Back in the days before flame-retardant coatings became popular, fires in factories and crowded buildings brought massive losses. Folks turned to natural methods and bulky materials for protection, but those added weight and slowed production. Once the chemical industry found ways to mix polyurethanes with flame-resistant additives, lives started to change. Factories switched up their painting lines, furniture makers saw insurance premiums drop, and community leaders found new hope for safer schools and transit centers. Flame-retardant polyurethane coatings have evolved steadily, growing out of basic oil-based solutions that barely passed early safety tests. The big leap came as laws around household goods and construction got stricter, and researchers figured out not all solutions needed to feel sticky, smell bad, or turn yellow in the sun. These days, the history of PU flame-retardant technology reads like a timeline of hard-earned lessons. Stories behind each new regulation, every recall, and market shift tell us how public demand, scientific ambition, and a little regulatory “encouragement” shape what gets developed and sold.
PU coating flame retardants usually land on the shelves as liquids, powders, or ready-formulated paints. Think of practical coatings on couches, technical textiles, wires, office dividers, and cars. You’ll smell a faint chemical tang when the product’s fresh, but after application, the surface feels smooth—sometimes rubbery, sometimes more plastic-like. The main pull comes from giving common PU items enough resistance against open flames that a cigarette smolder or small spark won’t turn a sofa or wall panel into a fire hazard. Instead of merely coating the surface, this stuff forms a chemical shield, reacting with heat and sometimes releasing gases that stifle burning. Brands stick names like “flame guard,” “fire block,” or “FR coating” on their buckets, but the core job stays the same: slow fires, keep damage down, and buy precious time for folks to get to safety.
On the lab bench, these coatings don’t behave like paint or shellac. They glide onto surfaces with a thickness you can tweak, from wafer-thin to thick and rubbery. Once cured, they look clear or milky, and they resist scratching, scuffs, and heat. Chemically, the trick is in pairing the polyurethane backbone—known for toughness—with phosphorus, halogen, or nitrogen-based flame retardants. This partnership creates a tough surface that won't melt and drip, but will char and self-extinguish under direct flames. The pH usually hovers around neutral, which helps avoid corrosion or smelly fumes once the coating dries. Heat with a torch, this coating swells up and forms a foamy char, cutting off oxygen from the burning layer. Some versions switch up their flame retardant source to skip toxic halogens and pick up more eco-friendly credentials, but those often come with trade-offs between protection, cost, and look.
Technical sheets tell you all you need in black and white: viscosity so you know how it’ll shoot through a sprayer, drying time for quick turnarounds, film thickness, and temperature limits before breakdown. Ratings like UL 94, ASTM E84, or EN 13501 crop up a lot—they’re shorthand for how a product performs in a furnace or simulated real-life fire conditions. Labels must lay out what’s inside, safety advice, and prep warnings, mainly to deal with flammability before curing and keep workplace air safe. Regulations call for safety pictograms and disposal tips. Different states have their own lists of banned chemicals, so what you can pick up in one area may not fly in another. Retail buckets and industrial drums both need to spell out shelf life, storage temperature, and open-can stability, since a gummed-up coating messes up the application and puts compliance at risk.
For most players in the business, production happens in closed mixers with solid ventilation and dust control. Polyol and isocyanate base ingredients get blended with flame-retardant chemicals—tetra-alkyl phosphates, bromated compounds, or growing families of non-halogenated additives. Milling and homogenizing equipment does the heavy work, since too much friction or heat can cause unwanted pre-curing. In the next phase, the blend rests for sediment to drop out, filtration clears up lumps, tint is added, and the mix gets decanted into drums or smaller containers. Uniform dispersion has to be spot-checked to make sure coverage on the finished product stays even across surfaces. Every batch goes through quick-bake sampling or a torch test before shipping—because even a subtle screw-up can lead to failed fire tests, rejected lots, or fines. A lot of time, bigger outfits recycle solvents and treat emissions, both to stay legal and keep costs down.
