All that glistens is not (green) gold: historicising the contemporary chlorophyll fad through a multimodal analysis of Swedish marketing, 1950–1953

Introduction

In early 2021, chlorophyll hit global headlines as Instagram and Tiktok influencers promoted its regular consumption to help lose weight, improve skin, combat constipation, boost energy and even prevent cancer (Seow, 2021). As a result, sales of chlorophyll water immediately increased by 356%, while $6.7m were spent over the course of the past year on chlorophyll supplements (Khokhar, 2021). The market is projected to grow even further in 2022 because of the increasing prevalence of chlorophyll in juices, yoghurts and energy bars (DataIntelo, 2021). Most consumers are young women (18–40 years), unaware that this is not the first time that the substance has been gripped by this health craze. In fact, chlorophyll has a long and troubled history dating back to the 1950s.

Following experiments by American scientists that revealed chlorophyll’s ability to stop odours, canny manufacturers began adding a water-soluble form of the green pigment to everything from soaps and deodorants to cigarettes and dog food (Qvarsell and Torell, 2005). Millions of dollars were invested in elaborate marketing campaigns, praising the wonders of this “green gold” and, just as today, these advertisements were targeted particularly at women, taking advantage of their insecurities to promote chlorophyll as essential to maintaining high standards of cleanliness and hygiene. For three years, such advertisements dominated newspapers and magazines, but it all came to an abrupt end in 1954 when various medical and food associations reported that there was no conclusive evidence that chlorophyll had any deodorising effects (Smith, 2019). The health benefits of chlorophyll were declared a marketing scam and all chlorophyll products became discontinued with immediate effect (Young and Young, 2004).

Chlorophyll stands as a powerful example of the long relationship between science and food/cosmetics marketing, demonstrating not only how scientific discoveries trigger new products or lead old products to be branded in new ways, but also how these products’ claims can often be fraudulent or overstated (O’Hagan, 2021a, 2021b). However, today, its short-lived popularity in the 1950s is largely forgotten and its commercialisation is framed as a contemporary phenomenon generated by influencers. Across all fields of study, there is a considerable lack of literature on the historical origins and marketing of chlorophyll, with any mentions reduced to brief anecdotes on blogs or forums. This absence is reflective of a more general dearth of literature on the historical link between science and food/cosmetics marketing, with most studies emphasising science in marketing as a product of the modern age (Jovanovic, 2014; Chen, 2015; Chen and Eriksson, 2021). Of the scant historical studies that exist, most concern patent medicines and vitamins (Apple, 1996; Hansen, 1999; Loeb, 2001; Curth, 2002), with little attention paid to food/cosmetics and how science is used to shape discourses, beliefs and behaviours around health and healthy lifestyles (for exceptions, see Nelson et al., 2020; Eriksson and O’Hagan, 2021).

Therefore, this paper sets out to historicise the contemporary chlorophyll trend and showcase that this is not the first time that the substance has worked as a blank canvas for desired benefits through the first academic study of its early marketing in Sweden (1950–1953). Drawing upon a data set of previously unexplored advertisements held in the Swedish Historical Newspaper Archive, it seeks to understand how brands instantly responded to the discovery of chlorophyll and used marketing to convince predominantly female consumers of its necessity to fulfil certain aspirational goals, in this case to remain fresh and clean. Given their multimodality, the advertisements are approached through the theoretical framework and methodological toolkit of multimodal critical discourse analysis (MCDA) – a way of uncovering how meaning is created and conveyed in texts (Ledin and Machin, 2018, 2020). Overall, the study shows how the commercial use of chlorophyll offered a lucrative opportunity for marketers, acting as a “tabula rasa” on which they could use discourses of science, nature, idealised femininity and luxury to draw connections with health, modernity and beauty, despite the product having no real purpose or value. Viewing this fad from a historical perspective showcases the susceptibility of consumers to passing fancies and canny marketing and emphasises how the supposed scientific and medical benefits of products continue to be exploited by brands, marketers and influencers. Its findings will, thus, serve as an important reference point for those researching the impact of scientific discoveries on both historical and contemporary marketing and demonstrate how the meaning potentials of semiotic resources can be mobilised by those in positions of power for their own personal agendas, often targeting the most vulnerable in society (in this case, women). The findings will also offer consumers a space to reflect more critically on the claims put forward about chlorophyll and other trends today in ways that they may struggle to do when being too temporally close to them.

