Forget Testosterone. The Real Military Crisis Is Apparently Deodorant.
Source: Silicon Bay Partners’ Staff with assistance from ChatGPT
Photo: ChatGPT
First came mandatory testosterone testing for servicemen over 30. Because apparently turning 31 is now a national-security threat.
Now sailors aboard the USS Abraham Lincoln are reportedly dealing with shortages of toothpaste, deodorant and soap after the carrier’s lengthy deployment connected to the Iran war. Nothing says “world-class fighting force” quite like asking sailors to defend America while rationing Crest and hoping someone remembered to pack Old Spice.
The shortages are being blamed on an extended deployment, exhausted supply lines and plain old fatigue—raising the obvious question: How did we manage to plan a war but forget the toothpaste?
And then there’s the delicious irony: while thousands of sailors are apparently running low on deodorant, War Secretary Pete Hegseth is the one generating the real stink.
There is something almost poetic about a military that can spend billions of dollars on aircraft, missiles and warships but somehow finds itself struggling to keep sailors supplied with the necessities.
The USS Abraham Lincoln is not exactly a fishing boat that wandered out to sea for a long weekend. It is a nuclear-powered aircraft carrier, one of the most sophisticated and expensive pieces of military hardware on Earth. It carries thousands of sailors and Marines and operates as a floating city.
A floating city, apparently, where the residents may soon be asked to share a bar of soap.
Long deployments are hard under the best circumstances. Add combat operations, sleep deprivation, stress and uncertain resupply, and even the smallest comforts become important. A tube of toothpaste may not seem like a national-security priority—until you don’t have one.
Military readiness is also generally measured in aircraft availability, ammunition stocks, fuel, maintenance and personnel.
Apparently, we now need to add minty-fresh breath to the list.
Of course, shortages of personal-care products are not the same thing as running out of ammunition. But they can be a symptom of something bigger: a supply system being stretched beyond what planners anticipated.
Lincoln’s extended deployment highlights one of the least glamorous realities of military operations: wars require an astonishing amount of stuff.
Fuel. Food. Spare parts. Medical supplies. Uniforms. Batteries. Cleaning supplies. Toiletries. And yes, toothpaste.
Each day thousands of people aboard a carrier consume, use, break or lose something. Multiply that by weeks and months and suddenly the mundane becomes strategically important.
The military can stockpile enough weapons to destroy a target half a world away. But if someone forgets to order enough deodorant, the consequences become surprisingly personal.
Maybe someone should have Seen this coming. That’s where the criticism of leadership comes in.
The United States spends more on its military than almost any other country on Earth. With that kind of spending comes a reasonable expectation that the Pentagon can anticipate the basic needs of the people operating its most valuable assets.
Extended deployments aren’t exactly a new invention. Neither are sailors. Neither, for that matter, are toothbrushes.
The real concern isn’t whether sailors can survive without deodorant for a few days. Of course they can. The concern is whether shortages of basic supplies indicate a broader problem with planning, procurement and logistics at a time when the military is being asked to operate at an extraordinary pace.
Which brings us back to Pete Hegseth. Hegseth has presented himself as the ultimate warrior—tough, aggressive and determined to restore America’s military dominance.
That’s all well and good.
But leadership isn’t simply about looking tough in front of a camera or talking about strength. It also involves making sure the people being sent into harm’s way have what they need to do their jobs.
The military doesn’t need its leadership to smell like roses. It needs leadership that understands logistics, anticipates problems and doesn’t discover supply shortages after thousands of sailors have already run out of toothpaste.
So perhaps we’ve been asking the wrong question. Instead of “Does this 31-year-old sailor have enough testosterone?” Maybe the Pentagon should be asking: “Does this 31-year-old sailor have enough toothpaste?” Because at this rate, the next great military innovation may not be a sixth-generation fighter.
It may be a self-replenishing tube of Colgate. And somewhere aboard the USS Lincoln, an exhausted sailor may be thinking:
“Forget testosterone. Just give me deodorant and let me go home.”