How far will the average person go to stay clean? Manufacturers of household products ranging from dish towels to toothpaste have waged an aggressive assault on bacteria these past few years, effectively instilling "anti-bacterial" as an essential keyword in every consumer's quest to combat their enemies in day-to-day germ warfare. Cultural awareness of bacteria is not in itself such a terrible campaign to pursue: any New York subway rider can attest that – despite the public’s stubbornly widespread campaign to prove otherwise – cologne and perfume alone are not up to the daunting task of our defense. But the manufactured desire to have "antibacterial" stamped on every item in, around, and below the kitchen sink has spawned a dangerous appetite for far more than cleanliness: the pesticide triclosan has become nearly ubiquitous within the market of household cleaning supplies, and is threatening to expand its influence much further (sheets, socks, germless Spiderman underwear). Triclosan has long been embroiled in controversy: health professionals are dubious about its necessity outside clinical settings, and many fear its dual role in eliminating harmless – some even argue helpful – bacteria, in turn creating antibiotic-resistant strains of super-bacteria. While these findings are still inconclusive, troubling new evidence has emerged that triclosan’s battle does not end with the defeat of bacteria on our skin and in our homes. Studies of treated wastewater runoff have confirmed that triclosan carries its fight far into the surrounding ecosystems, killing off algae, and accumulating at an alarming rate within the bodies of fish.

Apparently, algae is fundamental to everything from sustaining aquatic food-chains to absorbing carbon dioxide emissions, so I’ve armed myself with this data – along with the finding that triclosan produces toxic chloroform when mixed with warm water – and begun my triclosan boycott, a boycott I aggressively push on anyone and everyone I know who cleans anything (basically, everyone but my roommate). The instructions are simple: when picking anything advertised as “antibacterial” or “anti-microbial” from the store shelf prior to purchase, check the list of ingredients for triclosan, Microban, or Irgasan, and if you see any of these words, squint your eyes, scowl,* and place the item right back on the shelf (*squint/scowl optional). Look for products containing antibacterial alternatives like tea tree and pine oils, or grapefruit seed extract; alcohol-based instant hand sanitizers are also triclosan-free, and comparably effective. Of course there are limits to the boycott: fine print can be frustrating, and if your time is at a premium, reading product labels to avoid triclosan can be difficult due to its market saturation; also, triclosan serves an essential function in many clinical health settings - if your doctor says to use it, then scrub away. So basically, stockbrokers and bubble-boys/girls may be out of luck. Otherwise, the appeal is both simple and affordable – many products without triclosan are cheaper than their glossily-packaged, anti-microbial counterparts. It’s even possible you’ll be cleaner without the stuff: studies show that users of anti-bacterial products tend to wash themselves less often, which, incidentally, isn’t helping the odor situation on the subways one bit.