The commercialisation of chlorophyll: its origins and development

Chlorophyll – the pigment in all green plants that is responsible for their colour and that absorbs light to provide energy for photosynthesis – is one of the world’s most common substances. Although it was first isolated and named in 1817 by French scientists Joseph Bienaimé Caventou and Pierre Joseph Pelletier, it was only in the early twentieth century that researchers began to examine more carefully its structure and functions (Delepine, 1951). In the 1930s, Benjamin Gruskin developed a water-soluble form of chlorophyll (known today as chlorophyllin), which he believed would be an effective remedy for burns and ulcers. However, there was such hype over the discovery of antibiotics at the time that he struggled to convince the pharmaceutical industry of its worth (Frohman, 1955).

Roughly 15 years later, F. Howard Westcott was conducting research into the use of chlorophyll to treat anaemia when he serendipitously discovered its effectiveness as an odour blocker. He noticed that, when his patients took chlorophyll, the smell of their urine decreased, particularly after consuming asparagus or vitamin B. This prompted him to theorise that chlorophyll could work in the body to deodorise bad breath and perspiration (Time, 1950). Westcott conducted a new experiment, where subjects took chlorophyll and used an osmoscope 24 hours after taking a bath to measure their underarm odour. He found that, in all subjects, their odour had halved or disappeared. Next, he asked them to drink a glass of onion juice and then take chlorophyll; once again, it proved to clean their mouths and reduce bad breath.

Marketers quickly latched onto Westcott’s discovery, recognising the huge commercial potential of chlorophyll. In 1950, the salesman O’Neill Ryan bought out Gruskin’s original patent and launched a chlorophyll toothpaste, Chlorodent, onto the US market. Immediately, other US manufacturers followed suit, and soon, consumers could get their hands on chlorophyll chewing gum, mouthwash, air freshener, toilet rolls, washing-up liquid, nappies and socks, amongst many other products (Qvarsell and Torell, 2005). Facilitated by the widespread circulation of the popular press, the chlorophyll trend spread across the Atlantic and manufacturers scrabbled to release similar products onto the European market. Newspaper headlines described 1952 as “The Year Everything Turned Green” (Smith, 2019), while a 1953 report by Popular Mechanics estimated that chlorophyll products would earn at least $120m in the USA alone in the coming year.

From as early as 1946, Swedish newspapers reported enthusiastically about the potential health benefits of chlorophyll. Explainer articles were written and interviews were conducted with the country’s top scientists and physicians, while news stories reported on lectures about chlorophyll taking place across the country. Chlorophyll was also parodied in cartoons, poems and jokes. Writing in Svenska Dagbladet on 19 November 1951, one journalist bemoaned the fact that the “Light Queen” of the traditional St Lucia’s festival [1] was now “some kind of Miss Lucia advertising chlorophyll underwear”, while an article dated 1 October 1952 excitedly announced the invention of a suit soaked in chlorophyll. Just one month later, a promotional report of a health food fair in Stockholm described its main event as “something about chlorophyll” (6 November 1952). Despite this vague description, the fair was well-attended, emphasising just how much the substance had captured the Swedish public’s imagination. In addition, large pictorial advertisements for chlorophyll products were a regular feature in newspapers. Thus, as Sweden entered the 1950s, the vast majority of its population encountered chlorophyll on a daily basis or had a basic knowledge of what it was, even if they did not fully understand it.

The advertising industry in Sweden: a brief history

For centuries, Sweden had been a predominantly rural country, but in the late nineteenth century, it was developing into a modern, industrialised nation (Magnusson, 2002, p. 302). This led to two major (interrelated) changes in Swedish society: the emergence of a new middle class and the birth of modern advertising. Shrewd entrepreneurs recognised that the middle class had greater disposable income and were conscious of keeping up with the latest trends. Thus, they provided a ready-made consumer market for new products and could be easily swayed by the rhetoric of modernity, technology and science (Stendahl, 2016). In its early years, the advertising industry was unregulated and chaotic, with advertisers pushing prices down by playing off agencies and newspapers against one another (Åström Rudberg, 2019, p. 54). The agencies and newspapers decided that they needed to do something to control competition. This came in the form of a cartel.

