Regressive Ad Campaign: Part 8




By Sage Ann

This story is set in the incredible world created by AlteredStates14. Her universe is brought to life not through traditional written narratives, but through a powerful collection of images—advertisements, media articles, and other visual artifacts—that vividly capture everyday life in her setting.
All images associated with this story are her original work. Please consider supporting her so we can continue to explore and enjoy more of this fascinating world.
You can find her work here:
 https://www.deviantart.com/alteredstates14
Another author has also written a story based in this universe from a different perspective. You can find it here:
 https://www.deviantart.com/fatherfish/art/Pampers-and-Propaganda-1028729633



Kalie stood at the edge of the school courtyard, her attention caught by a clash of hand-painted signs and teenage indignation. The counter-protest had materialized seemingly overnight—a dozen or so girls with fierce expressions and markers that bled through their posterboards: "We're Not Babies" and "Teen Rights Now." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, a strange tightness gripping her chest as she watched them. Thirty girls in her class already wore what her mother delicately called "protective undergarments." Thirty. The number sat uncomfortably in her mind like a pebble in a shoe.
A girl with a streak of purple in her hair thrust her sign higher. "We won't be infantilized!" she shouted, her voice cracking with the effort. A small crowd gathered around her, nodding and murmuring in agreement.
Kalie's gaze tracked across the courtyard to the other side, where a larger group stood with their own signs: "Health First" and "Modern Solutions" and "No Shame in Comfort." Adults hovered at the periphery—parents, teachers, a local news reporter scribbling notes with furrowed concentration. 
She counted again in her head. Thirty girls in her class of about one hundred. Just a little less than a third. How had it happened so quickly? Three months ago, the first advertisements had appeared—gentle, pastel-colored billboards suggesting that teenage girls might benefit from "nighttime protection" during "this transitional phase." Now, pull-ups and overnight diapers were becoming as common as lip gloss and hair scrunchies.
"Looks like Sophie joined the resistance," her friend whispered, suddenly beside her. 
Kalie nodded, watching the purple-haired girl. "I'm surprised she cares so much. Didn't her mom say she's been wetting the bed since she was twelve?"
"That's probably why," her friend replied, then melted back into the hallway as the first bell rang.
Kalie lingered a moment longer, her hazel eyes taking in the scene one more time before she turned away. The divide was growing, and somehow, she'd managed to stand directly in the middle of it.
---
"It's not as bad as everyone makes it out to be," Mary said later, sprawled across Kalie's bed, flipping through a magazine with studied casualness. Her long brown hair tumbled over the edge of the mattress, nearly touching the floor. "Jenna said her sister actually likes them."
Kalie stood at her closet, her back to her younger sister, her lips pressed into that perpetually crooked line of disinterest she'd perfected over the last year. "That's Jenna's sister. And she's, what, twelve?"
"Fourteen," Mary corrected, turning a page. "Same as me. Almost fifteen."
"Still."
"Still what?" Mary sat up, her green eyes bright with the simple curiosity that defined her. "Mom says it's just practical. A phase. Like when we both got those training bras even though neither of us needed them yet."
Kalie turned, an eyebrow raised. "This is not like getting a training bra. This is going backwards."
Mary shrugged, her shoulders moving beneath her bright yellow t-shirt in that careless way that made Kalie both envious and protective. "I don't think it's that deep. If it helps people sleep better, what's the big deal?"
Before Kalie could formulate a response that didn't sound like she was overthinking everything—again—their mother's voice floated up the stairs. "Girls! Dinner's ready!"
---
Their mother waited until they'd all settled in with plates of lasagna before she brought it up, her voice measured and warm in that particular way that meant she'd been planning this conversation.
"I picked up some things for you girls today," she said, cutting her lasagna into perfect squares. "The doctor mentioned it might be helpful, especially with finals coming up and all the stress that brings."
Mary nodded instantly, a forkful of pasta hovering between her plate and mouth. "The pull-ups? Cool. Jenna's wearing them, and she says they're actually pretty comfortable."
Kalie stared at her sister, betrayal bitter on her tongue. She'd thought they were in agreement on this, or at least in the same chapter of uncertainty. But Mary spoke as if they'd already decided, as if this weren't a massive regression draped in pastel packaging.
"I don't need them," Kalie said, her voice strained with forced calm. "I haven't had an accident since I was seven."
Her mother's smile remained steady. "It's not about accidents, honey. It's preventative. Remember how anxious you were last exam period? This just removes one worry. And it's just for nighttime."
"But I don't worry about that," Kalie insisted, feeling heat rise in her cheeks. "I don't need—"
"Just try them tonight," her mother said gently. "Both of you. If you hate it, we'll talk more. But give it one night."
Mary was already nodding, her face a picture of easy compliance. "Sure. One night's no big deal." 
Kalie looked between them, feeling outnumbered and somehow outsmarted, though she couldn't explain how. "Fine," she conceded. "One night."
---
In her room, Kalie stared at the package her mother had left on her bed. The packaging was understated—soft blues and greens, with a teenage girl smiling confidently on the front. "Youth Overnight Protection," it proclaimed. "For Independence and Peace of Mind."
She sat on the edge of her bed, running her fingers along the plastic, listening to the quiet crinkle. Thirty girls in her class. Was this how it started for all of them? A casual conversation, a night of trying, then suddenly they were part of the statistic?
With a deep breath, she tore open the package. The pull-ups inside were thicker than she'd expected, but less bulky than the diapers she remembered from babysitting her cousin's toddler. They were patterned with small stars that her mother would probably call "age-appropriate" but that felt anything but.
Kalie changed quickly, not wanting to dwell on the process. The pull-up slid up her legs with a soft rustle, settling around her hips with an elastic snap. She stood still for a moment, cataloging the sensations: the slight bulk between her thighs, the gentle pressure around her waist, the foreign texture against her skin.
She took a few experimental steps around her room, listening carefully. No noise. At least there was that—her greatest fear had been that they would announce themselves with every movement, a percussive betrayal of her concession. But they were silent, and under her pajama pants, invisible.
Kalie sat on her bed again, hands pressed against the mattress. They felt different—strange, foreign—but not uncomfortable. Just unnecessary. She wondered how many other girls had stood in their bedrooms thinking the same thing, before they became one of the thirty.
A knock at her door made her jump. "All good in there?" her mother called.
"Fine," Kalie answered, her voice steadier than she felt. "Good night."
She climbed under her covers, adjusting to the subtle crinkle as she moved. One night, she reminded herself. Just one night to prove they weren't needed. Then back to normal.