For most women, the time between your first and last period is defined by things other than the phases of the menstrual cycle. Or at least it used to be. But much has changed in the ontology of modern womanhood from the halcyon era of the 1990s, when women were positively encouraged to get out there and get on with it rather than sit around mooning about how rotten they feel.
But here we are. Periods, like so much else that was formerly humdrum, have burst hideously on to the scene; sapping, among other things, a woman’s valuable Right to Ignore. Instead of being seen as a mild inconvenience of only the vaguest interest, menstruation has ascended the feminine ranks to become life-defining, soul-shaping and universe-channelling. Instagram is full of influencers hawking everything from recipes to candles, citing formerly indistinguishable phases of the cycle as the reason to make or buy this or that.
A recent piece in the Atlantic, subtitled ‘hormone hype is out of control’, outlines some of the wilder manifestations of this cultural craze. There’s the meal-kit company Hungry Root recommending sweets during the luteal phase. There’s the ‘periodic serums’ range from French skincare brand Typology, offering a different skin serum for every phase of your cycle (interestingly, the website says this line will be ‘discontinued soon’. Could they be a step too far under EU law?) There are myriad home tests and apps to help you self-diagnose ‘hormone imbalances’.
Yet, reads the Atlantic article, summing up the views of most endocrine experts: ‘Despite their use of scientific-sounding language like follicular and luteal, content creators severely exaggerate the influence of hormonal changes and the euphoria they can supposedly inspire. Hormones are not just powerful, they insist, but empowering, the ticket to health, harmony, and femininity.’
It follows, of course, that if you feel off, there must be ‘something’ wrong with your hormones. And here is the real kicker: that ‘something’ is very often now deemed to be birth control.
Birth control pills work by suppressing ovulation. For most women (not all), this feels fine, and has no long-term effect on fertility or health. In some cases, it doesn’t agree, and women can try the progesterone-only mini-pill, which doesn’t suppress ovulation, but can have other unwanted side effects. If that doesn’t work, then you can always try a copper (non-hormonal) coil, or resort to good old latex prophylaxis. Back in the infinitely more rational good old days (the 1990s of my youth), you just did what worked so you could shag without worrying about pregnancy. You didn’t turn it into a mystical crisis involving the stars and the universe and femininity.
Menstruation has ascended the feminine ranks to become life-defining, soul-shaping and universe-channelling
Of course, the quasi-feminism, goddess-cult-ish mumbo jumbo about hormones is coterminous with an arch-conservative position on birth control. ‘If you want women to be feminine again, and soft again and beautiful, women need to be ovulating,’ Alex Clark, the Maga influencer, has said. So this isn’t just superficial lifestyle stuff about candles and cutely packaged serums; it’s about a rejection of science and rationality full stop.
But why? It seems to me that, like the return to anti-Semitism, this is a function of generational amnesia. Just as many don’t remember where the persecution of Jews ends up, they don’t seem to have any sense of how bad life could be for women in the pre-birth control, pre-sexual revolution era. Perhaps they also don’t appreciate how lucky we are to have modern medicine and science more generally.
The rabid embrace of astrology by young women would seem to support this idea. Co-Star, an app that claims to combine Nasa data with astrologer content, surged from about 7.5 million global users in 2020 to 30 million in 2023. It is commonplace on dating sites to list your star sign – which is considered a key piece of information for potential compatibility, often more so than work or religion. According to Allied Market Research, spending on astrology-related products is projected to grow to $22.8 billion (£17 billion) by 2031 – up from $12.8 billion (£9.5 billion) in 2021.
It is hard to overstate how irrational and silly astrology is. It is literal nonsense. And yet it has been taken on as religion, identity, lifestyle flourish. Paganism, by the same token, is one of the fastest-growing religions in the UK. In search of some substance to it, I went on a trip to Glastonbury for The Spectator a few years ago to observe and speak to druids, water witches, goddesses and the like. Astrology and tarot cards were everywhere along with hideous drawings of women with flowing hair. I dug and dug and came up empty-handed. There was nothing there except blowsy buzzwords about ‘feminine power’ and the like.
As an atheist, I can’t say that I turn to organised religion for my epistemological framework. But I can’t help but wonder if, next to the current breed of period-watching, hormone-twitching star sign worshippers, it wouldn’t be far preferable. At least there is substance there. History, morality and things to think about beyond the normal fluctuations of women’s reproductive plumbing.
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