In 1915, the Association of Swedish Advertising Agencies and the Association of Swedish Newspaper Publishers came together and developed a cartel agreement, which was formalised in 1923. The agreement enabled them to control and influence all parts of the advertising market by developing extensive regulations and strict rules on payments, discounts and price levels, which protected the prices for newspaper advertisements and the agencies’ income – an unusual system compared to other Western countries at the time. Through the agreement, only certified agencies that met four major criteria were allowed to place advertisements: be financially stable, have an established customer base, have an experienced leadership and be of good standing (Åström Rudberg, 2019, 256). Until 1992, advertisements were banned from radio and television in Sweden. Newspapers, therefore, represented the most important part of the advertising market and a crucial means of conveying information to the public.

To market a product, advertisers had two choices: approach newspapers directly or employ an advertising agency. The agency was responsible for all contact with the newspapers and worked on a commission of roughly 15–20% per advertising space (Arnberg, 2019). This meant that they earnt money every time an advertisement was published, which incentivised them to publish the same advertisement as many times as possible in different newspapers (Åström Rudberg, 2019, p. 53). In the context of the current study, this is apparent: all advertisements for chlorophyll products frequently reoccur across the three-year period in all major local and national newspapers with no variation in content.

Although the cartel played an active role in creating, shaping, propagating and debating regulatory regimes of advertising, it did little to clamp down on false or misleading advertising (Funke, 2015). Rather, its regulations were concerned with principles of competition and proper business conduct. Shortly after the cartel was founded, Swedish retail and wholesale organisations put forward proposals to regulate marketing practices, but the cartel deemed these as a potential threat to long-term economic interests and they were ignored (Funke, 2015, 93). Under mounting pressure, a new law was agreed against disloyal competition in 1931, which prohibited the intentional use of false statements in advertisements, as well as the gross misuse of premiums and “buy one get one free” offers. This was updated in 1942 to include the prohibition of the unfair use of trademarks. However, it was criticised for its narrow scope, limited applicability and vague statutes, meaning that prosecutors had little interest in applying the legislation, and it, therefore, failed to have an impact on market behaviour (Funke, 2015, 94). In 1941, a special board for the regulation of pharmaceuticals was formed, which had both clearance and policing functions (i.e. to check proposed advertisements and to ensure that published advertisements were not misleading). A similar board was set up for pesticides in 1948. Proposals were also put forward to regulate non-prescription medications and nutrition supplements in the same way but were rebutted by the Advertising Federation (Funke, 2015). However, at no time was the creation of a board to regulate food or cosmetics deemed necessary. In 1953, the cartel helped shape a new competition law that disallowed competitive practices that were not in the public’s interests. Again, this law neither did explicitly address the problem of false advertising, nor did it pay specific attention to food or cosmetics [2].

Thus, we can see how, at the time of the chlorophyll fad in the early 1950s, there was no general clause to regulate marketing in Sweden. This enabled marketers to exploit loopholes, drawing upon a range of linguistic and visual cues to create a buzz around the newly discovered health benefits of old products (O’Hagan, 2019). As Jonsson (2009) notes, Swedish marketers at this time also aimed to associate products with attitudes and feelings, often tailoring them specifically to women by drawing upon discourses of beauty and hygiene. These early forms of lifestyle marketing and gender segmentation are apparent throughout the advertisements that will be studied in this paper.

Data and methodology

This study seeks to understand how Swedish marketers used advertisements to convince predominantly female consumers of chlorophyll’s “health-restoring” properties through case studies of the three most popular chlorophyll products: toothpaste/mouthwash, sanitary towels and soap.

Specifically, it asks the following questions:

The data on which this paper draws comes from extensive research into the marketing of chlorophyll products in Sweden in the early 1950s. Initially, the keyword “klorofyll” was used to search the Swedish Historical Newspaper Archive (https://tidningar.kb.se/) for advertisements. The search revealed a wide range of chlorophyll products that emerged on the market in January 1950 only to disappear again by December 1953. In total, 150 advertisements were collected, covering such products as mouthwash, toothpaste, air freshener, plant food, mints, sanitary towels, soap, shaving foam, perfume and washing-up liquid, and were marketed by well-known international brands like Colgate, Air Wick and Palmolive just as much as old and new Swedish brands keen to tap into the potentials of chlorophyll. Of the 150, 88 concerned toothpaste/mouthwash, sanitary towels and soap – the focus of this paper. On the whole, each brand produced one advertisement that was repeated over the course of three years in all major Swedish national and local newspapers (typically once a month but, at its peak, once every five days). Given their same content, the advertisements gathered for this study and analysed in this paper all come from Svenska Dagbladet – Sweden’s largest newspaper.

