Can reusable period products absorb the leak of packaging waste?

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Is stigma around periods fueling the rise in menstrual product packaging waste? Are we over-packaging single-use solutions? Could a transition into reusable products help, or is the answer more complicated? We answer all these questions in this edition of the Brief.

Menstruation is a natural, unavoidable process for approximately 1.8 billion people across the globe. Unfortunately, it is also a major source of waste.

One menstruator is believed to dispose of 115kg to 135kg of single-use sanitary pads, tampons, and applicators in their lifetime, and around 400 pounds of their packaging to boot. Pre-Brexit, the EU’s consumption of menstrual products was believed to generate 245,000 tonnes of CO2 equivalent annually.

For reference, every pad – which, as a product, is already said to contain up to 90% plastic – comes in an individual wrapper. Usually, this is made of printed polymer film and serves a dual purpose of product protection and easy handling. Some pads feature wings for improved grip and reduced leakage, in which case a small piece of silicone-coated paper or release liner protects the adhesive before application.

Conventionally, anywhere between eight and twenty-six wrapped pads are sold in one flexible polymer bag. Companies are increasingly embracing cardboard boxes and paper packets for external packaging – Paptic’s wood fibre-based material is a recent contribution to the trend – but these remain a minority on the market.

Meanwhile, tampons are typically made from cotton, rayon, or a blend of both. Each tampon comes wrapped in a polymeric plastic, cellophane, or paper. Sometimes they come with applicators, or rigid insertion devices made from polyethylene, polypropylene, cardboard, or coated paper, but these are less common in mainland Europe than in the USA or the UK.

Multipack sizes can vary depending on the intended end-use. Small, travel-sized packs can contain as few as eight tampons, while bundle packs for communal use sometimes offer hundreds. Unlike pads, though, their secondary packaging is often made of cardboard. On the face of it, this might give the impression of a lower-plastic alternative – but life cycle assessments (LCAs) published by UNEP report comparable environmental impacts between pads and tampons.

In both cases, packaging single-handedly contributes between 70% and 95% of the product’s carbon footprint across every product category; raw material extraction and packaging production are thought to be particularly damaging stages of the life cycle.

Now consider that approximately 26% of the global population menstruates (around 2132 million people, as of this publication), and that single-use pads and tampons are the most common menstrual products in high-income countries.

One menstruator uses a daily average of three to six pads or tampons throughout their week-long, monthly cycles, and neither product can be reused or recycled – the amount of demand for fresh products must be staggering, as is the trail of waste left behind. Another question to ask, though, is whether all that packaging is necessary.

Are period products over-packaged?

Manufacturers should always keep in mind that pads and tampons come into direct contact with human genitalia, and care must be taken to avoid contamination risks – it is for this reason that the FDA considers menstrual products medical devices in their own right. Therefore, some might argue that several layers of plastic or paper are a hygienic necessity.

At the same time, a persistent culture of shame around menstruation feeds into the generation of waste. Period packaging itself has long been preoccupied with discretion and secrecy, from avoiding the colour red in on-pack branding to the controversial invention of ‘silent’ wrappers for tampons.

Writing for National Geographic, Alejandra Borunda partially attributes individually wrapped pads and tampons to expectations of concealment, as they allow users to carry single packets to public restrooms without revealing the product.

Still more evident is the correlation between period-related taboos and the irresponsible disposal of both products and their packaging. A whitepaper from PHS Group identifies motivating factors behind flushing tampons down the toilet: a common but harmful practice that not only causes blockages in sewer systems (and still condemns the waste to landfill once recovered) but also releases pollutive waste into the environment.

(To name one example, the Marine Conservation Society’s Great British Beach Clean previously discovered an average of four pads, panty liners, and backing strips, and at least one used tampon and applicator for every 100 metres of shoreline. This kind of waste leaches microplastics, PFAS, and other harmful chemicals into the environment. A tampon applicator has even been discovered in the stomach of an albatross chick.)

Sadly, almost one-quarter of respondents chose to flush their tampons out of embarrassment. Others still sought to hide used products in the bin, with 56% of respondents tucking used tampons back into packaging to throw them away at home (the figure decreased to 47% in public bathrooms).

This practice contaminates the packaging material with bodily fluids and immediately compromises its recyclability, if it was ever recyclable to begin with.

