Plastic in pads and tampons: what's in them and what to use instead

Periods aren’t optional. The plastic in the products we use for them mostly is, and that’s worth being frank about: the problem here isn’t anyone’s choice of pad, it’s that the default products were designed around cheap petrochemicals and sold with very little disclosure.

This guide covers what pads and tampons are actually made of, what the recent chemical studies did and didn’t find, and which alternatives hold up on evidence. Spoiler: no option is perfect, and some of the scariest headlines are about things other than plastic.

What pads and tampons are made of

Pads

A disposable pad is a plastic sandwich with a pulp filling. The top layer that touches your skin is usually polypropylene or polyethylene fibres. The core is wood pulp, often mixed with a superabsorbent polymer, and the leakproof back sheet is typically polyethylene film. A 2026 teardown of commercial pads found the absorbent core made up only 40.8% of a menstrual pad’s weight; the rest was the other layers and parts, such as top sheet, back sheet and wings. The same study found no commercial alternative to polyacrylate superabsorbents with comparable absorption, and that even pads marketed as greener swapped polyethylene for PLA/PBAT films. Those are bioplastics, which is still plastic. (We explain what “compostable” labels do and don’t promise in our labels guide.)

How much of a pad is plastic overall? Honestly, the published numbers are weak. One 2025 life cycle study modelled a conventional pack using data from a leading brand’s sustainability report: polyethylene made up about a third of the pack’s weight (back sheet 16.8%, individual wrappers 14.02%, outer bag 3.66%). That model left out a plastic top sheet and superabsorbent, so it probably understates the plastic.

You’ll often see the claim that pads and tampons are “90% plastic”. It appears in a 2025 WHO Bulletin commentary, among other places, but we couldn’t trace it to a measurement, and it doesn’t fit tampons at all. We’re not using it.

Tampons

The absorbent part of a tampon isn’t plastic. FDA-authorized tampons are made of cotton, rayon, or a blend. Rayon is regenerated wood cellulose: chemically processed, but not a petroleum plastic. The plastic is around the edges. A 2026 review of tampon materials notes that external covers are typically polypropylene nonwoven fabric, and applicators are polyethylene, polypropylene or cardboard. Then there’s the wrapper.

Where the plastic goes

The plastic in used pads typically ends up in landfill or an incinerator; recycling them isn’t usually feasible. The ones that get flushed are the problem you can see. In the European Commission’s analysis of 2016 beach surveys (679 surveys on 277 beaches in 17 countries), sanitary towels, panty liners and backing strips were the 19th most common item, 0.81% of everything counted. Tampons and applicators ranked 50th, at 0.22%. Those shares sound small, but they sit among hundreds of item types, ahead of many things people actually picture as beach litter. These are also the newest Europe-wide figures we could find; we couldn’t access more recent UK beach-clean reports.

The fix for that one is free: bin it, don’t flush it.

On the bigger environmental picture, a UN Environment Programme review of life cycle studies found that the menstrual cup had lower impacts than single-use pads and tampons across every category it looked at, at less than 10% of the cost over a year. Of the two disposables, pads scored worst, and going applicator-free improved tampons. UNEP says only three studies fed into this, so treat it as a direction, not a precise ranking.

What’s in the products besides plastic

Plastic additives

Plastics come with additives. A Spanish team tested 41 menstrual products bought in 2024 and found plastic additives in every product: replacement plasticizers in all of them, and phthalates and organophosphate esters in many. The median totals ranked as follows (the authors found the middle three not clearly different from each other):

• reusable pads: 31,856 ng/g
• disposable pads: 10,014 ng/g
• period underwear: 1,960 ng/g
• menstrual cups: 1,116 ng/g
• tampons: 263 ng/g

Two caveats. The authors’ health-risk estimates assume 100% of the chemicals soak through skin, which they say is a worst case. And “reusable” didn’t mean cleaner: reusable pads topped the list.

A Belgian study took a different route, extracting chemicals from 64 products under harsh conditions and then testing what actually leached out in fake vaginal and menstrual fluid. Of 55 chemicals it found by extraction, 36 (65%) didn’t show up at all under realistic conditions, though some phthalates and fragrances did. Its biggest surprise was “natural” menstrual sea sponges, which leached the most metals, with nickel reaching 1,850 ppm.

What pads shed

A 2025 study of 29 pads found polypropylene microplastic fibres, 6 to 115 per pad, in every pad tested, and traces of toluene in 28. Extracts from most pads reduced the viability of cells in a dish. The only four that didn’t all had organic-cotton top sheets. That’s a cell study: it suggests something in the materials is bioactive, not that pads harm people. Whether microplastics from period products matter for health is unknown; we cover what’s known about plastic in the body in our explainer.

