How the cow got its stripes

You would not be amiss to think that the ultimate feat in science had let its standards slip when you see Nobel Prizes have been awarded for analysing the bacteria found in spat-out gum and categorising modes of cat-to-human communication. However, if you do a double-take at the headlines, you will notice that two letters — Ig — have been added at the beginning of the award name. Inevitably, you will come to understand that such articles are not referring to the prestigious, Swedish-founded set of accolades — rewarded for outstanding contributions to the fields of Physics, Chemistry, Medicine, Literature, Peace, or Economics — but to awards administered by the Annals of Improbable Research (AIR). 

These so-called Ig Nobel Prizes (the amusing result of a little wordplay with ‘ignoble’, meaning unworthy or shameful) are bestowed upon those presenting research that will “at first make people laugh, then make them think,” with hopes of attracting greater public interest towards science.  

This year, along with studies involving drunken bats and chewing Teflon, it was Tomoki Kojima and colleagues who were crowned the winners of the 2025 Biology Prize for their research paper (first published in 2019 in the scientific journal PLoS ONE) entitled: “Cows Painted with Zebra-Like Striping Can Avoid Biting Fly Attack.” 

With such an objective, says-it-on-the-tin title, it may be easy for readers to skim over — chuckling to themselves as they envision a nonplussed heifer dressing up for a savannah-themed costume party. Yet, as the AIR’s motto implores us, it is necessary to examine the unique insight and benefit ensconced within this at-first comical and sarcastic-sounding piece of research.

For those who do not know the children’s fable “How the Zebra Got Its Stripes,” it originated from the San people of Namibia, who told of an all-white zebra that — during a brawl with a baboon — stumbled into a fire, coming out alive but singed, with soot-black stripes all over its body. Although we now know that it was not fire, but evolution, that gave us the zebra, there are still multiple hypotheses as to why this unusual pattern emerged, including camouflage and thermoregulation. 

One of the more intriguing theories, which has garnered a lot of supporting evidence, is that these black-and-white streaks enabled zebras to avoid biting attacks from flies. Indeed, it has been demonstrated that biting flies (including stable, horn, and horse fly species) avoid landing on striped and spotted surfaces of a particular size. Researchers thus aimed to determine whether painting white zebra-style stripes on Japanese Black cattle reduced their chances of being bitten. 

They concluded that this pattern brought about a 50% decrease in the number of fly-landings and that this correlated with fewer displays of irate, fly-repelling behaviour in the cattle. It may seem trivial, but this behaviour (which may involve aggressive head throwing and hoof stomping) can induce unnecessary heat stress in cows, potentially resulting in hampered growth and impaired milk production. As such, limiting it as much as possible is crucial, not only for the health and welfare of the animal, but also for the wider agricultural and economic implications. 

Furthermore, as opposed to pesticides — which can be harmful for the environment and fragile ecosystems, with their prolonged use also contributing to increased pest resistance over time — painting may be a safer, more eco-friendly, and less time-consuming approach to controlling fly stress in cattle herds. 

All of this goes to show that science does not need to take itself too seriously. Yes, there have been massive advancements made in society through Curie’s work on radiation and Fleming’s discovery of penicillin, but surely there is a place for the quirkier — yet no less important — innovations as well?

Image from Wikimedia Commons