Sanitary disposal bags capitalize on this shame. Not to be confused with bin liners, these bags are designed to conceal the sight and smell of individual, used products – and while only 36% of PHS Group’s respondents claimed to use the bags at home, 67% of self-proclaimed tampon flushers said they would switch to binning their products if a bag was available.

As compassionate as their provision might seem on a human level, many of these bags are made from polyethylene, polypropylene, and other polymers that will ultimately become contaminated and go unrecycled. Implementing recycled plastic, as some brands do, does not solve the problem; nor does the inclusion of fragrances, or even odour-neutralizing agents, which could even complicate the recyclability of unused bags.

Some brands pursue biodegradability with plant-based polymers like PLA or PHA, or with renewable ingredients like corn starch. Still, these are unlikely to help if the period products themselves are not biodegradable. In some cases, one might go so far as to describe these discrepancies as misdirection or ‘greenwashing’ – especially when used menstrual products are generally landfilled or incinerated due to blood saturation.

Yet another link between discretion and waste is a failure to standardize period education. Only 24% of PHS Group’s respondents said they had been taught how to use and dispose of tampons at school, and this leaves room for misinformation to spread, even among well-intentioned family and friends: 56% of participants who’d flushed their tampons in the last two years wholeheartedly believed it was the correct disposal method.

On-pack labelling could serve as a “channel for intervention”, as the whitepaper suggests. 42% of survey respondents claimed to consult product packaging for guidance on disposing of their tampons; 50% preferred to find this information on the multipack box, but 39% would look at the individual tampon wrapper. Regardless, the findings indicate that instances of tampon flushing decrease as the likelihood of checking the packaging increases.

Step-by-step disposal instructions could be printed in “salient” colours with accompanying images, PHS Group suggests. It may also be worth specifying the pack’s separate recyclability, or lack thereof, and urging consumers to avoid contaminating materials unnecessarily.

The United Nations Environment Programme (UNEP) takes it a step further, pushing for “clear and unambiguous” messaging – namely, information on the presence of plastics and chemicals, and the right and wrong ways to dispose of the product – to be mandated via menstrual product policies.

By themselves, on-pack warnings about the environmental impacts of flushing may not close the intention action gap – the discrepancy between a consumer’s professed values and their behaviours – nor is it likely to persuade those who don’t value sustainability in the first place; but PHS Group finds that 11% more of its respondents would avoid flushing to avoid blocked toilets than to protect the planet. Perhaps this serves as another means of persuasion.

Even so, plenty of menstruators do throw their products away correctly, and the tidal wave of waste persists. Daye raises the example of tampon applicators; those designed to be recyclable tend to fall through sorting machinery at mixed recycling facilities, since they are generally under 5cm in diameter. Those designed to be compostable aren’t widely accepted at composting facilities due to hygiene concerns and fail to break down in real-world landfill conditions.

So, when packaging itself is contributing to pollution, how do we downscale?

Does the product make a difference?

Switching menstrual products might seem like the obvious solution. Reusable alternatives are growing in popularity, and as fewer products need buying and replacing, far less packaging needs to be produced, purchased, and thrown away – nor is that packaging likely to be contaminated by menstrual blood.

Among the potential replacements are reusable sanitary pads and period underwear (essentially a pair of pants with a reusable pad built in). Each functions the same way as a single-use pad or ordinary underwear, respectively, so the formats are immediately familiar.

At the same time, reusable options can last for years, which correlates with a significant decrease in packaging consumption. Period pants are particularly noteworthy in this regard; as high street retailers begin to embrace the trend, consumers can buy a pair, or even multipacks, with only a plastic hanger and cardboard labels.

Reusable pads can also strip their packaging down to a paper-based sleeve, but are just as likely to appear in a cardboard box. Whichever the case may be, each format is more widely recycled than the flexible packets used for single-use pads.

In the same vein, Zero Waste Europe believes that European menstruators could eliminate almost 100,000 tonnes of waste every year if just 20% transition from single-use period products to the menstrual cup: a flexible elastomer cup that can be emptied, washed, and reused.

These are most commonly packed in cardboard boxes – which, according to UNEP, accounts for 73% to 99% of their potential impact on the environment – but tubes and paper envelopes are potential alternatives.

