess is the 2000s decade. Apparently we haven’t figured out how to label ourselves yet. Maybe the sunglasses indicate that it’s summer, which means that it’s warm, which is subtle nod to global warming. That’s my theory.

If you noticed that I skipped the 1960s deodorant, that’s because I bought it and I have a close up picture for you.

Freedom

That says: “’60s: Freedom.” That’s right. I have been freshening my underarms with a commercialized representation of the Civil Rights Movement as it appears on a deodorant canister. This is only because I hadn’t yet seen the “’80s: Power” stick when I bought it. If I knew I could immortalize both women’s attempt to win respect and equality in the workforce and an entire race of people marginalized in our country, I would have bought two sticks of deodorant. I really would. I like to commemorate huge social movements through my toiletries.

I don’t have a punch line for this. I have no quippy remark to make about how maybe the Catholic church should put out a series of Bibles related to great Catholic achievements in each century (11th Century: Crusadey, 12th Century: Crusadey, 13th Century: Crusadey, 14th Century: a bit less Crusadey, and with the pope hat!). I don’t even thing it’s wrong. I really like my socially conscious spring breeze invisible solid. I just think it’s weird, that’s all.

Now if I could just get some Roe. v. Wade tampons I’d be all set.