The Unlikely Goldmine: Inside China’s Sanitary Napkin Boom

It began, as so many modern revolutions do, with a single screenshot. In the late summer of 2020, an image from a Chinese e-commerce site started making the rounds on Weibo, China’s equivalent of Twitter. It showed a product listing that was, for many urbanites, almost incomprehensible: 100 sanitary napkins, sold loose and unbranded in a clear plastic bag, for just 21.99 RMB—a little over $3. Beneath the listing, in the Q&A section, a user had posted a question dripping with disbelief and condescension: “How can anyone dare to use such a cheap, no-brand product on a private area? You dare to buy just anything for that?”.¹

The replies from those who had actually purchased the item were not defensive or angry. They were brief, devastatingly honest, and they cut through the digital noise with the force of a confession. One user wrote,“Life is hard.” Another added, “I have my difficulties”.²

In that simple, unadorned exchange, a topic long relegated to the shadows of Chinese society was thrust into the national spotlight. This was not just a fleeting internet drama; it was the moment that the concepts of “period poverty” (月经贫困, yuèjīng pínkùn) and “period shame” (月经羞耻, yuèjīng xiūchǐ) broke through the dam of cultural taboo and flooded the mainstream consciousness.³ For the first time, millions of people were forced to confront a reality they had either never known or willfully ignored: that for a significant portion of the female population in the world’s second-largest economy, a basic necessity was a luxury they could barely afford.

This article explores how this single, intimate product—the sanitary napkin—became a powerful and unlikely lens through which to view the convulsions of modern China. Its journey from a symbol of a hidden hygiene crisis, shrouded in shame and plagued by scandal, to a corporate goldmine worth over 100 billion yuan is more than just a business story. It is a narrative that reveals the profound collision of a social awakening, the rise of consumer empowerment, the disruptive force of technology, and the relentless, ever-adaptive nature of Chinese capitalism. This is the story of how a piece of cotton and non-woven fabric laid bare the fault lines of a nation in transition.

Part I: The Hidden Burden of Bleeding

Before it became a lucrative battleground for global and domestic brands, the sanitary napkin in China represented a dual crisis of accessibility and acceptance. This crisis was not born of a single event but was woven from centuries of cultural taboo and the stark economic disparities that persist beneath the gleaming surface of China’s economic miracle. Understanding this hidden burden is crucial to grasping why the market is evolving the way it is today.

The Reality of “Period Poverty”

The 22-yuan bulk package was a shock to many because it revealed an economic reality far removed from the consumerist frenzy of China’s megacities. While an average monthly supply of branded sanitary pads might cost around 40 RMB (about $5.50), a sum that seems trivial to middle-class households, this expenditure represents a significant financial strain for a vast number of women.³ For those in China’s lowest income brackets, particularly the hundreds of millions living in rural areas or working low-wage jobs with monthly incomes below 1000 RMB (about $140), this is a cost that competes directly with food and other essentials.³

The social media firestorm brought forth a flood of harrowing personal stories that gave a human face to the statistics. One woman, Song Wei, recounted how her parents, living in a county seat and not considered impoverished, viewed menstruation as both shameful and an unnecessary expense. For years after her first period, they refused to buy her pads, forcing her to fold toilet paper as a substitute. It was only through the guidance of her older sister and classmates that she eventually started using proper products, but the sense that they were an expensive luxury never left her.⁴

Her story is far from unique. A charity organization called UU公益, which provides support to low-income and “left-behind” children in rural areas (children whose parents have migrated to cities for work), discovered that the problem was endemic. When they began asking girls about their needs, they found that in the absence of affordable sanitary products and proper education, girls were using whatever they could find to manage their periods: old towels, coarse grass paper, pages torn from used exercise books, and even dirty rags.⁴ These makeshift solutions are not just uncomfortable; they are a direct threat to health, leading to infections and chronic gynecological problems.

What the “bulk napkin” incident made clear is that this is not merely a historical issue or a problem confined to the most remote villages. It is a contemporary crisis affecting a broad spectrum of society. University student Zhang Xiaoya described sanitary pads as a “luxury item,” recounting how she and her friends would stand in front of supermarket shelves, meticulously calculating the per-piece price to find the cheapest option. For her, the monthly cost of pads was a “huge sum” that competed with her food budget, a sentiment echoed by many young women struggling with rent and the high cost of urban living.⁴ This paradox—of a hyper-modern nation where university students view a basic hygiene product as a luxury—highlights the deep and often invisible economic pressures that shape daily life for millions.

