I Just Lost Someone to Breast Cancer. Your Pink T-Shirt Is No Comfort.
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My siblings and I lost my sweet stepmother to breast cancer, which she’d dealt with on and off for 18 years, in August. Six weeks later, as it does every October, everything turned pink. At my gym, Wednesdays are even designated “wear pink” days. On that first Wednesday this month, I fought back tears as my boot camp class warmed up and we all watched the pink-outfitted instructor demonstrate weightlifting moves. Because this year, more so than ever, the phrases on every tank top and baby tee I’ve seen there have hit me with a fresh wave of grief: “Save the tatas.” “Warrior.” “I love boobies” with pink ribbons curling into the shape of the O’s.
During that class, I flashed back to the last few minutes of Marilyn’s 67 years; as her children and sisters cried around her, I didn’t see pink. I saw red. My stepmom, Marilyn, hated the “warrior” and “battle” speak around breast cancer awareness. Is it really true if you “fight” cancer hard enough, you will win? She and the 42,000 other people whose lives are cut short each year would say no.
Regardless of people’s good intentions about decking themselves out in pink for October, it feels to me that some are missing the point. At the gym that same day, I encountered two women chatting happily about how great it feels to be out of jeans and wearing stretchy, colorful pink workout gear. I couldn’t help but wonder if they cared more about fashion than cancer awareness.
Yet they were participating in one of the largest and most successful women’s health campaigns of all time; Breast Cancer Awareness Month was founded as a week-long event in 1985 by the American Cancer Society and Imperial Chemical Industries with the help of Betty Ford (who had breast cancer herself). Decades later, it’s why pink is near-synonymous with breast cancer awareness during October. The amount of money pink merchandise has helped raise over the course of time undoubtedly contributed to the medical advancements that allowed Marilyn to live the 18 years that she did following her diagnosis.
But because of that merchandise’s lucrative powers, “pinkwashing” has become its own sneakily sinister problem. The term, coined by the organization Breast Cancer Action, refers to corporations that use pink merchandise purported to support breast cancer awareness while simultaneously selling or funding products that are harmful to women’s health. “The pink ribbon is the most widely recognized symbol for breast cancer, but historically there’s been a significant lack of accountability, a glaring absence of transparency, and widespread hypocrisy in pink ribbon marketing,” Breast Cancer Action shares in an informational video. “These problems within pink ribbon culture allow for the exploitation of breast cancer patients.”
More broadly, pinkwashing also refers to the everyday use of the color pink without real intention. For example, does my elementary-age son’s sports team really know why their socks are pink in October? Do the socks actually support the cause in a tangible way, or do they just look cool?
Of course, trying to raise awareness in this particular way has its positives. I just wish that enthusiasm didn’t peak when everything goes pink. People may feel like activists when wearing pink merchandise through Breast Cancer Awareness Month, but on November 1st, the world goes back to their regular wardrobe. Things like “Wear Pink Wednesdays” cease to exist, and those “I love boobies” tees often get tossed in a donation pile or shoved in the back of a closet. That’s a luxury for the people who have not been affected by this disease. Others can’t tuck the trauma neatly away as easily. Not only that; it has real repercussions on women’s health: A 2022 study found that pink-themed awareness campaigns contributed to an increased number of screening mammograms performed in October, November, and December but did not impact screening statistics for the rest of the year—in fact, screenings were below the monthly average for the other three quarters of the year.
That pink eye shadow, shirt, or handbag might show solidarity to some, but for others it’s a painful reminder of struggle and loss. Nicole Kagy, a social worker at Cedars-Sinai who often works with breast cancer patients and survivors, shared in the hospital’s blog that the overwhelming majority of her patients are “triggered” by seeing pink everywhere they turn in October. And I understand that feeling first-hand after having lost someone to the disease.
When I see pink, I flashback to my stepmother first revealing her diagnosis to her kids, one of whom was only seven at the time. When I see pink, I remember being in the room when she died, where we all held our breath as hers slowed to a stop; we all expelled a sigh of mixed relief and grief when her suffering ended. When I see pink, I think about her young adult son walking her body out of her home instead of walking into his future wedding with his mom.
Needless to say I’ve been avoiding the gym on Wednesdays this month. And when the announcer at my son’s football games—which I can’t avoid—calls out the reason the team is wearing those pink socks, I’m simultaneously glad he’s connecting the dots for everyone while fighting back tears at the thought that it’s just too damn late for some people, my stepmother included.
No amount of pink fashion statements will help others know what living with and around breast cancer is like or understand how critical it is to donate to causes that actually make a difference. Marilyn participated in annual awareness walks that mattered to her. She saved all of the shirts, some of them pink, which hung in a row on the funeral home’s mantel during her visitation. She didn’t just wear the shirts; she walked the walk, quite literally, and gave to causes supporting research, including some of her organs in the end. My grief is too new for me to actively participate in breast cancer awareness the way she did, but I’ll know when it’s time. And when that time comes, I’ll be trying to educate others on the tough realities of cancer as a way to remember the woman who, above all, sought peace in the midst of any challenge, even the one that took her life.
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