PFAS and period underwear

Period underwear is a good idea that ran into a chemistry problem. Some makers deliberately used PFAS, the “forever chemicals” also used in stain- and water-repellent fabrics.

The best data so far come from a 2025 survey of 59 reusable products. Researchers screened them for total fluorine, a marker of PFAS use. 33% of period underwear and 25% of reusable pads had levels consistent with deliberately added PFAS. When 19 of the products got detailed analysis, PFAS turned up in all of them. The authors’ key point: in every category, at least one product had no deliberate fluorine, so PFAS is unnecessary.

A smaller 2025 study of three menstrual underwear garments found PFAS in every layer, including the inner gusset that sits against the genitals, at up to 1.69 ng/g. The organic cotton underwear it used as a control had some too. Low-level PFAS is everywhere, but intentional treatment is a different thing.

What nobody knows yet is how much PFAS crosses skin from underwear. Both teams say this needs studying.

The Thinx settlement: what it did and didn’t establish

Thinx, the best-known period underwear brand, settled a consolidated US class action; the court gave the settlement final approval in 2023. Here’s exactly what happened, from the court record.

The plaintiffs claimed Thinx marketed its underwear as safe, sustainable, free of harmful chemicals and migratory nanoparticles, and in some styles organic, while the underwear contained PFAS. Their complaint says a third-party lab they hired found short-chain PFAS “at material and above trace amounts”. It also cites a 2020 magazine report of high fluorine levels found by a Notre Dame scientist. Those are allegations.

The court’s final approval order, filed 8 June 2023, records that Thinx denies all liability. Thinx agreed to:

• a fund of up to $5 million covering claims, fees and costs;
• refunds of $7 per pair (maximum $21) with proof of purchase, or $3.50 per pair (maximum $10.50) without, or alternatively a 35% discount voucher;
• continue measures to help ensure PFAS are not intentionally added at any stage of production, with suppliers attesting the same;
• disclose its antimicrobial treatments and stop calling its Agion antimicrobial “non-migratory”;
• stop selling its “organic” period underwear.

The settlement didn’t release personal injury claims, and it never established in court that Thinx underwear contained PFAS. Note the wording, too: “not intentionally added” is not “PFAS-free”.

Regulators have started to move. Since 1 January 2025, Minnesota has banned the sale of menstruation products with intentionally added PFAS.

Metals in tampons: a real finding, but not about plastic

In 2024 a team of US researchers tested 30 tampons from 14 brands and found measurable levels of all 16 metals they looked for, including lead (geometric mean 120 ng/g), cadmium (6.74 ng/g) and arsenic (2.56 ng/g). It went viral. Two things got lost.

First, this has nothing to do with plastic. The metals were in the cotton and rayon; the authors suggest they may come from farming or manufacturing. Organic didn’t solve it: lead was higher in non-organic tampons, arsenic higher in organic ones, and no type was consistently lower.

Second, the study measured what’s in tampons, not what gets into you. The authors said so themselves, and called for research on whether metals leach out and cross the vaginal wall.

That research has started, and it doesn’t all point the same way:

• Leaching happens. The same group soaked 22 tampon products in simulated fluids for 8 hours at body temperature. Metals came out. Lead averaged 40.3 ng in simulated vaginal fluid and 15.6 ng in simulated menstrual fluid. The authors stress that release in a lab isn’t the same as absorption.
• The FDA says it’s too little to matter. FDA scientists tested 11 US tampon products under exaggerated conditions (24 hours at 50°C in acidified water) and concluded that all detected metals had margins of safety indicating negligible toxicological concern. The products came from six brands and five manufacturers, and the test ran three times longer than recommended wear. The agency says the amounts likely released in use are too small to cause harm.
• A manufacturer’s model agrees. Researchers modelled lead in a 4-hour wear scenario and predicted under 1 ng (under 0.3%) of released lead would be available for absorption, with most soaking back into the tampon. Every author works for Procter & Gamble, which the paper notes manufactures tampons.

The American College of Medical Toxicology’s position is in its title: there is no evidence that tampons cause metal poisoning. The original study also drew a published critique and a reply from its authors.

Our read: metals in tampons are real, current evidence suggests the dose is small, and nobody has measured metal levels in the bodies of tampon users to settle it. Lead has no “safe” exposure level, so asking for cleaner raw materials is reasonable. Panicking isn’t, and neither is swapping tampons for pads on this basis, since pads have their own chemical findings above.

