9 Comments   
I recently stumbled across a beauty product -- to use the term with a big ol' grain of salt -- that was so amusingly terrifying I spent a fair bit of the day fretting about and wondering what women and the beauty myth have come to. The item in question is My New Pink Button, a temporary dye meant to "restore the youthful pink color back to your labia." Hey, Yikes Department, you really outdid yourself this time!

I guess my first question, of an infinite number, was exactly how youthful? Like go-to-jail-youthful? Because unless you are getting ready for some kind of L'Origine du monde–style close-up, I'd assume the women who are willing to dye the inside of their genitals are doing this for some man. Some terrible, terrible man.

The product was at least invented by a woman: Karan Mari, a "certified paramedical esthetician" (so, no, not a doctor) whose bio claims she previously developed skin-care needs and makeup for post-operative breast cancer patients. My New Pink Button seems like quite the superficial departure from that respectable level of aesthetic creativity.

But let's just talk about the mechanics of this thing. Thirty bucks plus shipping buys you a full kit for 20 applications of the stuff. It's not permanent, which is maybe one of its only pros among many, many cons, since at-home labia dye seems like a recipe for a multitude of regrets. The dye comes in four shades, irritatingly named Marilyn, Ginger, Bettie and Audry (no "e" in that last one, though I assume Ms. Mari was referring to Audrey Hepburn).

Marilyn is the lightest shade, marketed toward labia-dye newbies and fair-skinned ladies. I can't help but wonder if, in the annals of the definition of femininity, Marilyn is the least ironic product title of the four, since the namesake went so far as to commit suicide before she reached an age when My New Pink Button -- had it been available at the time -- could even be applicable. Whereas I assume Audrey would have found this product as offensive and inelegant as I do.

Mostly, though, once I got over the shock, my impression of My New Pink Button was more along the lines of My New Pink Wick Wha? -- it seems like a lot of trouble for nothing. The product applies to an area that neither I nor anyone else spends substantial time merely gazing at -- at least not substantial enough to warrant a dyeing procedure. And if a contemporary Courbet was readying his or her oil paints for some epic portraiture, I imagine I'd just let the artist make up the color as was fitting.

What are your thoughts, oh readers? Is it awful to make women think this is a necessary inconvenience, or good to have on offer for those few who are unhappy with their current shade of labia? Or ... goodness gracious ... could it even be fun?