Photo by Cynthia Larsen

What is “a decay preventive dentifrice,” Mr. Crest?

By Ed Goldman

I’ve long believed that dentists invented plaque and “tartar buildup” when cavities—their most reliable revenue sources—were greatly reduced by the introduction of fluoride into our toothpaste and waterways, the latter an obvious communist plot. 

The result has been the astonishing growth of a cottage industry: dental floss, that fibrous string we ram down between our teeth then swizzle out, in the process removing undigested food stuffs and replacing them with self-awarded virtue.

“Flossing” used to mean something entirely different from Roto-Rootering our choppers.  

In the 1930s it was slang for what we now call “glamming.” So was “puttin’ on the Ritz.” It just meant getting all dolled up to attend an event, a photo shoot or a tryst. You didn’t floss to participate in street riots, union walkouts or camping trips, of course, especially if any of them included the consumption of s’mores. I’m assuming that would only apply to the latter activity but I don’t claim to be either a cultural or fashion-forward authority.

In a way, “floss” has retained its hipster aura. Generally made of silk or nylon, the product—which comes in waxed or unwaxed, minty-fresh or tasteless/odorless varieties—floss is sometimes an unrequested party favor, generally presented at the conclusion of a meal. Especially if that meal included corn-on-the-cob or spare ribs, two delicacies that, left unchecked, can make your smile look scarier than that of a deranged pumpkin. (MAGA people: This is not an extraneous reference to your Beloved Leader, so please don’t send me spiteful emails or FedEx packages containing venomous snakes, no matter how much better its prices are than those of UPS.) 

The first time I was at a dinner party when dessert was followed by tiny salvers of floss circulated among the guests, I laughed, thinking it was a gag (which overly intensive flossing can also make you do, by the way). I assumed it was related to the sort of “theme” events then popular among people who couldn’t afford to circulate little trays of cocaine—like Murder Mystery, Come-As-You-Are, Come-As-You-Were, or Come-As-You-Wish-You-Were parties. 

But no. Not only did the married couple hosting the dinner hand each of us our own little container of floss, they also provided an over-rehearsed demonstration (complete with intended-to-be-comical patter) of how to use the product for maximum effectiveness. 

This was an impossible situation. I couldn’t just stand up, make nauseated gestures and leave the room because they were (at the time) close friends and besides that, were anti-pyorrhea crusaders. They sounded as though they’d been recruited by the floss manufacturer to host “friendraising” parties, just as the wine, cosmetics and cigar industries encourage customers to stage these events in return for discounts on their next purchases of Pinot, makeup and stogies, respectively.

One development I expected to emerge from all of this (but never did, thanks be to God and Madison Avenue) was a slew of TV commercials or infomercials (which are very lengthy TV commercials) in which flossing would be packaged and targeted to specific demographics. 

TV and radio spots aimed at younger consumers would emphasize that if you floss, your dating life will be greatly enhanced. Those pitched to people in their 30s and 40s would stress that floss can be a passkey to the executive C-suite. Geriatric marketing would imply that flossing might just extend the users’ lives—or at least their enjoyment of those golden years. (Denture wearers need not apply.)