How Q-tips Got Into Our Ears
The warning label has been on the box for 50 years. We were too embarrassed to read it.
Recently I wrote about custom ear plugs being the best $200 I’ve ever spent. I can finally sleep and want everyone to know about the solution that took me years to find. So I went live with my audiologist so others could see how Dr. Angela John made mine. But no one cared about my custom plugs. The real draw was Q-tips.
The item we shouldn’t be using in our ears — ever. Left alone, our ears are actually self-cleaning. The wax acts as a natural moisturizer, keeping the skin inside your ear supple, fighting off bacteria and infections. When we remove the wax unnaturally, the ear canal dries out. It becomes more prone to infection and becomes itchy. Which of course just makes you want to grab a Q-tip to reach the itch in your ear.
Dr. John suggests gentle soap and warm water in the shower, towel dry, done.
This news hit a nerve with me. The nagging at the back of my brain got louder when I started hearing from other readers: “I had no idea I shouldn’t be using Q-tips in my ears.”
I had no idea I shouldn’t be using Q-tips in my ears.
After hearing this during our conversation — I failed to ask Dr. John the real question in my mind: how did we start this peculiar habit of sticking something in our ear? And more importantly, why have we become so fastidious about cleaning something that isn’t actually dirty, in a way that can cause harm?
I remember when I first learned about using this bathroom staple around second grade. I was at my neighbor’s house, she was a bit older and known for her baton twirling skills. She was getting ready to go perform, but before she left, I saw her clean her ears with a Q-tip.
I’d never seen this and of course wanted a turn. I was appalled by what came out of mine. I sniffed, trying to figure out if it had an odor. I don’t know if I said the shameful part out loud or kept it to myself. “I’ve never cleaned my ears before.”
I’ve never cleaned my ears before.
I went home and repeated the process multiple times, worried I hadn’t gotten it all cleaned out. I feared others might have witnessed my yellowish wax. I started a rigorous cleansing habit. My shame stuck.
I never thought to question if this was necessary. And even if I had, my embarrassment would have outweighed my curiosity. Which is how the rest of us got here — doing something harmful — because none of us wanted to be the one to ask.
Leo Gerstenzang invented the Q-tip in 1923 after watching his wife wrap cotton around a toothpick to clean their baby. She solved the problem. He gets the credit.
From the baby we started to stick them in our bellybutton, then up our nose. So naturally we were going to keep shoving them into places where we can pull something out. Instant gratification and visible proof of personal hygiene.
By the 1970s, doctors saw a spike in issues caused by Q-tips, including punctured eardrums and impacted wax that got pushed further into the ear canal. The manufacturer added a warning: “Do not insert swab into ear canal.”
Do not insert swab into ear canal.
The caution still graces the side of the package. I’ve seen it, but convinced myself that it didn’t apply to me. Still sulking in my childhood shame, I was dedicated to my hygiene at all costs.
The Q-tip wasn’t long enough, and neither were my fingers. There’s no way I was shoving the swab into the canal. If anything, I was just doing a light dusting around the edge. Because that wax needed to come out. Right? Wrong.
Each year we buy 25 billion swabs just to feel clean. We all got the hygiene memo. But at what cost? The warning label is printed there in plain English. We just couldn’t read it through our shame.
When life stops making sense, we shop. More soon.
A Chinese American friend of mine told me that Asian people have clear earwax and the first time she saw her Caucasian husband’s qtip with yellow wax she flipped out because she thought something was horribly wrong.