An Open Letter to Q-Tips

I don’t care what uses you suggest, we all know you're going straight in my ear.

Luca Clark is a comedy writer and musician currently based in Western Massachusetts. Luke Herzog is a Brooklyn-based comedy writer and playwright who has also contributed to McSweeney’s, Points in Case, and Slackjaw.

Photo by Etactics Inc on Unsplash

Dear Q-Tips,

It’s time to drop the charade. “Wiping between your baby’s toes.” “Cleaning your bathroom’s tile grout.” “Dipping into perfume, then storing in a plastic bag for later.” I just have one question: Who do you think you’re fooling? We all use you for the same thing—and it’s none of those.

Your packaging warns, “Not to be inserted in your ear!” I disagree. If God didn’t want us to scratch our inner ears with your little cotton ball lollipops, maybe he shouldn’t have put a little pleasure center in there. This exquisite cluster of nerve endings, this secondary clitoris, can only be reached with your perfectly-shaped product. And not only does it scratch the ultimate itch, but we are rewarded with the TikTok-level satisfying visual of the week’s earwax buildup.

Here’s the thing: it’s pure sin, what we (99% of your customers, that is) do with your rods. It’s utter indulgence in an activity that we know for a fact is bad for our physical well-being. But is that self-destructive impulse not the very crux of what makes us human?

So I say, embrace the debauchery! Your product should legally be considered a Schedule 4 drug, so start acting like it. Don’t beat around the bush with your bullshit “Suggested Uses.” Tito’s doesn’t offer a recipe for penne alla vodka on the back. The lotto doesn’t provide instructions on how to fold a scratch-off into an origami crane. Marlboros don’t have a note from the Surgeon General advising “Do not insert in the human mouth (use them as musky herbal incense, instead).”

Just once, I’d like to buy a Q-Tip box with text on the back that reflects reality: Dig the gunk out of your ear until you feel like a freshly scrubbed wooden porch. 1% chance of hearing loss and/or bleeding after every use, but you don’t care, do you, you sick fuck.

Back in the 1920s, Q-Tips were known as Baby-Gays™ (that’s real). But times change. Clearly, your shrewd marketing team recognized that Q-Tips™ would sell better than Baby-Gays™, which means you’re no stranger to a rebrand. Do you know what would sell even better than Q-Tips™? Q-Tips-But-Now-You’re-Allowed-To-Put-Them-In-Your-Ears™.

No need to change the design! Just use the increased profits to deal with the lawsuits.

I want to break a wax seal like I’m a nobleman reading royal correspondence. No, deeper: I want to beat my eardrums like I’m Keith Moon. No, deeper still: I want to scratch my brain’s temporal lobes ‘til they’re smooth. And then I want to dislodge the now-disintegrating stick from my cochlea and peel off a perfect waxen circle like it’s a goddamn French cheese.

DO YOU HEAR ME, Q-TIPS? I hope so, because I can’t quite hear you… I’ve sustained a little damage over the years.

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