No matter how many times I see these Lysol ads, I get sick. They're fucked up in every single way.
Everytime I see one of these Lysol ads I have this knee-jerk reaction of wondering just how much that hurt.

Lysol on your vagina? Ouch!!!!!!
So bathing in Lysol is better than bathing in doubt, inhibitions, ignorance and misgivings. On the other hand, it's also more expensive and makes you smell like a hospital. I wonder if plain soap and water at normal intervals is an option?
You know, that makes a hell of a lot of sense. A misunderstood historical figure, after all, was the nice woman that went around her neighbourhood with her syringe kit and some harmless cleaning products. Lysol would kill enough sperm to reduce the chance of conception if used immediately after sex, and if the nice neighbourhood lady brought her syringe, it would kill the, er, swimmers that got away.

That's actually a pretty nifty coded message. It's too well-coded for my eyes, but it may have been more obvious (or better known) in the days before readily available birth control and wider access to abortion.

It's strange to look at such an apparently offencive ad and go, "Hunh. This thing's downright feminist."
There were so many products that quietly had that purpose. Like menstrual tonics that'd make sure you got your period because they were abortifacients. Or at least make you feel better, because they contained a lot of alcohol, or other drugs that aren't so legal now. My grandmother briefly mentioned that to my mother, and shocked her. It makes sense, though, since people have wanted birth control since before the pill and effective barrier methods were common, or easily available. My mother's also suggested that products like Lysol would have been used against infections.
Just think about how Lysol really smells. It's not exactly a hallmark of freshness: hospital rooms, horse stables, grade school vomit clean-up. I'm not sure it would be an improvement over any native odors. Different, but not especially better.


And the notion that it's really about contraception is somehow really sad-making, too. "Protect your married happiness... keep you desirable!" "Desirable", according to this mentality, is how she got there (pregnant) in the first place. So does it never end? Just a constant cycle of getting humped, and then douching with caustic stench in order to get humped again, if you're lucky. I think if I had been a married woman in that era, I would have just drank the shit and been done with it. Or served it up to the hubby.
Also, was "daintiness" used interchangeably with "vagina" fifty years ago?