Not a Monolith is a Teen Vogue series for Latinx Heritage Month 2023, highlighting the diversity of those in the Latinx community. From disability rights activists to rappers to drag queens, we're showing the range of not just backgrounds, but experiences that inform Latinx culture today. In this essay, Sara Delgado explores how Vicks VapoRub, the popular mentholated topical ointment, became a Hispanic icon and the emotional significance it can hold.
Latinx and Hispanic communities might not be a monolith, but certain items sprinkled across our homes let us know we have shared stories and cultures. The recycled shopping bags under the sink were a must if you lived with penny-saving parents. If your family was religious, chances are you could stumble upon an estampita (or two) or a couple of rosaries looking for a spoon. But, among all these shared items, perhaps the holiest of them all is the Vivaporú. (Or Vicks VapoRub, if you are new here.)
Visit a Hispanic household, open any drawer where medicines are stored, and chances are this magic blue bottle will appear before your eyes. Vivaporú — sometimes referred to as simply Vicks (pronounced with a hard "B"), or Vaporú, or Bibaporrú, or Baporrú… You get the gist; the options are endless — is to Hispanic grandmas what Windex was to Toula's father on My Big Fat Greek Wedding.
Nobody quite knows how or exactly when, but somewhere between when it was invented in 1894 by Lunsford Richardson in Greensboro, NC, and today, Vivaporú became the cure for all ailments across the diaspora. "Vicks has just been…in my memory…in my cabinet. I don't remember when it was first introduced to my life," says The Cut's Bianca Nieves, a 29-year-old editor from Puerto Rico.
Growing up in the Canary Islands, the first memory I have of Viviaporú is one of my grandmother slathering the goopy, minty salve across my back and chest (and up and around my nose) when I caught a nasty catarro, i.e., cold. I must have been around three. My mom and aunt also have similar memories with their grandmas, who largely lived between the islands and Cuba. It was one of the only "medicines" easily available on the market, they recall, so, of course, it became the go-to…for everything. If you ask any abuela out there, she'd roundly confirm that. It's like girl maths, but for health. Have a cold? Put on Vicks. Have allergies? Put on Vicks. Broke an ankle? Maybe Vicks will help with something. Feeling depressed? Vicks. Vicks. Vicks. There's a reason it's been jokingly dubbed as “Hispanic First Aid.”
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Vivaporú's miraculous nature is, of course, not scientifically backed. According to the VapouRub product page on the Vicks official site, the ointment is only intended to be used externally to alleviate cough symptoms and as a pomade to relieve minor muscle and joint aches and pains due to its cooling sensation. But that hasn't stopped us from getting creative.
"Besides applying on the chest and nose when you had catarro, my mom was an advocate of putting it on la planta de los pies and wearing socks over it," Nieves says. "It would indeed make you feel better in the morning. Sorcery!" (My mom is also a fan of this method, which makes me wonder: Is there a playbook of secret Vicks VapoRub uses that we don't know about?) Nieves still uses her trusty blue jar for stuffy noses, tight chests, and pesky pimples. (Fair warning: some derms warn against the use of this product on acne since it does include petrolatum, which could potentially clog your pores, but if you've been doing it since childhood, your body knows best.)
Ana Escalante, a 24-year-old editor with Venezuelan roots working for Who What Wear, remembers another particular use. “Sometimes, my mother would put it on my temples for some sort of aromatherapy-adjacent effect, especially if I was stressed out in middle or high school.”
Online, you'll find a myriad of unconventional uses of Vivaporú, ranging from insect repellent to a solution for toenail fungus. Of course, some of Vivaporú's uses are tried-and-true and others not so much — please, let's not ever ingest it — but there's no denying that this minty balm heals the soul over time.
Most of us have bittersweet memories linked with Vivaporú. First encounters are always decisive, and chances are your intro to Vivaporú was not, erm, the best. The waxy and balmy texture of the petroleum-heavy gel was not pleasant when you were sick. "I can remember falling ill on a trip back to Mexico to visit family. My grandmother rubbed it on my chest and under my nose," says Teen Vogue's Juan Velasquez. “It actually really grossed me out. I didn't love it then. It felt a bit oppressive, mostly because I had not encountered it before.”
