Issue #17: What Means Little To You May Mean The World To Another: A Sticky Story

Adhesive bandages, commonly known as plasters, or in the United States by the genericised trademark name, Band-Aid, have gone through a few iterations over the last two centuries. On March 26, 1845, William H. Shecut and Horace H. Day received a patent from the United States Patent Office for their invention - an adhesive medicated plaster, the forerunner for the plasters we have today. It improved on the rigid wound dressings of yore that were hard to remove and caused uneasiness. The rights to the patent was sold to Dr Thomas Allcock, who then marketed it under the name Allcock’s Porous Plaster. Not much changed with the product for a long time, until June 1920, when a Johnson & Johnson employee, Earle Dickson, invented a new adhesive plaster for his wife, who had a habit of cutting and burning herself while cooking. Its innovation was that it allowed her to dress her wounds without assistance. Earl showed his employer his invention, and they mass-produced it and marketed it under the name Band-Aid. For the longest time, the product was manufactured in a single colour: light pink, a colour that blends with skin that isn’t melanated. 

Black and brown people wished for plasters that blend with their melanated skins. The bright-coloured ones invite questioning gazes, especially when they are worn over injuries on conspicuous body parts. I don’t know about you, but having strangers stare at me constantly makes me feel uncomfortable.

The wish has now become a reality. Band-Aid and many other plaster brands now have plasters that blend with the skins of black and brown folks, which has understandably gotten people excited. Look at the tweets below, for example:

But not everyone is as enthused. Some don’t understand what the excitement is all about. Why would anyone care about the colour that plasters come in? They ask. 

And it made me think about how people dismiss the valid concerns of minorities. They ignore our call for better representation and for products that fit our morphology. They call us whiny and tell say it’s not a big deal. But it is a big deal. I have a personal story to share.

I finished my MSc in a year when the UK did not offer post-study visas to international students. You either got a job before your student visa expired, or you had to go back to wherever you came from. Students usually had three to four months after graduation. Every tick of the clock was a constant reminder that you were running out of time. It was a pressure cooker environment. Needless to say, a huge chunk of international students were forced to leave the country because they couldn’t secure jobs in such a short time. 

I wanted to stay in the UK, so I applied for entry-level roles in companies I knew could sponsor work visas. I applied to more than fifty roles and got rejected by everyone. Sponsorship is expensive, and companies weren’t willing to take the risk on junior roles. Time kept ticking, the pressure kept increasing, and I kept hoping and waiting. While I was waiting for a company to give me an opportunity to interview, I decided to finally treat the scars that had bedevilled me for years. When I was a teenager, I had a bad case of cystic acne, mainly across my jawline. They left visible scars, and I was really conscious about them at the time. The treatment I could afford was cryosurgery, which involves applying extreme cold (using liquid nitrogen) to the scar tissues, damaging them. Scabs form over the damaged tissues as they heal. Anyway, a few days after my treatment, I got a life-changing call. A company had found me on LinkedIn, told me they loved my profile, and wanted me to come to London for an interview. I told them I needed visa sponsorship, and they told me they would do it if I passed the interview. I was over the moon. I knew my fate was in my hands at that point. My excitement turned into worry shortly after when I remembered my still scabby, healing scars. The interview was in a few days, so I had no choice but to cover the wound on my face with the soft pink-coloured plasters. I didn’t find plasters that matched my skin tone in the pharmacy. 

I was so nervous and self-conscious on my way to London with the conspicuous plasters on my face. I felt everyone was staring at me, and I couldn’t concentrate. I still think that is one of the most uncomfortable moments in my life. I got to the office and realised the interview was at an assessment centre where I was interviewed alongside nine other people. Again, I felt like everyone was staring at me and the huge plasters on my face. I couldn’t calm my nerves, especially when I had to present a case study in front of the interviewers and the other interviewees. My nervousness ensured that I didn’t do well. The only part I knew I aced was the technical test. Luckily, the panel overlooked my awkwardness and anxiety, and I was offered the job based on my performance on the technical test, but I always think about how that could have turned out differently. The only chance I had could have been blown because I was anxious about wearing plasters that didn’t match my skin tone. My life could have turned out dramatically differently.

My experience is why I understand why people are excited about the new plaster colours. I get it. And to the people that don’t get it and don’t see it as a big deal, I hope they understand that sometimes what means little to them may mean the world to someone else.