You’ve almost certainly encountered, and ingested, per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances (PFAS). PFAS is an umbrella term for a family of thousands of human-made chemicals. What distinguishes these chemicals is their exceptionally strong carbon-fluorine bonds. These bonds repel oil, water, and stains while resisting heat and chemical agents. Those same bonds, however, make PFAS hard to remove. Some PFAS persist in the body for years, with public health agencies associating PFAS exposure with poor health outcomes, including higher cholesterol, immune system interference, and cancer. In 2025, the California Legislature, Governor Newsom, industry groups, and scientists clashed over whether the convenience of PFAS-containing products outweighs the risk.
A majority of the Legislature leaned toward the view that PFAS’ risks were too great. Both chambers passed SB 682 to ban the sale and distribution of cleaning products, dental floss, juvenile products, food packaging, and ski wax containing PFAS by 2028, with a planned extension of this prohibition to cookware in 2030. Governor Newsom, however, vetoed the bill on October 13, 2025. With PFAS remaining in the mix, Californians must decide for themselves whether having more ‘affordable’ products outweighs the externalized costs to society.
To Newsom’s credit, his veto wasn’t the product of ignorance of PFAS’ consequences; his ‘no’ was based on consumer cost. He had approved earlier PFAS restrictions on food packaging (AB 1200), juvenile products (AB 652), textiles (AB 1817), and cosmetics (AB 2771). In his SB 682 veto letter, Newsom called the bill a “well-intentioned” effort “to protect the health and safety of consumers,” but warned it was so broad that it could trigger a “sizable and rapid shift” in household products, especially cookware. Moreover, he emphasized the need to preserve affordable options. Newsom concluded his letter by urging the bill’s author, Senator Ben Allen, and stakeholders to keep working on PFAS reductions without “sacrificing” affordability.
Industry groups like the “Cookware Sustainability Alliance” go further. They not only agree with Newsom that the bill threatened affordable cookware, but also argue that its passing would “strip Californians of choice,” “raise costs for households & businesses,” “threaten jobs and the economy,” and “create more landfill waste.” More to the heart of the matter, the Cookware Alliance asserts that the “bill is based on a false premise that all PFAS chemicals are hazardous.” “The science is clear”: PFAS, such as fluoropolymers, are “completely safe for use in food preparation.”
Taken together, the critics’ case looks compelling: dubious harm, higher consumer prices, and curtailed freedom, all adding up to government overreach. But there are three points that the bill’s opponents need to contend with. The science isn’t clear on whether certain PFAS are safe, the costs don’t stay personal, and the savings from using PFAS products aren’t what they seem.
Regarding PFAS’ scientific safety, concentrations as low as parts per trillion can be toxic to human health, meaning even small releases are meaningful at scale. And when it comes to the PFAS types that the Cookware Sustainability Alliance claims are safe, a peer-reviewed paper directly challenges the safety of fluoropolymers. Those researchers failed to “find a scientific rationale for concluding that fluoropolymers are of low concern for environmental and human health.” They concluded that fluoropolymer “production and uses should be curtailed except in cases of essential use.”
The concept of ‘consumer choice’ deteriorates when everyone is affected by an individual’s use. PFAS can enter the environment at all stages of a product’s lifecycle, from production to use to disposal. This contamination isn’t hypothetical either: California actively tests for PFAS in drinking water with notable detections, particularly in disadvantaged communities. Further, even when industry groups dispute a product’s safety, the question is not simply whether some level of risk is acceptable, but who is forced to bear that risk. Where the burdens extend beyond voluntary consumers to workers, communities, and the environment, California need not wait for absolute certainty before acting; it can instead follow the precautionary principle, more widely embraced in Europe, and limit exposure before the damage becomes irreversible.
Finally, affordability is a complex issue, thorny from both societal and personal perspectives. At a personal level, PFAS products indeed cost less at checkout: an aluminum PFAS-coated pan will be cheaper than a pure cast-iron or stainless-steel pan. But costs don’t exist in a vacuum. Consumer Reports notes that most nonstick pans need to be replaced every few years and must be discarded if scratched. What appeared “cheap” can quickly become a recurring expense, whereas PFAS-free alternatives (stainless, cast iron, carbon steel) can last a lifetime. The picture worsens when factoring in the societal costs of PFAS contamination and healthcare. The California Senate recognized these broader costs, noting that the state has already spent $500 million on PFAS containment and has allocated an estimated $1.13 billion for future projects. This is all against the backdrop of projected annual health costs of PFAS exposure ranging from $5.5 to $8.7 billion. Admittedly, keeping PFAS options on the market allows individual consumers to benefit from lower sticker prices at checkout, and the companies to profit from selling those products. However, everyone bears the externalities of those purchases, both in terms of their physical health and the monetary costs of associated healthcare treatments.
While Newsom’s veto struck SB 682, it didn’t erase the underlying math: PFAS looks cheap only because many of its costs show up elsewhere, whether in the water system, in healthcare bills, or in communities with the least capacity to absorb them. Whatever bill takes its place should show that by keeping PFAS, Californians aren’t choosing “affordability”; they’re just shifting who pays.