Much like Vaseline, the texture of Vivaporú can be offputting — especially on a cracked nose, if you ask me — and that honestly never changes even if we now consciously decide to use it. However, there is something about the mix of camphor, eucalyptus, and menthol that keeps drawing you in. Velasquez admits "he didn't really like the way it smelled" when he was little, but the thought of applying it now, in his 30s, seems “cozy and nostalgic.”
Escalante feels similarly about this in hindsight comfort, even if the initial repulsion has not quite subsided. "I can't stand how minty and overpowering it is, but now, if I were to open up the tin in my nightstand drawer, I'd definitely feel a piece of home with me when I need it most."
Freelance writer Marilyn La Jeunesse, whose in-house Vicks advocate was funnily enough her French-Canadian mother and not her French-Mexican dad, considers the smell of the balm to be "weirdly refreshing." (We'd have to agree on that.) "As soon as I smell it, I feel like I'm healed," she explains. "It's definitely a placebo effect from years of rubbing it on my chest when I'm sick, but the smell is really relaxing to me. I instantly feel like everything's going to be okay." Now living with her Costa Rican and Peruvian fiancé in NYC, her mom's got competition in terms of advocacy. “He's even more [adamant that I use] it whenever I cough.”
Calming or not, the smell of Vivaporú is so strong that some, like Cardi B, also use it as perfume. She had previously picked the ointment as one of her purse must-haves in a video interview with Vogue México y Latinoamérica, but revealed during a recent live stream that it is actually her go-to scent. "You know how everybody says that when they meet Rihanna that she smells like beautiful flowers? I know everybody that meets me be like, 'Yo, she smells like Vicks.'" There's no shame in the game, though. According to Vicks, the smell of Vivaporú is the third most recognized worldwide, only after peanut butter and coffee, which objectively makes it iconic. (Sorry to the Baccarat girlies.
Another thing about Vivaporú is that it comes to you when you need it. Unless you are using it religiously like Cardi B, like tarot decks, nobody seems to buy their own jar of Vivaporú. It gets passed down or just simply makes its way to you. "[Mine] mysteriously appeared in my nightstand when I moved to New York," Escalante admits. "Either it's a tiny old bottle that I had and I forgot about, or (my likely theory) is that my mother bought it for me while she came up to move me in and stuffed it somewhere and forgot to tell me." Likewise, Nieves is currently using “an expired one my mom gave me a few years back.” I recently stole mine from my mom's closet during a visit back home after I fell ill and it "accidentally" ended up in my luggage.
Of course, Vicks VapoRub is not exclusive to Hispanic households. It's also a popular product among other Caribbean and Filipino communities, most notably. And we could also argue that other cultures also have what we could consider their own version of it, like Tiger Balm for various Asian communities.
However, we can't deny the icon status that Vicks has achieved within Latinx and Hispanic communities. It's even referred to as "a cultural touchstone among Hispanic and Latino Americans" on the product's Wikipedia page, which, yes, I know can be edited, but doesn't stop it from feeling substantial. Nowadays, there's fan-made Vivaporú merch; it's made its way into Netflix shows, and, let's be honest, it'll likely never ever be replaced.
"I think it's quite interesting that Vicks has become a generational remedy in its own right," says Escalante, who compares its soothing properties to those of a good caldo or chamomile tea. “Just like family-backed, indigenous-rooted herbal practices or ailment food recipes that have spanned my family for generations are regarded with utmost authority as the only legitimate form of remedy there is, so is Vicks in its blue little can. Despite being founded by an American company not that long ago, Vicks feels just as heavily ingrained in the Latinx culture.”
Velasquez also finds comfort in the fact that a mass-produced "magic" balm can connect so many homes while serving as "a display of love and care" and "a way to assuage the discomfort of illness." "At first, I thought it was just a weird thing my family did," he adds. “I love these kinds of touchstones that connect me with my heritage and other Latinx folks. Much like the classic blankets with lions and horses on them and drinking 7-Up to cure almost any stomach ailment, it's just one of those folksy things that have stood the test of time for some reason.”
In conclusion, all I have to say about Vivaporú is:
