“Nine out of ten dentists recommend.” This common jingle plagues every single toothpaste ad. But is that really true? Who are these dentists? Have they been paid off? Are they even real? After wondering about this for all of one day I decided to solve this mystery. My fear of dentists made me push back the inevitable multiple times. After laying awake for a long night, dreading a math test, I had a sobering thought. I needed to ask real dentists. With the impending Labor Day closures and the weekend fast approaching, I knew I needed to suck it up. So I called up 10 dentists to see which toothpaste they endorse. All I must say is: the results will shock you.

Before you get access to the knowledge I now hold, you will need to read all the following bunkum I have composed to beg Boulder High students for more “views.”

I realized dentists don’t know everything about teeth. Dirty, smelly teenagers know even more. Students who forget to brush not just their greasy hair, but also their now yellow and plaque stained teeth, these are the beings I want to trust with my dental hygiene. Even though skipping a day or two of brushing and flossing clearly doesn’t scare many of these students, I knew no one was going to admit they never brush their teeth, and with a weak nose, I knew it would be impossible to sniff out the stinkiest breath. 

It recently came to my attention that flowers do indeed have a smell. Although I could write an entire dissertation on why I disagree, I have to put that aside for the sake of this article. Whether its mass amounts of Axe body spray, “floral” perfumes, weed, or straight up body odor just about everyone has a certain scent. But should these unique scents be carried into one’s dental routines? Would it be better if, rather than minty breath, everyone had their own little distinctive scents? Personally, just the thought of toothpaste that isn’t minty makes me feel ill, but it seems to have a large community of enjoyers. Hismile, is a toothpaste brand that is pioneering this concept of weird toothpaste tastes. Flavors like red velvet cake, mango sorbet, watermelon, strawberry, and many more are bestsellers on the Hismile page. 

I was not going to spend my precious college savings on a ten dollar, 2.1 oz container of wack toothpaste, but luckily for me, my brother had no objection to this. He bought peach iced tea flavored toothpaste. I was told this toothpaste smelled like chemicals with a slightly fruity tang. But the taste- trigger warning for emetophobia- was just awful. My brother promised it tasted like chemicals, so not expecting the taste to be too strong, I placed a fat glob on my toothbrush. With shaking hands, I brought my Sonicare toothbrush up to my lips, just like a sloppy french kiss, the brush fell upon my teeth. I brushed slow strokes across my teeth. And then it happened. The glob slipped from the bristles, right on to my tongue. I physically gagged. Spitting the horrendous taste from my mouth I projectile vomited the taste of peach iced tea toothpaste. The flavor was like nothing I had ever tasted, and not in a good way, it tasted like how bad breath smells, tasted like algae, tasted like being sick. Unfortunately, this traumatizing toothpaste escapade made me take a step back. Rethinking my life decisions, I considered not even writing this article, just thinking about this nasty toothpaste is making my stomach hurt. But I will persevere, for you, just for you dearest reader. 

Now, I have waffled enough. If you are still reading, I’ll give you a lollipop (look for me in the hallways at some point during the day). Here are the results. Hold on to your top hats, because you WILL be flabbergasted: Out of the approximate 204,000 practicing dentists in the U.S, I blindly grabbed 10 from different states. Four of these dental quacks declined to comment and brushed me aside as a dumb bimbo, and although it is indeed a dumb question and is below the pay grade of many of the fresh graduates of dental school, it left me shook. Crest was offered three out of the eight times. “Anything with fluoride” was answered three out of eight times. Lastly, Colgate and Clinpro- a prescription strength toothpaste- were mentioned once. I’m assuming you are just as disappointed as I was. Not one office mentioned the nasty Hismile toothpaste, however unrealistic this hope was. If any of this sinks in, let it be this: Dental sadists do indeed care about the teeth of their patients. Possibly.