Thinx was the edgy brand that made period underwear cool. Now it’s available in big box stores. Did it grow up—or sell out?

Good morning, Broadsheet readers! Massachusetts's millionaires' tax pays off, a Texas maternal health committee appoints a staunch anti-abortion activist, and Fortune’s Lila MacLellan explains how period underwear brand Thinx grew up. Have a lovely Tuesday.

- Period piece. As I wandered the aisles of a chain superstore in suburban Toronto recently, I noticed a pile of Thinx period underwear boxes waiting to be organized and properly displayed. It was mildly surprising, like recognizing music by an alternative, indie band of your youth playing in the background of a primetime commercial.

Thinx was one of the most prominent startups of the mid-2010s, the direct-to-consumer golden era. Miki Agrawal, the company’s cofounder and initial CEO, came to be rockstar famous in places like New York and L.A. as she put the concept of reusable absorbent underwear on the retail map, blending feminist ideals, a fashionable aesthetic, innuendo-filled advertising, and “bohemian” capitalism. As I report in a new feature, some pundits didn’t appreciate Thinx’s co-opting of progressive politics and spirituality to sell underthings. But the company also earned praise for starting an overdue conversation about the stigma around periods and the coded language used to advertise pads and tampons.

Fast forward a decade and Thinx is now a Kimberly-Clark brand, lining the shelves of stores like Walmart, Target, and, as it turns out, the Real Canadian Superstore, next to sister SKUs such as Kotex and Huggies. It doesn’t get more mainstream than that.

Kimberly-Clark, the consumer goods conglomerate, first invested $25 million in Thinx in 2019, then took a controlling stake in 2022, and finally assumed full ownership at the end of last year, spending over $230 million in total. Kimberly-Clark says it’s committed to growing the brand as demand takes off for reusable period and bladder leak underwear. (Thinx also makes the latter.) However, the $46 billion firm laid off most of the Thinx staff as of this month.

For some ex-employees, the sale felt like an unmitigated success even if it led to their unemployment. A few former employees pointed out that Kimberly-Clark has the deep pockets and sprawling distribution network to turn the brand into a household name, making this a rare example of a high-profile exit for a brand founded and helmed by women. (Agrawal left in 2017; two women CEOs followed her.) “We talk about how there's not enough funding for female-led companies, and then we get it, and no one cares,” said one former employee who was irked by negative reactions to Thinx’s acquisition. Criticizing the merger was ironic and “just incredibly patriarchal,” she added.

Other ex-employees saw little to boast about in Thinx’s trajectory and argue the brand could have maintained its edge while expanding beyond liberal coastal enclaves. By the end of last year, they say, sales had dropped to a reported $60 million from nearly $100 million in 2021. Those former Thinx workers have theories about what went wrong as the label shifted away from its roots and ultimately chose layoffs. One big problem: Kimberly-Clark approved only minimal communication with customers about a forever chemicals lawsuit it settled. The indie Thinx never would have allowed that, they said.

My conversations painted two competing and compelling pictures of what it means for a business to come of age. Read the full piece here.

Lila MacLellan
lila.maclellan@fortune.com
@lilamaclellan

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