To bleach his own

The media-fed obsession with the perfect smile has helped create an army of chalky, Tic Tac-like teeth so blindingly white they appear to be ... blue.

By David Amsden

Apr 27, 2004 | The other day I was at some sort of art opening, standing in the corner, surrounded by the kind of burnished people who instinctively make me a little nervous -- the way they refer to things like art openings as "events," garments of clothing as "pieces," even the world's crappiest movies as "films." I was talking to a woman whose jarringly luminescent smile had a peculiar effect on me: Staring at her, I was reminded of a moment during my freshman year of college when my then-girlfriend invited me up to her dorm room to give me a gift, which ended up being her freshly waxed genitals.

Don't laugh. I'm being serious here.

Let me explain: The art-opening woman -- 30s, stunning, perfectly disheveled in designer jeans and one of those curious tops that coyly expose a single shoulder -- had these teeth that were tremendously, shockingly, eerily white. I had to squint. I was envious, turned on, repulsed and a little frightened all at once -- which, as it happens, is exactly how I felt that night in the dorm room as my girlfriend stood there in the buff, blinking, and in a babyish voice asked, "You like?"

No doubt you've encountered such a creature: someone whose teeth have gone through the modern-day whitening ringer to the point where they come out funny-looking, whiter than white. Maybe adhesive night strips were involved. Or some sort of paint-on gel. A regimen of specialized toothpastes. Trips to a "cosmetic dentist" or, as they now have in SoHo, a "whitening spa." Perhaps it was a misguided, overzealous combination of all of the above. Whatever the specific concoction may be, the result is always the same: teeth that have passed through the barrier of "human" and into some mannequin-like terrain -- teeth as natural-looking as, yes, a pubic region that appears plucked from a Mr. Potato Head kit.

Some fun facts: According to William Chappell, an analyst at SunTrust Robinson Humphrey in Atlanta, well over 50 percent of all toothpaste is marketed as having some kind of whitening powers, and in the near future, he says, that figure will approach 100 percent, with "whitening" joining more health-conscious phrases as "tartar control" and "plaque fighting" as mandatory toothpaste tube rhetoric. In the last four years, the tooth-whitening industry has grown 300 percent, 86 percent in the past year alone. This year, 10 million Americans will contribute to a $15 billion franchise by having their teeth professionally whitened, and untold millions more will treat themselves to some sort of over-the-counter procedure -- bright white cogs in a $300 million machine. Turn on the TV, flip through a magazine, go to the drug store, and you are bombarded with strange new products: Crest has Night Effects, Whitestrips Premium, a new SpinBrush Pro whitening toothbrush. BriteSmile, a professional whitening center, seduces customers with celebrity endorsements from Alan Thicke and someone from "Survivor." Trident offers whitening chewing gum. Mentadent presents a whitening mouth tray to compete with Natural White's at-home whitening kit. Rembrandt, the granddaddy of them all, is proud to promote something called the Whitening Wand, disposable whitening strips ("Just bleach and toss!"), two-hour whitening kits, and an "age-defying" whitening mouthwash, to say nothing of its exhaustive line of whitening toothpastes that are widely imitated by Aquafresh, Arm & Hammer, Colgate and everyone else in the game.

Next Page: "It's not love -- it's new Crest Whitestrips Premium"

• View blog reactions