To investigate how the discovery of chlorophyll impacted brands’ marketing practices, I selected the three most popular chlorophyll products – toothpaste/mouthwash, sanitary towels and soap – and searched the Swedish Historical Newspaper Archive for advertisements ten years before and ten years after the 1950–1953 craze. For the sake of manageability, ten advertisements per product were collected for each year, resulting in a total of 600 advertisements (300 from 1940–1950 and 300 from 1954–1964).

The collected advertisements were then analysed using MCDA, which is a systematic way of studying the co-deployment of language and semiotic modes in texts (Ledin and Machin, 2018, 2020). It draws upon two important methodologies from the field of sociolinguistics: multimodality, which is concerned with how information is communicated both verbally and visually, and critical discourse analysis, which identifies how certain practices, ideas and values are transmitted through discourse (Ledin and Machin, 2018, p. 4). MCDA, thus, provides a way to deconstruct linguistic and visual cues in terms of how they shape the representations of events and persuade people to think about them in a particular way (Machin, 2013).

Integral to MCDA is the concept of “modality”, described by Ledin and Machin (2018, p. 10) as a way “to think about how real, or not, a representation claims to be”. Modality can be assessed through lexical choices, such as the presence or absence of modal verbs (e.g. may, will and must) and adjectives (e.g. possible, probable and likely) to express likelihood or obligation, adverbial intensifiers (e.g. very, most and remarkably) to indicate certainty or uncertainty and counterfactuals (e.g. if […] then […]) to present something as truthful or untruthful. Modality can also be evaluated through semiotic choices, such as images, illustrations, symbols, colour and typography, as well as patterns, composition and angles. The following analytical tools were used for such purposes (Ledin and Machin, 2018, 2020):

• Causality: how elements are represented as affecting each other (e.g. arrows and bullet points);

• Framing: how elements are separated according to sameness or difference (e.g. frames and spaces);

• Orientation: how advertisements are organised spatially (e.g. centre-margin, bottom-up and left-right); and

• Symbolisation: the meanings of shapes in advertisements (e.g. curved or straight lines and angularity).

In what follows, the three most popular chlorophyll products (toothpaste/mouthwash, sanitary towels and soap) are explored in turn, with a chronological outline of how their marketing practices evolved in the period immediately before, during and after the discovery of chlorophyll. Specific attention will be paid to the general themes and linguistic/semiotic structures of advertisements. To emphasise the changes connected particularly to chlorophyll, one prototypical advertisement for each chlorophyll product will be examined through MCDA. Overall, this approach will help generate new knowledge on the ways in which the discovery of chlorophyll marked a transformation in the marketing of hygiene and cleanliness products.

Case 1: toothpaste and mouthwash

Commercial toothpaste and mouthwash have their roots in the mid-nineteenth century, but they were met with limited success until two watershed moments in the early 1890s: the invention of the collapsible tube by Dr Washington Sheffield and the endorsement of Listerine for oral care by dentists (Segrave, 2010). Recognising the potential lucrativeness of these events, multiple toothpaste and mouthwash brands suddenly emerged onto the market and invested vast amounts of money into advertising to distinguish themselves from their competitors. The early twentieth-century Swedish dentifrice market featured big US brands like Colgate, Kolynos and Pepsodent, as well as its own national brands like Stomatol, Vademecum, Amykos, Oxygenol and Carmitol. Over the next 50 years, through powerful marketing, the advertising industry successfully built a consumer market around toothpaste and mouthwash, thereby fostering a modern era of oral hygiene.

Case 2: sanitary towels

Menstrual products were first produced commercially in the 1890s in the form of reusable woven fabrics, but it was not until the invention of disposable sanitary towels in the late 1920s that the market grew, spurred on by a new public interest in hygiene and sanitation (Mørk Røstvik, 2018, p. 416). In Sweden, the production of sanitary towels was dominated by one national company: Mölnlycke AB. Originally founded in 1849 as a weaving business, Mölnlycke turned its attention to menstrual products in the 1930s, before later expanding its range to include nappies, incontinence pads and tissues (Erixon, 2009). By the end of the 1940s, there were four major sanitary towel brands on the Swedish market, all produced by Mölnlycke: Kronosept, Silkesept, Mimosept and Sanisept. Sanitary towels were also produced on a far lesser scale by the Stockholm firm Beckers in two varieties: Vera and Sanetta. International sanitary towel brands did not enter the Swedish market until much later in the 1980s.