PU flame-retardant coatings depend on chemistry but also on control. The backbone reaction pairs polyols and isocyanates, with additives locking inside the growing polymer network. Phosphorus and nitrogen compounds bond to the backbone, so their flame-fighting skills won’t leach out when the coating gets wiped or worn. In halogenated types, bromine atoms step in to grab free radicals from combustion, stalling fire’s advance. Sometimes, new researchers add nano-clays or intumescent compounds—materials that pop and swell with heat, forming a bubble barrier over the surface. Other modification tricks add siloxane or acrylic strands, hoping to toughen up the wear resistance for sports equipment, medical beds, or city buses. Some of the fresh chemistry still faces resistance over cost or tricky scaling-up steps. Still, the push to trim toxicity and improve recyclability fuels wild new experiments with plant-based polyols or green phosphates, even if those sometimes lag in pure fire-stopping power.
Shopping catalogs and datasheets cycle through names: flame-retardant PU, FR PU coating, fire-resistant polyurethane, phospho-PU finish, and others. Manufacturers sometimes invent catchy trademarks to stand out on crowded shelves—names like “FireSafe Shield” or “FlameX Guard”—but underneath the branding, industry insiders stick to the ingredient lists. Trade shows and regional standards create their own confusion, sometimes flipping between “fireproof” and “flame-retardant,” which matters when a home buyer expects one but gets another. Documentation remains the only way to clear up confusion, since sticker tags alone cannot communicate years of chemical development.
Safety signs, hard hats, and ventilation fans tell you the setting before you see the buckets. Application teams train on the hazards: mixing fumes, uncured chemical splash, risk of fire before final curing, and the need for respirators or gloves. Most companies run checks for leaks and spills, since a single overturned drum can ruin a shift or draw down stiff fines. Operational standards get written by experience—nobody wants to trigger a fire while installing a flame-retardant. Modern spray booths, negative pressure rooms, and sealed pumps cut down the accident count, and everyone runs drills with spill kits and cleanup gear. Finished surfaces pass strict flammability and toxicity tests before they get packed, shipped, or installed. Industry audits check workplaces as much as products, and annual certifications count for more than stick-on “safe” claims. The growing trend pushes for non-halogen, low-toxin versions, especially where playgrounds, hospitals, and schools specify only the cleanest options.
Real-world demand pulls coatings into new use cases faster than ever. Office partitions, city buses, upholstery, airplane seats, cable insulation, and walkways form the most common portfolio, but stricter codes push demand to roof panels and elevator interiors. In my own work with event organizers and municipal planners, I’ve seen inspectors ask for documents showing the flame test ratings right on spot before fresh coatings roll out. It’s clear that no one wants to take a risk with crowds or tight quarters. Transit authorities lean on these coatings for subway cars and elevator doors, where open flames can turn a hiccup into a catastrophe. School districts and health-care providers want assurance kids, teachers, and patients stay away from legacy, high-toxin coatings. Smart-home builders look for versions that won’t yellow or harden under sunlight while still stopping fire in its tracks. If a municipal inspector raises a flag, the demand for proven, up-to-code coatings rises overnight—and so does the pressure on suppliers.
Research labs run hot on the next wave of green flame retardants. Pressure comes from local rules in California, major moves in the EU, and lobbyists at every large trade show. Developers chase compounds that break down cleanly and don’t pose health risks, but that can mean juggling chemistry: drop the halogens, keep the fire resistance. University teams race to test new plant-derived polyols, low-fog compounds, or nanoparticles that swarm around burning areas to form a foam. Big companies run field simulations and bench-scale fire tests to back up claims and score patents. A friend from a leading supplier told me some new compounds cut fire spread by half, but struggle to pass scratch or light-resistance benchmarks, requiring more trial and error. Labs publish findings in bursts—sometimes with caveats, since a huge advance in the lab doesn’t always survive mass production’s bumps or regional laws.