The Cultural Weight of “Period Shame”

Compounding the economic burden is a cultural one, rooted in centuries of tradition that views menstruation as inherently unclean, polluting, and shameful.⁶ Even in modern China, the topic is swaddled in euphemism and avoidance. The word for menstruation, 月经 (yuèjīng), is rarely spoken aloud in mixed company. Instead, women use a host of code words, the most common being “大姨妈” (dà yímā), which literally translates to “great aunt,” as if speaking of a recurring, slightly unwelcome family visitor.⁹

This culture of shame has long been reinforced by the very industry meant to serve women. For decades, television commercials for sanitary napkins in China, as in many parts of the world, have used a sterile, blue liquid to demonstrate absorbency, a practice that divorces the product from the biological reality of blood and reinforces the idea that menstruation is something to be sanitized and concealed.¹ This visual language of shame has real-world consequences. One of the most common shared experiences among Chinese women is the ritual of hiding a pad when going to the restroom—tucking it up a sleeve, clenching it in a fist, or placing it in a specially designed small pouch to avoid anyone, especially men, seeing it.¹

This shame is far more than a matter of social awkwardness; it is a direct barrier to health and progress. The taboo prevents parents from having open conversations with their daughters about puberty, leaving them unprepared and frightened by their own bodies.⁴ It discourages women and girls from seeking medical help for menstrual irregularities or infections, with some rural girls fearing that a visit to a gynecologist will lead to rumors that they are pregnant.⁴ It also stifles public discourse, preventing open conversations about product quality, pricing, and needs. This deeply ingrained cultural silence created a vacuum where problems of poverty and poor quality could fester for decades, unaddressed and largely invisible.

The Awakening: Grassroots Activism Takes Hold

The public explosion of the “bulk napkin” conversation did more than just expose a problem; it catalyzed a solution. In the months that followed, a quiet but powerful grassroots movement began to spread across the country, originating on university campuses. It was called the “Sanitary Pad Mutual Aid Box” (卫生巾互助盒).¹¹

The concept was brilliantly simple. A student would place a small box or container in a women’s restroom, stock it with a few sanitary pads, and leave a note explaining the premise: if you are caught in an emergency, take one; if you have a spare, leave one.¹² The movement began at the East China University of Political Science and Law and, fueled by social media, quickly spread to hundreds of other universities and even some public spaces.¹²

This was not simply an act of charity. It was a form of quiet rebellion against both the economic and cultural burdens that had long weighed on women. By placing these boxes in plain sight, these young women were making a powerful statement: menstruation is a normal biological function, not something to be hidden. The need for a pad is a common, shared experience, not a personal failing. The movement was a bottom-up, collective action that bypassed traditional institutions and offered a direct, practical solution to a systemic problem.¹³ It signaled a critical generational shift, a move from passive suffering to active, collaborative problem-solving, and demonstrated a growing sense of female solidarity that would soon spill over into other areas of the market.

Part II: A Crisis of Confidence

As the social crisis of shame and poverty was being dragged into the light, a parallel crisis of confidence was brewing. Consumers, now more vocal and connected than ever before, began to turn a critical eye toward the very products they were being sold. The trust that major brands had spent decades and billions of yuan building began to erode, battered by a series of scandals that suggested a cynical disregard for the consumer. This “trust deficit” would prove to be just as transformative as the social awakening.

“Ruler Gate”: The Scandal of the Shrinking Pad

In late 2024, a new controversy, dubbed “卫生巾竟然怕尺子” (“Sanitary Napkins are Afraid of Rulers”), swept across Chinese social media.¹⁵ It was a perfect storm of consumer activism in the digital age. Armed with nothing more than rulers and smartphones, women across the country began measuring the sanitary pads in their bathrooms. What they found was a systemic and infuriating discrepancy. Products from nearly every major domestic and international brand—including ABC, Sofy, Kotex, Whisper, and Purcotton—were consistently shorter than the length advertised on their packaging.¹⁵

For example, an ABC brand pad marked as 240mm long was measured by users to be only 230mm. Worse, the crucial inner absorbent core was found to be just 200mm long, a significant difference for a product where every millimeter of coverage counts.¹⁶ When confronted with this “ironclad evidence,” the brands’ responses only fanned the flames. Most issued boilerplate statements insisting their products were compliant with national standards.¹⁵ One ABC dealer’s customer service agent delivered a particularly galling reply that quickly went viral: “A 1-2 centimeter difference is a normal error. If you can’t accept it, you don’t have to buy it”.¹⁶

This defense exposed a critical gap between what was legal and what consumers considered ethical. The companies were technically correct. China’s national standard for sanitary napkins, GB/T 8939-2018, allows for a full-length deviation of ±4%.¹⁵ For a 240mm pad, this permits a variance of up to 9.6mm. The source of the public’s outrage was the realization that this tolerance was being exploited as a loophole. The deviation was almost

always negative, a cost-saving measure that had become an open secret—a “tacit understanding”—within the industry.¹⁶ Consumers felt cheated, arguing that a national standard should be a baseline for safety, not the “highest standard” for a company’s integrity.

