This piece was written by one of our dear readers—a woman with something real to say. Each month, we handpick the best submissions for Dear Reader because we’re after that PROVOKED bite: truth, intelligence, and heart. These stories come from women our age—women who’ve lived enough to know better and still care enough to tell it anyway. Because being seen and heard matters. Because storytelling is how we stitch ourselves to one another. And because when one woman speaks her truth, another finally recognizes her own. — Susan Dabbar, Editor in Chief
A color worn especially in October to honor survivors now feels more like exposure than support. Here’s why I refuse to wear it—and what the pink ribbon gets wrong.
The first Saturday in October, I went to a local diner with my family for breakfast and faced a stack of supersized pink ribbons at the check-in counter. Staff invited survivors to write their name on a ribbon in black Sharpie and paste it on their back wall—as if enduring cancer in your most private parts is something the world gets to gawk at on a public bulletin board.
My first thought: Oh. Hell. No!
My second: Can I hide under the covers for the rest of October?
Before I was diagnosed in 2022, October was my favorite month of the year. But after I heard the dreaded words, “You have breast cancer,” every autumn has been swallowed up by the phenomenon known as “Pinktober.”
While the parade of pink may end on Halloween, the horrors of the season remain in the form of an emotional hangover of a month drenched in pink.
When Pink Stops Helping
I’ve never been a fan of pink. Growing up, I shunned the color because it felt too “girly.” But during the month of October, pink ribbons on cereal boxes, pink Oreos, and even the pink socks covering my sons’ feet during baseball games make me feel queasier than the chemo cocktail that coursed through my veins nearly four years ago.
And to be clear, the “me” I was before breast cancer didn’t survive.
Yes, I “beat” the disease, but it also beat me. It stripped me bare (even down to my pubic hair), scarred my body, shook my psyche, robbed me of natural menopause, and transformed me into a creature I didn’t recognize. I went into hiding during treatment, choosing not to tell friends and family about the diagnosis. I wore broad-brimmed hats and big dark glasses when I walked the dog, ducked out of grocery stores when I saw a familiar face, and took a hiatus from volunteering at my kids’ school. I didn’t want the pity, platitudes, or invasive questions.
Helen Marlo, Ph.D., a clinical psychologist who works with cancer patients and dean of the School of Psychology at Notre Dame de Namur University in Northern California, said my reaction to all things pink isn’t unique. Navigating breast cancer can be traumatic, almost like a physical assault. For some patients, the tidal wave of pink in October can trigger symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). “Even the color pink can kindle a trauma response for some women,” Marlo explained.
The Dirty Laundry Behind the Pink Ribbon
Sure, the pink ribbon means well. It has increased funding for breast cancer research and underscored the importance of screening. But even the ribbon’s origin story leaves a metallic taste in my mouth.
In the early 1990s, Charlotte Haley handmade peach ribbons to highlight underfunded breast cancer research. When a few corporate giants offered to commercialize her campaign, Haley refused. The corporate solution? Sidestep her by swapping peach for pink—and the global symbol for breast cancer awareness was born.
But most breast cancer survivors don’t need more awareness. “What most patients want to know is whether the money spent during Breast Cancer Awareness Month is funneled into research that will make a difference,” said Stephanie Davidson, Psy.D. a, breast cancer survivor and psychologist in the supportive care department at City of Hope, a cancer research and treatment organization.
What they’re getting instead: “Pinkwashing,” a term Breast Cancer Action coined to describe companies that claim to care about breast cancer while at the same time pushing products laced with chemicals linked to the disease.
But there are companies doing solid work. The Estée Lauder Campaign (which popularized the pink ribbon), has reportedly funded more than $144 million for global research, education, and medical services—with more than $114 million supporting medical research through the Breast Cancer Research Foundation. And the natural beauty company, Aveda, has contributed nearly $7 million to the cause, funding more than 135,000 hours of breast cancer research.
