By Dave Barton
By LP Hastings
By Sarah Bennett
By LP Hastings
By Jena Ardell
By Steve Lowery
By R. Scott Moxley
By Joel Beers
The idea that African-Americans require their own Band-Aids sounds crazy or whiny at first. White power.(Not really.)
No, we're not—and everyone needs Band-Aids. Always has. In fact, if we could have sent Band-Aids back in time with Keanu Reeves and that other guy in Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure—or with Dave Chappelle's band of merry player haters—it probably would have been a good idea. They stick to you—better now than ever, and without leaving those lines of adhesive that you need Lava to scrape off. They're sanitary. They soak up the blood.
And, as in the case of Johnson & Johnson's newest addition to the Band-Aid line, they match—or claim to match—your skin tone. The little pad is shaded—light, medium or deep—to match three different gradations of skin tone. (The adhesive strip is now transparent.) What's wrong with that?
"So if you're ever worried about your bandage sticking out, remember this is the one that blends in . . ." the ad copy reads in Luckymagazine, below a picture of a happy young African-American couple in what looks like a park: sun shining, birds singing, the girl sitting on the guy's lap, his arms around her waist, her arms around his arms. And a medium-shade Band-Aid on her shoulder.
You get the sense, if you get out in the world, or have seen other people through your monocle/telescope/binoculars, that this series of Band-Aids' coloration can't be perfect—despite its name, Perfect Blend. But then, the space shuttle wasn't perfect either. And while, yeah, maybe Johnson & Johnson is really just finding another way to jam itself down our throats by sticking itself to our bodies, so what?
As a nation, we still need a much deeper fix than a Band-Aid can ever make—one much deeper than we'll ever get. But this is one fix a Band-Aid can make. Besides, remember what Band-Aids were like 10, 15 years ago? Do you feel sad for the old Band-Aid? The new one is much better.