Plus. See. Bow.
Yesterday, I saw a package of herbal medicine, if “medicine” is the right term, called Airborne. It’s a powder. You dump it into bottled water, and drink the mix.
Presumably, it’s meant for people suffering from colds, or at least fearful of getting a cold, because the package features large, filthy-looking cartoon germs. The central figure is a woman on a city street, with cartoon zip-lines to indicate she is very busy, rushing around to get things done. In the foreground, a man coughs or sneezes openly; in the background, another man blows his nose. The basic message is: “If you don’t consume this, you will get sick, and you won’t be able to complete your busy schedule.”
I can’t find any reason to think the product will help you deal with the scary, disease-ridden world depicted on the package, however. A caption cheerfully informs you that the contents were "created by a school teacher,” as though a school teacher is the ultimate authority on advanced biochemistry. Another caption cheerfully announces the product is “herbal.” The implication is that herbs, being natural, are inherently healthy, but I understand the real significance is that herbal medicine is free from the rigorous testing and safeguards we demand of pharmaceuticals. One such freedom from rigorous safeguards: the active ingredients are not listed, though “other ingredients” include citric acid, artificial sweetener, and something to produce a fizz. A disclaimer in small type on the back of the box warns: "these statements have not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration," though the dagger preceding this footnote isn’t attached to an antecedent, so just which statements have not been evaluated is unclear. I'd guess all of them. Perhaps most telling, more small type on the back of the box insists the product “is not intended to diagnose, cure, treat, or prevent any disease." Just for the legal record.
Well, what good is that? Why not go out and buy a big box of sugar pills, instead? It’s much cheaper. If you’ve carelessly bought Airborne already, I suggest an alternate use: don’t ingest the powder, just flatten the box and hang it from a string around your neck. Maybe the scary cartoon germs on the box will ward off real germs, just like a gargoyle is supposed to scare off actual malevolent spirits. It might not help any more than drinking the stuff, but it couldn’t hurt, either.
*****
Postscript: as it happens, NPR did a story the next morning on Airborne and similar products offering a jolt of zinc and vitamin C as a cold preventative. So I went and looked up Airborne's web site. Among its frequently asked questions is "Is there any clinical proof that Airborne cold medicine really works?" Naturally, the answer is positive: "Beyond the millions of loyal customers who swear by Airborne, there is now a clinical study that shows that Airborne does shorten the length of the common cold." The link, however, is broken, producing a 404 Not Found message.
I'd like to point out that millions of loyal customers are not clinical proof of any kind, and should not be mentioned in the answer. I'd also like to point out that there is "a" study. One. Singular. Naturally, with the link broken, it is impossible to determine who performed this study.
Perhaps the study in question is the one described on the radio: "The makers of Airborne have conducted only one small research study. They found that four out of five people who took Airborne either recovered completely or improved somewhat within five days." Five days?! How long does it take to "improve somewhat" from the common cold without Airborne?