The key, of course, is transparency. If companies don’t disclose how they’re using funds raised during Breast Cancer Awareness month, you may want to give directly to an organization whose mission clearly aligns with protecting patients. The Susan G. Komen Foundation, Breast Cancer Action, and The Pink Fund are just a few examples.
Survival Isn’t a Parade
Now that I’ve done my share of spouting off, it’s important to note that many survivors say they get an emotional high from sporting their pink every October—a way to turn their pain into purpose. I don’t begrudge them that. But, according to Davidson, just as many survivors want nothing to do with pink.
“Every patient navigates survivorship in a way that feels comfortable to them and for some that means reflecting on cancer at times when it feels safe to do so,” said Davidson. But it’s nearly impossible to decide how and when to engage with thoughts about cancer against the onslaught of pink every October.
Now that we’re firmly past that month, I see fewer “thrivers,” “warriors,” and “survivors” parading their pink on their clothes. Merchandise adorned with pink ribbons has been cleared out. My boys’ sports socks are back to black.
And yet, I remain painfully aware that I had cancer—when I think back, when I think ahead, and when I try not to think at all. I’m aware when I grapple with how tamoxifen is wreaking havoc on my sex life, and when I think twice before ordering a glass of wine on date night.
Though I still can’t stomach pink, I know I received support that eluded my friends navigating less popular cancers. I continue to feel guilty that breasts grab the attention in our society while other organs and tissues are largely ignored. But—and—these patients also don’t have to confront a pancake house teeming with ribbons that scream “Would you like a trigger warning with your pumpkin short stack?”
For now, I’m grateful Pinktober has been put to bed … at least until next year, when the pinkwashing cycle begins again.
“And to be clear, the “me” I was before breast cancer didn’t survive.”
This. is a profound statement.
And I’m so sorry you’ve had to experience this.
I felt traumatized by menopause all on its own. Menopause on its own feels like a whole lot of undeserved punishment for a life of contributing to this planet. I cannot imagine living through all you describe in addition to or instead of.
And I get the pink aversion – I had never thought of the view point of survivors – so I thank you for bringing that to MY attention. It will help me be more sensitive in the future.
Why can’t people see the irony of constantly reminding survivors of their trauma and also flying in the face of those “warriors” who lost the battle. I had two dear friends who were the latter. One who bore the suffering and indignity of treatment silently, only to announce on Facebook that her next experience would be “heavenly” shocking friends with this dire news. My other friend did everything right and still “lost the battle.” She once said to me that she felt the analogies to battles, warriors and winners were hollow and insulting to those who did “all the things” and fought as hard as they could but still lost. My concern has always been where does the money go? Where’s the proof that actual women have been helped by this influx of cash? Why has it been decades and we are still treating this disease in much the same way we did back when I was a child? Lop off the offending part and then pump the body full of poison. There are other inroads out there that are not being accepted into the mainstream but that could make a difference in lengthening survival time (like targeted treatments like those developed by interventional radiologists that go directly to tumors via image guidance and zap them with nuclear isotopes or chemotherapy that does not travel throughout the body). Last word, choose the cancer organizations you support very carefully. I’ve read that for many, the money they raise goes to fund the awareness activities and little else.
Ellen, thanks for this thoughtful comment. Yes. Survival isn’t a contest — and women shouldn’t have to justify their suffering to be seen. And we would all like to see more transparency on where the money goes. Thank you for naming it.—susan
I am so glad that there is more awareness about breast cancer and early detection- I think the pink movement has a worthy goal there and has been hugely successful getting the word out to save lives. Pink has always been my favorite color, and I refuse to have it tainted by profiteering. I have long declined to buy “pink”, since the plethora of products strike me as purely commercially opportunistic. If I want to support cancer research, I will give to an appropriate charity and ensure the dollars are going where intended.
Exactly — awareness matters, and the pink movement changed the game on early detection. The problem isn’t the color, it’s the commercialization. Thank you for calling that out and for choosing to give where it truly helps. So glad you are here. —susan
Amazing article! I am grateful for the insight. As a breast cancer supporter (of friends who have had the disease), I look at it as a positive celebration of surviving. I will forever look at it differently now. I know for some, it is a celebration and a ‘badge of courage’ but for others, it’s more like a scarlet letter. Thank you again for the insight!