Concerns over what’s hidden in the formula keep growing each year. Early versions of PU flame retardants gave off heavy smoke and toxic gases, a problem that’s haunted the sector since the first recall waves. Modern studies link certain phosphate or bromate additives to health risks, especially as coated items wear down in public spaces. Toxicity research drives regulatory watchdogs to look deeper, and pushes buyers toward products with low-smoke, non-toxic breakdown claims. I’ve noticed a surge in certifications and third-party labeling, especially as cities tighten indoor air rules or threaten penalties for undisclosed chemicals. Testing covers more than the coating itself—fire tests now examine smoke, residue, and even possible leaching into soil and water. Solutions are trending toward halogen-free and bio-based lines, though cost and supply challenges still make the fully green transition a marathon instead of a sprint.
Demand for fire-safe, tough, and affordable PU coatings only looks set to rise. Climate change throws up new fire risks in older buildings, and insurance firms get fussier about standards. As rules get sharper and economies of scale push greener compounds into larger runs, expect to see better offerings at mid-market prices. Researchers try to close the gap between green chemistry and industry speed, hoping to reduce labor, address toxicity, and meet stricter global export demands all at once. The journey ahead will keep challenging chemists, regulators, and customers. Learning from setbacks, whether small lab hiccups or high-profile recalls, spurs creativity, forcing the sector to own up to past mistakes and plan smarter for people’s safety. In cities with denser populations and limited escape routes, the stakes for reliable, proven flame-retardant PU coatings get clearer every year.
Flames catch fast. Most of us remember news stories about a warehouse, school, or apartment where fire took over in minutes. Many products we use—furniture, clothing, electronics—contain polyurethane (PU) coatings. Folks count on those coatings for strength and waterproofing, but without extra protection, they can burn easily, spreading fire before help arrives. That’s where flame retardants for PU coatings matter, even though they’re easy to overlook.
Flame retardants are chemicals mixed right into polyurethane during manufacturing. Instead of just coating a surface, these chemicals become part of the material itself. Once they’re there, they change how PU reacts when touched by heat. Instead of feeding a fire, flame retardant PU slows burning and helps form a char layer. So if a spark ever hits—maybe from a faulty wire or a dropped match—the fire’s path can get blocked. That delay counts for a lot, giving people more time to respond and reducing the speed at which toxic smoke spreads.
Some flame retardants use phosphorus, nitrogen, or halogen-based compounds. Phosphorus turns into phosphoric acid as it heats, which pushes the polymer to form a carbon-rich surface that flames can’t break through easily. Nitrogen-based options free up gasses during a fire that dilute burning. Halogen-based ones, often chlorine or bromine related, interact directly with the flames, sucking away free radicals that keep a fire alive. Each type has upsides and downsides—halogens can sometimes lead to more toxic smoke, for instance, offering a tradeoff between performance and health concerns.
It’s not just factories or office buildings at stake here. Couches, mattresses, curtains, electrical cords—everyday objects often have PU coatings. Kids nap on these materials, pets sprawl across them, and lives unfold nearby. Fewer materials treated with flame retardants can cause home fires to get out of control faster, even with working smoke alarms. After a close friend lost his shop in a fire years ago, I started noticing flame labels on products a lot more. An extra minute in a fire can change outcomes.
Some people worry about the health impact of chemicals used for flame retardancy. They base those worries on real problems: dust in homes builds up, and tiny flame retardant particles don’t always stay in the product. Scientists have found traces in dust and even human tissue. Manufacturers started shifting formulas in response. They look at new, less toxic chemical blends or even non-chemical solutions like special layered coatings and smoke-suppressing wraps, trying to protect both people and planet.
Factories can keep searching for safer, greener chemistries—ones that break down faster after disposal and don’t linger in air or dust. Regulators should update fire safety rules and chemical approval processes as science moves on. People can check for safer-certified labels, especially anyone with small kids, allergies, or pets. Well-known certifications such as OEKO-TEX or GREENGUARD offer some peace of mind.
For anyone crafting or buying things with PU coating, asking questions about the type of flame retardant used makes sense. These choices shape both how well we’re protected during a fire and what we’re breathing years later. The world’s far from perfect, but with enough attention from the people who buy and build, change comes, little by little.