Case 3: soap

Soap first began to be manufactured industrially in the early nineteenth century, following increasing public awareness of the connection between health and hygiene. Across Sweden, national health campaigns were launched to teach the public about the importance of using soap, not just to prevent diseases but also to encourage respectability and pride in one’s appearance. Therefore, soap quickly became imbued with physically and spiritually purifying functions (Bure Wijk, 2020). Sweden’s first soap factory was established by Göta Lejon in Gothenburg in 1812. By the turn of the twentieth century, there were 37 soap factories across the country, with Henrik Gahns AB being the largest manufacturer. International soap firms, such as Palmolive, Dove and Lux, first entered the Swedish market in the late 1920s, growing quickly into the biggest brands as a result of their extensive marketing.

Discussion

From the three case studies, we can see how canny manufacturers instantly responded to the discovery of chlorophyll, launching new products onto the market and/or rebranding old ones and promoting them through extensive marketing that emphasised the supposed benefits of the green pigment. Furthermore, as soon as chlorophyll was revealed to be a hoax, we see how all chlorophyll products were immediately discontinued and brands reverted back to their previous marketing strategies or turned their attention to the next big trend, thereby demonstrating the fickleness of the advertising industry and the fast pace at which it moves. Across brands and products, four overlapping themes reoccur in their advertisements: science, nature, idealised femininity and luxury. They work together to embed chlorophyll in expert authority yet simultaneously promote it as a natural and exclusive way for modern women to maintain high standards of beauty. Within these themes are a series of sub-themes that can be articulated into arguments around the benefits of chlorophyll and are conveyed multimodally. They reveal how brands overtly or covertly use language and other semiotic resources to tap into consumers’ insecurities and sell their products. While these themes and sub-themes/arguments have been touched upon in the previous analysis, this section will discuss them in more detail.

Given the scientific origins of chlorophyll, it is unsurprising that science became a core aspect of brands’ marketing strategies. Scientific discourse was first introduced to marketing in the 1880s, but its usage grew particularly in the early twentieth century as scientific knowledge developed and manufacturing processes became increasingly technologised (O’Hagan, 2021a). By the 1950s, the scientific rationalisation of home management, beauty and well-being was firmly established as a method to sell products (Scheire, 2015). Thus, marketers simply adhered to this tried-and-tested formula with chlorophyll, whether by drawing upon the medical origins of toothpaste/mouthwash and soap to show how chlorophyll acted on the body or more subtly in the case of sanitary towels by framing them as “the best that science and research can offer”.

Five key arguments can be identified under this theme. The first concerns sanitation and the belief that science is essential to achieve cleanliness and hygiene. This belief is also strongly tied up with the notion of purity, in itself having gender, class and even race connotations, with advertisements connoting that those who were unwilling to embrace this new scientific advancement were irresponsible and did not comply with norms of healthiness (O’Hagan, 2021b). The second promotes the notion that science is necessary to combat ageing and frames beauty and youth as scientific methods. In other words, female consumers were encouraged to dispense with kitchen physic and traditional word-of-mouth advice networks (i.e. mothers, aunts and grandmothers) and instead embrace laboratory-made products and the intervention of experts (i.e. scientists and doctors) with evidence-based guidance (Barker, 2009).

Linked to this are the third and fourth arguments that science is progressive/modern and, therefore, truthful. Through the use of scientific buzzwords, illustrations, technical descriptions, infographics and testimonials, brands imbued chlorophyll products with high authority and credibility, leaving little room for consumers to question the information presented. As Loeb (1994, p. 78) notes, most consumers assigned experts status on the grounds that they possessed cutting-edge knowledge that they did not have and, therefore, did not question the veracity of the information presented. Again, this emphasises how science in marketing encouraged a move away from “thick” networks of friends and family to “thin” networks based around institutions and authority figures (Putnam, 2000). Finally, the fifth argument is that science is safe. Consumers were frequently told that chlorophyll is safe (although no evidence was provided as to why) in a bid to reassure those who might be reluctant to try these new products. By reiterating safety, brands symbolically communicated a discourse of safety, even though consumers had no pre-established knowledge or supporting evidence to determine whether this was actually the case. Similar strategies can be found in the historical marketing of radium-based products (Eriksson and O’Hagan, 2021) and nerve food (O’Hagan, 2019).