Shannon, Thank you so much for reading — and for supporting the women in your life who’ve walked this road. You’re right: for some, it’s a badge of power; for others, it’s a reminder of loss. Holding space for both truths is how we honor every survivor.Thanks for sharing. —susan
There is so much to love about this writing. Thank you.
“I beat the disease, but it also beat me”. That is precisely my experience with breast cancer but that succinct sentence says it all. It ruined so much. And I also live an amazing life I am grateful for. The pink-washing is a sunny/scummy/scammyveneer on the reality for many of us.
I too hate how much “breasts grab the attention”. I see your use of that verb! It’s insidious and yet more objectification. I wonder, what would t-shirts look like with an enlarged liver cleverly turned into a graphic?! Maybe we should start a bile-coloured ribbon for funding research into the agonies of pancreatic cancer. Let’s see how that sells!
Thank you for writing this and thank you for printing this in your magazine. You have a new subscriber.
Emma, Thank you so much for this generous, gutsy comment — and for becoming a new subscriber. I’m grateful you’re here.
And yes… that line. “I beat the disease, but it also beat me.”
It’s the quiet truth so many women carry because the world won’t hold it for us. I’m sorry you had to live both sides of that sentence, and I’m glad you’re still claiming your happiness and life.
You’re absolutely right about the pink-washing — the sunny/scummy/scammy veneer that flattens what breast cancer actually does to a woman. It’s marketing and exploitative to many who don’t want any part of it.
Your bile-colored ribbon idea? Laughing. But you’re also making the exact point: some diseases get branded, others get buried. And breasts? They always get attention in a way no other organ does. That verb choice was intentional. You caught it.
Thank you for seeing this piece so clearly — and for adding your own fire to the conversation. Keep in touch and keep telling what is hitting and what is not.
Welcome to PROVOKED. So glad you are here. —susan
Thank you for writing this. As a survivor, I feel exactly the same way whenever October rolls around. I don’t need a reminder of breast cancer awareness month, or to be told to get my mammogram. Dressing it up with pink ribbons doesn’t make it more appealing or fun. Wishing you only the best going forward!
HI Gina, So many survivors feel exactly what you’re expressing — October can feel less like awareness and more like a reminder no one asked for. The pink ribbons don’t soften the reality, and they certainly don’t make it “fun.” Wishing you strength, ease, and only good things moving forward. Grateful you’re here.—susan
I totally relate and share your beautifully articulated disdain for the Pinkification of Breast Cancer. As someone who survived two separate primary attacks, several years apart, and who, like you, fought hard to get well and reconnect with my healthy self, I feel assaulted every October by the non-stop, in-your-face, traumatizing reminders of terrifying times. I gladly donate, and rush to help and comfort friends when all kinds of illnesses enter their lives, but I run the other way when I see Pink.
Hi Lonnie, Thank you for sharing this — and I’m so sorry you’ve had to face it twice. What you’re describing is exactly why so many survivors feel ambushed every October.I’m grateful you added your voice to the conversation. Thanks for being here. —susan
Thank you for voicing this, for having the courage to speak your truth. My mom is also a breast-cancer survivor, and I’ve often thought about how all those pink ribbons feel, really feel to her. Now, I’m going to ask, so I can show up for her more during October…and for all my beloved friends who’ve endured this disease.
And, thank you for publicizing how OVERDONE this is! I hate how our culture commercializes everything…how it becomes a bandwagon and somehow the deeper meaning gets lost in the spotlight and the sales numbers. Breast cancer shouldn’t be a marketing opp, it’s a horrific, deeply personal, and difficult health condition.
My heart goes out to you. Again, thank you for sharing this.
Thank you for this — and I’m glad you’re going to ask your mom how it feels for her. That simple question is something so many survivors never get, and it matters. Commercialization and overdone, Yes. Thank you for sharing and being here. —susan