Like their single-use counterparts, reusables take some of the biggest environmental hits from the sourcing, production, and end-of-life management of their packaging, or so LCAs suggest. A notable addition is the fabric bag provided for the long-term storage of a menstrual cup; this has particular implications for water use, marine eutrophication, and freshwater ecotoxicity, to name a few.

It follows that the distance between the manufacturing site and the consumer’s location influences the environmental impact. UNEP’s LCAs cited a reusable pad made in India and, as one might expect, found that purchases in Europe and North America drove up raw material consumption, emissions in transit, and end-of-life packaging waste compared to local sourcing. Imports might be an unavoidable reality in places where reusables are less widely available, but Zero Waste Europe points out their availability in online shops based throughout Europe, if not in supermarkets, pharmacies, local commerces, or handicraft shops.

It is still important to reiterate that, conceptually, reusable options rely far less on packaging than single-use ones, and tend to utilize fibre-based materials with well-established recycling streams.

After all, there is never a way to avoid packaging waste entirely; even if a menstruator uses prescribed period delay tablets or long-acting reversible contraceptives to forego the menstrual cycle (and these are unlikely to be the go-to option for reducing a consumer’s environmental footprint, given the side effects and potential, if rare, health risks), such products are still transported and sold in their own packaging.

As simple as the idea of swapping menstrual products is, though, the reality is more complicated. Logistics are important to consider when many menstruators are in education or the workforce and have limited time to go to the toilet, let alone wash and dry a reusable pad or underwear.

Transporting used or wet reusables requires forethought – it may even generate more waste if menstrual blood causes any irreparable damage – and the ongoing social pressure to keep menstruation a secret may restrict a menstruator’s comfort zone to the single-use products they can leave in a bathroom bin.

Theoretically, menstrual cups can overcome these problems, since they can be worn for up to twelve hours and their waterproof materials are easier to dry. In practice, various factors can prevent certain individuals from wearing one. These include the presence of an intrauterine device (IUD), post-partum anatomical difficulties, conditions like endometriosis or vaginismus, or an allergy to materials such as silicone.

In the wake of a global pandemic, ongoing socio-political conflicts, the ever-rising cost of living, and the looming threat of climate change, we should also acknowledge that the option of reusables is a privilege.

Those with restricted access to water, sanitation, and hygiene may not have the resources to wash a reusable product safely; they may not even have expendable funds to pay a higher cost upfront for a reusable product, even if using one would save them money in the long run.

In developed economies, those unable to access reuse might include homeless individuals, migrants and displaced persons, those living in informal settlements or detention centres, et cetera.

Uptake of reusable menstrual products is also said to be limited in low- to middle-income countries (LMICs), where distribution policies and programmes have largely focused on disposable pads – which have reportedly become the product of choice, despite their expense, due to perceptions of cloth as an unhygienic solution.

Legislative measures are beginning to address these limitations. For example, the Period Products (Free Provision) (Scotland) Act 2021 mandates that schools, colleges, universities, and other public service bodies provide a ‘reasonable’ selection of period products, free of charge, for all who require them.

Responsible bodies are expected to consult with consumers on which products they should provide, but they are not required to offer the full range of period products, nor should they pressure consumers into using reusable products against their will.

Non-profit organizations are also taking steps, but face roadblocks. ActionAid works to distribute period products to those in need, and while it claims to offer reusables wherever possible, it acknowledges their impracticality in crisis zones, their controversy in light of certain cultural norms, and the stress they can cause in extreme situations – if a menstruator is the victim of genital mutilation, for example.

All this raises the key question of whether it is a consumer’s responsibility to switch products wherever possible, potentially causing themselves inconvenience, discomfort or pain, or whether producers should offer more sustainable products and packaging in the first place.

The answer likely lies somewhere in the middle. Menstruators should ideally consider the environmental impact of their preferred products, but these efforts should be underpinned by an industrial and governmental push to make reuse accessible.

Doing so will help eliminate waste, which Zero Waste Europe correlates to “really high economic savings for the municipality, due to lower management and treatment, as well as a reduction in the costs coming from removing waste from beaches and seas, as litter and sewage-related debris would be reduced.”

Ultimately, menstruation is an intimate and personal matter – consumers should not, and likely will not, put packaging materials above their needs. What the packaging industry can do is find ways to minimize the environmental impact of a pack, even for a single-use period product, and help tackle the shame driving consumers towards disposables in the first place.

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