Another core theme that cuts across advertisements is nature. It may seem contradictory for science and nature to be co-deployed in advertisements, but this was, in fact, common in early twentieth-century marketing (O’Hagan, 2021b, Eriksson and O’Hagan, 2021, 2022) and can still be found today, particularly in the marketing of cosmetics and toiletries (Kenalemang-Palm and Eriksson, 2021). Santos (2020) notes that this approach was not as paradoxical as it might seem because beauty was originally a kitchen physic, where preparations were made at home using plants, flowers and herbs. Therefore, as products became taken out of the domestic context, beauty companies exploited this tradition in their marketing to invoke feelings of homeliness and safety, yet also added supporting scientific evidence to modernise and validate these traditions. Although the chlorophyll in products was made in a laboratory, marketers recognised an opportunity in emphasising its natural origins to achieve specific communicative goals. In accordance with the nature theme, four major arguments can be identified.

The first is an emphasis on a return to nature or harmony with nature. Across advertisements, brands presented chlorophyll as a way of helping consumers escape from the hustle and bustle of modern life and return to a back-to-basics way of living. This idea fit with the then-popular Physical Culture Movement, which saw healthy bodies as an “obligation of citizenship” that was essential for a country’s economic success and social harmony (Zweiniger-Bargielowska, 2006, p. 596). It drew on a self-help ideology that advocated that one should take responsibility for their own health to limit the burden they might place upon society, which bears striking similarities to how neoliberalism works today in marketing (Andersson, 2019; Chen and Eriksson, 2021). This idea was also tied up with the concept of nature as a form of romantic nationalism. While nationalism in early twentieth-century marketing was linked with politics in most European countries, in Sweden, it was cultural, driven by Swedish intellectuals and focused specifically on cultural traditions and the great outdoors as fundamental to the Swedish character and temperament (Andersson, 2019; Chen and Eriksson, 2021). Historical examples of romantic nationalism in Swedish marketing can be found in advertisements for beauty products (Severinsson, 2018), the Olympic Games (Tolved, 2008) and even agricultural machine catalogues (Alsvold, 2005). Here, tradition was seen as fundamental to modernity, a way of declaring a nation was forward-thinking yet in touch with its roots. Such strategies can still be found in Swedish advertising today to promote the principles of openness, freedom, equality and collective responsibility (Andersson, 2019).

The third argument is that nature can correct the consequences of one’s lifestyle or body. In line with what Apple (1996) calls the “reason why” technique, brands presented a problem and then offered their product as a solution. In the case of this study, bodily consciousness and disdain of natural functions were emphasised, with consumers warned of the dire social consequences they would face if they did not look young or had bad breath/body odour. Through this assertion, normal bodily processes such as perspiration or menstruation were made abnormal and viewed as dirty. Furthermore, consumers who did not trust in chlorophyll to correct them were seen as deviant. This shaming tactic was (and still is) commonly deployed across advertisements for anti-ageing creams and deodorants (Hutchings, 2000). As Mørk Røstvik (2018) has shown, nature also offered an effective way to bypass societal taboos around bodily functions and effluvia; in emphasising forest smells and freshness, brands distanced themselves from the scientific and medical and instead focused on creating an experience for consumers that associated their products with the great outdoors and, therefore, shaped attitudes towards personal cleanliness and hygiene. Similarly, nature is presented as mysterious and quasi-mythological. In most advertisements, consumers were not told exactly what chlorophyll did or its abilities were even overstated, turning it into a magical elixir that was guaranteed to make them younger or more beautiful. Advertisements for radium-based products (Eriksson and O’Hagan, 2021), cod liver oil (O’Hagan and Eriksson, 2022) and protein-enhanced food (O’Hagan, 2021b) also use this strategy, making the products more accessible to consumers by removing them from the realm of elite science and linking them with naturopathy.