The alternatives, honestly

Menstrual cups

Cups are bell-shaped and worn inside the vagina, collecting rather than absorbing. They’re made of medical-grade silicone, rubber, latex or elastomer and can last up to 10 years.

The evidence on them is better than for most period products. A 2019 review of 43 studies (3,319 participants) found leakage similar to or lower than pads and tampons in the four studies that compared directly, and in 13 studies 73% of participants wanted to keep using one. It took several cycles to get the hang of it. On safety, the review found no harm to vaginal flora, but it did find rare problems: five reports of toxic shock syndrome, some cases of pain or wounds, allergies, and IUDs pulled out of place. If you have an IUD, talk to your clinician first. A 2026 review of 11 studies found no increased infection risk among cup users, though only three studies were good quality.

Now the part cup marketing skips. Silicone is a synthetic polymer. By our standards, it isn’t plastic-free and it isn’t inert. The Spanish additive study found plastic additives in cups too, though at a lower median level than pads. One tiny 2025 study of 10 women found more than half of the microplastics it detected came from a single participant who regularly used a cup; the particles were mostly polypropylene and polystyrene, not silicone, so it doesn’t show the cup was the source. We’d call that a question, not a finding.

Net: one durable silicone object replacing years of disposables. On current evidence, that’s the lowest-plastic option for people who can and want to use one. It’s not for everyone, and that’s fine.

Cloth pads

Washable cloth pads cut waste, but “reusable” isn’t a guarantee of clean materials. In the studies above, reusable pads had the highest plastic-additive levels of any product type, and a quarter of those tested had signs of intentional PFAS. We found no good life cycle data for cloth pads specifically. If you go cloth, choose pads with disclosed materials and no “waterproof” or “stain-resistant” treatment claims you can’t explain. Wash them like your other synthetics if they have a synthetic layer; our clothing guide covers that.

Organic cotton tampons

Organic cotton tampons cut pesticide inputs, and pads with organic-cotton top sheets did best in the cell tests above. But organic didn’t mean fewer metals, and it doesn’t mean no plastic. Check three things on the box: the cover (is it cotton or polypropylene?), the applicator (cardboard, plastic or none) and the wrapper. Going applicator-free is the simplest plastic cut available, and the UNEP review backs it.

Period underwear

Useful, comfortable and potentially lower waste, with one condition: buy from brands that publish test results for PFAS, not just a “PFAS-free” claim. Remember that a third of period underwear in the 2025 survey showed signs of deliberate PFAS.

What the EU label means

Since 3 July 2021, the EU’s Single-Use Plastics Directive has required pads, tampons and tampon applicators to carry a marking about the plastic in them. The design is set in law: red and blue boxes with the words “PLASTIC IN PRODUCT”, printed on packs of 10 cm² or more.

That’s a labelling rule, not a ban. The directive doesn’t restrict plastic in pads or tampons. It also leaves them out of the “polluter pays” scheme that makes producers of wet wipes and cigarette filters pay for clean-up. The directive does say hazardous chemicals in these products “should be avoided in the interest of women’s health” and asks the Commission to assess further restrictions. The Commission must evaluate the whole directive by 3 July 2027. That’s the moment to push for more than a sticker.

What actually helps, ranked by evidence

1. Never flush pads, tampons or applicators. Evidence: strong. They end up on beaches. Bin them.
2. Try a menstrual cup if it suits your body. Evidence: good for safety and leakage, from a decent body of trials. Best on environmental impact, though it’s silicone, not plastic-free. Check with a clinician if you have an IUD.
3. Drop the plastic applicator. Evidence: moderate (life cycle studies). Go applicator-free or use cardboard.
4. Choose period underwear and cloth pads with published PFAS testing. Evidence: moderate that PFAS is common in this category; weak on how much reaches your body. Avoid unexplained “stain-resistant” claims.
5. Prefer organic-cotton contact layers. Evidence: weak but suggestive (one cell study). Organic doesn’t fix metals or mean plastic-free.
6. Don’t switch products because of the tampon-metals headline alone. Evidence: metals are present; exposure appears small; human data are missing. Wear tampons no more than 8 hours and use the lowest absorbency you need, as the FDA advises.

And the bigger fix is out of your hands. Brands should publish the full composition of every layer, and regulators should require it. You shouldn’t need a chemistry degree to buy a box of pads. See our standards for how we judge products, and more in our personal care section.