This event marked a crucial evolution in Chinese consumer culture. It demonstrated a shift from passive brand loyalty to active brand accountability. The combination of a simple tool (a ruler) and a powerful platform (social media) enabled a decentralized, crowdsourced audit of an entire industry. The power of this new consumer scrutiny was undeniable. In the face of overwhelming public anger, the founder of the ABC brand, Deng Jingheng, eventually issued a public video apology. He promised that his company would become the first in the industry to achieve “zero negative deviation,” implicitly admitting that the entire industry had been operating at the lower bound of the standard.¹⁶ It was a stunning victory for consumers and a clear signal that the old rules of the game were no longer valid.

A Litany of Lapses

The “Ruler Gate” scandal was the tipping point, but it stood on a foundation of long-simmering anxieties about product quality and safety. For years, the industry had been dogged by sporadic but alarming reports of quality control failures. Consumers had reported finding everything from insect eggs in packages of Kotex pads to using products from brands like Sofy and Seven Degree Space that were later found to have formaldehyde levels exceeding safety standards.¹⁸ Persistent fears about the use of “black heart cotton”—shoddy, recycled industrial waste—and the presence of potentially harmful fluorescent whitening agents had created a baseline of consumer skepticism.¹⁸

As consumers dug deeper, they began to question the adequacy of the national standards themselves. It was discovered, for instance, that the required pH range for sanitary napkins (4.0-9.0) was the same as the standard for C-class textiles—a category that includes products not intended for direct skin contact, such as curtains and upholstery.¹⁶ This seemed shockingly lax for an intimate product that is in direct contact with some of the most sensitive tissue on the body for hours at a time. Consumers argued that the standards should be closer to those for infant products (A-class) or at least underwear (B-class).¹⁶

The culmination of these issues—the shrinking pads, the foreign objects, the questionable chemicals, and the weak standards—created a deep and pervasive “trust deficit.” Consumers, particularly those in the rising middle class with disposable income, became highly suspicious of established legacy brands. They began actively seeking out alternatives that promised transparency, safety, and superior materials. This created the perfect opening for a new wave of brands built on promises of “100% pure cotton” and “medical-grade” safety, setting the stage for the market’s next great transformation.²⁰

Part III: The Gold Rush

The twin crises of conscience and confidence did not cause the sanitary napkin market to collapse. Instead, they created a perfect storm of opportunity. The public’s heightened awareness, coupled with a deep distrust of established players, turned a mature, competitive industry into a veritable gold rush. New entrants and savvy incumbents saw a chance to capture market share by addressing the very issues that had caused the turmoil: quality, transparency, and a direct connection with the consumer.

A Hundred-Billion-Yuan Battlefield

To understand the scale of the opportunity, one must look at the numbers. The Chinese sanitary napkin market is colossal. Valued at 70.34 billion RMB in 2023 (approximately $9.7 billion), it is projected to surge past 105 billion RMB by 2025 (over $14.5 billion).¹⁸ For an American audience, it’s important to understand the primary driver of this growth. Unlike in developing markets where growth comes from new users, in China, the penetration rate for sanitary napkins among women of menstruating age is already effectively 100%.²¹ The market’s expansion is therefore fueled almost entirely by price increases and a phenomenon known as “consumption upgrading” (消费升级, xiāofèi shēngjí), where consumers willingly pay more for products they perceive as higher quality, safer, or more specialized.²¹

Despite its size and maturity—over half of the existing companies in the space were established more than 10 years ago—the market is surprisingly fragmented.¹⁸ This is a key difference from the highly consolidated markets in the US or Japan. In China, the top five brands (a group that typically includes Sofy, Whisper, and the domestic giant Seven Degree Space) collectively hold only about 36% of the market share.²² This lack of a dominant oligopoly creates a “red ocean” of intense competition, but it also means there are significant gaps and niches for new players to exploit. The low concentration signals that no single brand has truly “solved” the Chinese market, leaving the door wide open for disruption.