Underpinning all of these advertisements is the third theme of idealised femininity. While sanitary towels had a clear female market, toothpaste/mouthwash and soap became feminised through clever marketing, all three products focusing on women’s bodies and the idea that they were a site on which social rules of conduct could be inscribed (Mandziuk, 2010). Across advertisements, women were the main protagonists, portrayed as young, glamorous Hollywood starlettes rather than typical middle-aged housewives. Thus, the advertisements became “magic mirrors” (Runefelt, 2019a) through which women saw their potential if only they disciplined and reshaped their bodies in accordance with expected norms of beauty. Here, a clear set of beauty standards were presented that supposedly increased physical attractiveness and not to adhere to them was framed as going against a woman’s feminine nature (i.e. by not purchasing a chlorophyll product). Chlorophyll, thus, was not only the right choice for smart and modern women to remain clean and beautiful but also empowering because it could offer women broader sociocultural aspirations, such as finding a boyfriend or passing an exam. What was fundamental, however, was the “mystique of feminine ideal” (Wolf, 1990), that is, that women’s “trick” to achieving these goals should remain a secret. Thus, brands emphasised that the average woman could realise her own beauty potential with their products, but that they must remain as natural looking as possible so as not to compromise their female identity. These themes were and still remain a common feature of cosmetics marketing, indicating how women’s insecurities have always been and continue to be a target for brands (Schweizer, 2005; Kenalemang-Palm and Eriksson, 2021).

The final theme that runs across advertisements is luxury. All brands frame their products as exclusive thanks to the addition of chlorophyll either directly through the use of value-laden words (e.g. “high class” and “lyx”) or indirectly through images that adhere to middle-class fashions. These techniques served to appeal to a middle-class target audience who had greater disposable income and were seen as highly susceptible to fashionable, rather than, necessary goods (Gurney, 2017). Luxury items have their own special register of consumption that cues rhetorical meanings related to taste and fashion regulation, semiotic virtuosity and the reproduction of elite status (Appadurai, 1996, p. 36). As such, it became a key part of marketing in the late nineteenth century and still remains important today. Although class divisions were not as strong in Sweden as other countries at this time, what Runefelt (2019b) calls a “democratisation of luxury” was a common and successful feature of Swedish advertisements. He notes how brands promoted products as exclusive, despite the fact that they were widely manufactured, and consumers anxious to distinguish themselves from others bought into these marketing messages. Chlorophyll stands as a clear example of the success of this democratisation of luxury strategy.

Conclusion

This paper has sought to historicise the contemporary chlorophyll trend through the first academic study of its early marketing in Sweden. Using multimodal critical discourse analysis, it has presented three case studies of advertisements for products – toothpaste/mouthwash, sanitary towels and soap – that demonstrate the immediate response of brands to this new scientific discovery and how they used marketing to convince female consumers of chlorophyll’s necessity to fulfil certain aspirational goals. Brands cleverly blended together themes of science, nature, idealised femininity and luxury in their advertisements, using language and other semiotic resources to promote chlorophyll as a health-restoring substance that would improve the lives of women. By placing chlorophyll in the social climate of the period, advertisements resonated with women’s anxieties and desires, thereby giving weight to weightless claims about the substance. Key to this was an emphasis on technology, modernity and rationality, yet coupled with tradition, conservatism and respect for authority, as well as core Swedish values of individual responsibility, self-improvement and strong work ethic. Bearing strong parallels to contemporary neoliberalism, women were expected to work continuously on becoming the best version of themselves. Yet, this best version was only possible through the right consumption practices (in this case, purchasing chlorophyll products), thereby turning their bodies into gateways to freedom and empowerment rather than their minds.

From 1950 to 1953, Swedish newspapers were flooded with chlorophyll advertisements. However, the trend ended abruptly in 1954 when damning reports found that its deodorising effects were simply not true (Smith, 2019). Since 2021, there has been a steady growth of interest in chlorophyll once again as a result of social media influencers presenting it as a “new” cure-all wonder nutrient. Its rapid uptake by young women in particular showcases just how impressionable this audience can be, particularly when authority figures tap into their insecurities with promises around beauty, hygiene and health. Despite more stringent regulations on false advertising today, chlorophyll advertisements like those of the 1950s are starting to reappear. This is because most directives concern text and do not account for how images, colour, font, texture, layout and composition can be used to imply what cannot be overtly claimed in writing. By reconstructing the roots of this seemingly contemporary phenomenon, we can help consumers to cast a critical eye over the claims put forward about chlorophyll in ways that they may struggle to do when they are too close to the trend. Paying greater attention to the broader history of chlorophyll and the way that semiotics have been manipulated over time to make claims about its functions can, thus, empower us to recognise that all that glitters is not (green) gold.