A little context. A big challenge.

TENA is the #1 brand for bladder weakness globally. But, it’s in the unique position of having a first mover disadvantage. It’s paradoxically both the trusted leader and the shameful choice, supposedly flogging granny nappies.

It’s frustrating because product superiority is key for the brand. We have a comprehensive portfolio, from super thin liners to washable underwear, from sensitive skin solutions to black pads, designed to be invisible in black underwear.

When people try us, they don’t look back. But, if decades of innovation has taught us anything, it’s that the care that goes into producing the best products means nothing in the face of stubborn preconceptions.

We didn’t want to add to ignorance and euphemisms within the category or adopt a fear based strategy. We wanted to tackle the problem from the root in a more holistic and empathic way.

A triple stigma

No one wants bladder weakness. No one wants to buy TENA. No one wants to be seen as a ‘TENA lady’. Because, let’s be honest, no one wants to use a product they think will make them feel like a granny in a nappy.

This isn’t just an issue for the brand, it’s an issue for women themselves. It’s a reflection on how we, as a society, consider them. We’re made to fear ageing, particularly as women, and reject any product associated with it, particularly an incontinence product.

This led us to coin the term ‘triple stigma’. These women exist in the collision course of ageism, sexism and incontinence. And whilst we stand to support all women, we knew we had a bigger role to play for this audience.

The Creative Idea

“As in puberty, there will be tears. And anger. And tragically unfortunate haircuts”*

For mothers and daughters, these moments of huge hormonal imbalance tend to happen under the same roof, at very similar times. A hormonal hellscape where families end up being pulled further apart rather than feeling connected through honesty and openness.

But whilst puberty is the inspiration for iconic culture and gets its own stories of rage, confusion and becoming, menopause doesn’t. Where one is understood, the other isn’t. We wanted to readdress the cultural imbalance, and put midlife women at the center of the narrative with their own Coming of Age story. In doing so, we’d reinject humour and humanity into the lifestage, and subvert damaging stereotypes along the way.

At the heart of our campaign was our powerful film. We start by foregrounding the daughter, playing into audience biases, making you assume she is the narrator. Slowly and subtly, the focus shifts, until it becomes clear the mother is the protagonist, relating her own account of an equally tumultuous menopause.

With reflective poignancy, you realize she is speaking as a mother and a daughter, contemplating her own experience and her mother’s too, questioning whether she should have prepared her better for this, so she could better prepare her own daughter.