The Douyin Disruption

The most significant disruptive force has been a revolution in sales channels. For decades, the path to success in China’s fast-moving consumer goods sector was clear: secure shelf space in the vast network of national and regional supermarkets and hypermarkets like Carrefour and Walmart. This required massive investment in distribution networks and strong relationships with retailers. Today, that model is being completely upended by the explosive growth of online commerce, particularly livestreaming e-commerce on platforms like Douyin (the Chinese version of TikTok) and Kuaishou.¹⁸

This new model allows brands to bypass traditional gatekeepers and speak directly to millions of consumers. Brands like Free Point and TAYO have built their success on this channel, with data showing that paid traffic—ads and partnerships that drive viewers to their livestreaming sessions—accounts for over 80% of their total traffic on Douyin.¹⁸ During these high-energy broadcasts, charismatic influencers present the products, offer limited-time discounts, and create a sense of urgency that drives immediate sales. This digital-first strategy has enabled new and second-tier brands to achieve national reach almost overnight, a feat that would have taken years and immense capital in the old retail landscape. The trend is so pronounced that many brands now segment their products by channel: the newest, most innovative, and highest-priced items are launched online, while offline supermarkets are increasingly relegated to selling older, more basic models.¹⁸

The Evolution of the Chinese Sanitary Napkin

The “consumption upgrade” is not an abstract economic term; it is visible on every store shelf and e-commerce page. The modern sanitary napkin is no longer a one-size-fits-all commodity. It has been segmented and specialized into a dizzying array of products, each designed to meet a specific need and command a higher price. The following table illustrates this evolution from a basic necessity to a premium, lifestyle-adjacent product.

Tier	Key Features	Target Consumer	Price (RMB/piece)	Example Brands
Basic	Standard absorption, thick design, basic materials. Focus on function.	Price-sensitive consumers, rural markets.	< 0.8	An’erle
Mid-Range	Ultra-thin design, cotton-feel (non-woven) surface, improved comfort.	Young students, office workers seeking a balance of price and comfort.	0.8 – 1.5	Seven Degree Space (Girl Series), Whisper (basic lines)
Premium	100% pure cotton surface, panty-style “period pants” (安睡裤), liquid-core technology for superior absorption.	Health-conscious, affluent women, new mothers.	1.5 – 3.0	Princess Nice (by All Cotton Era), V-cool (by Libresse), Sofy (premium lines)
Niche/Concept	Infused with probiotics, graphene, or herbal extracts; “heating” pads; sport-specific designs with enhanced adhesion; scented options.	Trend-following Gen Z, consumers with specific concerns (e.g., cramps, odor), active lifestyles.	> 3.0	Kotex (Probiotic), Sofy (Sport), various emerging brands

Sources for Table: ¹⁸

Part IV: The New Rules of Engagement

Succeeding in this new, turbulent battleground requires a completely different playbook. The old strategies of mass-market advertising and dominating retail channels are no longer sufficient. The brands that are winning today are those that have mastered a new set of rules centered on product innovation, hyper-targeted marketing, and the cultivation of community and trust in a digital-first world.

Product as Premium Experience

The “consumption upgrade” is driven by tangible product innovations that address long-standing consumer pain points. The runaway success of panty-style pads, known in Chinese as 安睡裤 (ānshuìkù, literally “safe-sleep pants”), is a prime example. These products, which are essentially a hybrid of underwear and a high-absorbency pad, directly solve the universal fear of nighttime leaks, offering a level of security that traditional pads could not.²² Their premium price—often more than double that of a standard night pad—is justified in the consumer’s mind by the promise of a worry-free night’s sleep.²²

Similarly, the rise of pure cotton products is a direct response to the “trust deficit.” In the wake of scandals involving questionable materials, brands like All Cotton Era, with its background in medical supplies, launched its Princess Nice (奈丝公主) line. By marketing its pads as having a “100% pure cotton” surface, core, and wings, it tapped directly into the consumer’s desire for products that are natural, safe, and transparent.²⁰ This focus on material purity has allowed new brands to position themselves as a trustworthy alternative to the legacy giants.

Beyond safety and function, brands are now competing on experience. We are seeing a proliferation of concept-driven pads designed to capture the imagination of younger, trend-conscious consumers. Kotex has launched pads infused with cranberry probiotics to promote vaginal health, while other brands are marketing “heating” pads for cramp relief or pads containing graphene or herbal skincare ingredients.¹⁸ This push toward hyper-segmentation is perhaps best illustrated by Sofy’s campaign for its sport-specific sanitary napkin. The brand partnered with influencers on Xiaohongshu (Little Red Book), China’s premier lifestyle and e-commerce platform, to promote a pad with enhanced adhesion, specifically designed to stay in place during exercise, with the catchy hashtag #贴得很牢抓紧撒野 (“Sticks on tight, go wild”).²⁵ This shows a market moving from serving a condition (menstruation) to serving a lifestyle (the active, modern woman).

The Fan Economy Playbook: A Case Study

Perhaps the most uniquely Chinese marketing phenomenon reshaping the industry is the leveraging of “饭圈文化” (fànquān wénhuà), or “fan circle culture.” To an American observer, this goes far beyond simple celebrity endorsement. Fan circles are highly organized, digitally-native communities dedicated to supporting a specific celebrity. Their activities often involve coordinated, quasi-militaristic campaigns to boost their idol’s commercial value by driving sales of their endorsed products, elevating their social media metrics, and defending them against rivals.²⁷

The 2024 launch of the sanitary napkin brand “Duowei” (朵薇) by pop star Huang Zitao is a masterclass in this playbook.¹⁸ Huang, a former member of the K-pop group EXO, is a major celebrity with a massive and devoted following. The logic behind this venture is not that consumers believe Huang Zitao personally uses or is an expert on sanitary napkins. The transaction is entirely different: for his fans, buying Duowei pads is a tangible act of loyalty. It is a way to contribute to their idol’s success and demonstrate the commercial power of their fandom.³⁰

The success of this strategy was immediate and staggering. Shortly after launch, combination packs of Duowei pads, originally priced at 49.8 RMB, were being resold by scalpers for up to 200 RMB—four times the retail price.¹⁸ This demonstrates that the product had transcended its utilitarian function. It had become a status symbol, a collector’s item, and a badge of honor within the fan community. This de-coupling of the product from the endorser’s personal use is a critical feature of the Chinese fan economy, highlighting a marketing dynamic that has no direct equivalent in the West.

The Rise of Influencer Inc.

The final evolution in this new marketing landscape is the move from influencer endorsement to influencer ownership. A new wave of brands is being launched not by traditional corporations, but by China’s top-tier influencers, known as Key Opinion Leaders (KOLs). Brands like Mianmiandeyang, founded by influencer Zhao Zihan, and Mianmima, founded by the controversial but hugely popular livestreamer Xinba, represent this trend.¹⁸

This is the ultimate monetization of trust and community. In a market still reeling from a “trust deficit” with legacy corporations, the perceived authenticity and relatability of an influencer is an incredibly powerful asset. These KOLs have spent years building a direct relationship with millions of followers, cultivating a community that trusts their recommendations. By launching their own brands, they are converting this social capital directly into financial capital. They control the narrative, the marketing, and the sales channel (their own livestream), effectively cutting out the middleman and leveraging their personal brand as the ultimate guarantee of quality. This represents a fundamental shift in the power dynamics of commerce, where influence is becoming as valuable as infrastructure.

Conclusion: More Than a Piece of Cotton

The story of the sanitary napkin in China is a journey from the unspoken to the undeniable. It began with a 22-yuan package of unbranded pads that exposed the hidden realities of poverty and shame. That single spark ignited a fire of public discourse that, in a few short years, has completely reshaped an entire industry and, in doing so, has held up a mirror to the nation itself.

The trajectory of this humble product offers a powerful narrative of contemporary China. It shows, first, that in the age of social media, a grassroots conversation about social justice can destabilize even the most entrenched industries. The voices of ordinary people, amplified online, can force long-overdue reckonings with issues that elites have ignored.

Second, it reveals the rise of a new kind of Chinese consumer. No longer passive recipients of marketing messages, they are active, skeptical, and empowered. Armed with simple tools and digital platforms, they have demonstrated the ability to hold massive global and domestic corporations accountable, demanding a level of transparency and quality that is forcing companies to change their behavior and even pushing regulators to reconsider national standards.

Third, in the vacuum of trust that these crises created, a “red ocean” market of fierce competition became a “goldmine” for a new generation of entrepreneurs. They recognized that the path to success was no longer through scale alone, but through addressing the consumer’s deepest anxieties about safety and their aspirations for a better quality of life.

Finally, the new marketing playbook that has emerged is a masterclass in monetizing the very forces that caused the disruption. It is a playbook that successfully turns social progress, fanatical loyalty, and influencer trust into billion-dollar revenue streams, employing strategies that are uniquely amplified by China’s distinct digital ecosystem.

The sanitary napkin, once a symbol of what couldn’t be spoken about, has become a testament to what happens when a society finally starts talking. Its evolution reflects the core tensions and transformations of a nation grappling with its cultural past, navigating the inequalities of its economic present, and rushing headlong into a complex, commercially-driven, and profoundly uncertain future. It is a story of crisis, opportunity, and the quiet, bloody, and now incredibly lucrative, revolution.

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