Shopping for kids’ backpacks or new furniture, you might spot “PU coating” on the label. It pops up everywhere—from baby strollers to office chairs. PU stands for polyurethane, and the coating adds durability and, often, a flame-retardant shield. Some brands proudly announce this feature, hinting it keeps your family safe. The concern starts here: what’s inside the coating?
Flame retardants in polyurethanes come from chemicals like TCPP, TCEP, or PBDEs. Studies from the Environmental Working Group and NIH have raised flags. For families, the worry grows: certain chemicals stick around in dust and can leach through skin, especially when coatings degrade or get scratched. Infants and toddlers, always finding ways to chew or mouth things, could take in more of these substances. The CDC links some flame retardants to hormone disruption and developmental challenges. These aren’t vague hypothetical dangers; traces show up in blood samples, especially in children.
Digging into regulations is like counting puzzle pieces in the dark. North America, Europe, and Asia all set their own rules. The European Union bans or limits particular flame-retarding chemicals with its REACH database. The U.S. bans PBDEs in products for children in some states, but rules elsewhere lag behind. California’s Prop 65 nudges manufacturers to be more transparent, but labeling still confuses many buyers.
Manufacturers can swap old chemicals for new ones, sometimes before the science catches up. A few flame retardants, hailed as safer options, remain understudied. In my job covering environmental news, I’ve seen companies rush to “BPA-free” or “non-PBDE” labels, sometimes replacing one concern with another. Polyurethane has become a patchwork: compliant in France, questionable in China, untested in the Midwest. Tracking the supply chain means trusting manufacturers thousands of miles away. That trust doesn’t always pay off.
Fires remain real threats. Historically, deadly incidents pushed lawmakers to demand flame resistance in furniture. But back then, few paid attention to slow chemical leaks as coatings aged. The push to protect against one hazard quietly brought in a different risk—an indoor fog of hormone-altering compounds.
Options exist. Wool, for instance, resists flames without chemical help and shows up in eco-friendly furniture. In new homes, families get advice to ventilate and dust regularly to keep indoor toxins in check. Some schools opt for “barrier technology,” using fabric blends instead of flame retardants.
Making smart choices means staying skeptical of slick marketing. Ask brands about the type of flame retardant used. Demand to see certificates that match local laws. At home, focus on products proven by independent reports, not just a compliant-sounding label meant to reassure.
No parent or business owner can spend all day cross-checking chemical lists. Industry has to step up, phase out the worst offenders, and support public studies on replacements. Regulations work only if enforced and updated as new evidence rolls in.
The everyday shopper, teacher, or health inspector influences this change by asking questions, pressing for clear answers, and sharing findings. My own life changed when researching toys for my children. I still check labels but rely more on independent reviews and watchdog alerts. Until public policy, science, and industry align, caution offers the safest ground.
PU, or polyurethane, flame retardants show up in more places than people realize. Take a walk through a furniture store, browse outdoor gear, or even unzip your jacket. You’ll spot signs of this coating everywhere, woven into the things we expect to last and sometimes, to save lives.
Textile manufacturers have relied on flame-retardant PU coatings for decades. These coatings sit on curtains in hotel rooms, theater seats, and transit upholstery. Nobody’s excited to think about fire breaking out, but building codes don’t give much leeway. I spent part of my younger years lugging around stage curtains and cushions for events, and the sticky feel on my hands stuck with me. It came from the PU topcoat added for flame protection. That layer might not seem flashy, but after seeing slow-burning upholstery in a demo test compared to untreated fabric, you start to see the reason behind the fuss.
PU flame-retardant coatings don’t stop at standard polyester. Manufacturers put them on faux leather for sofas, automotive interiors, and ambulance stretchers. Only a few people realize how many public spaces skimp on real leather, but synthetic leather does a respectable job and can receive a flexible PU top layer. Lab tests back this up: after treatment, materials can often meet even tougher fire regulations, especially in cars, trains, and airplanes, where every second counts.
Wood stays vulnerable in most indoor settings, especially where there’s constant movement and a risk of sparks—think school gym floors, hotel lobbies, and modern office buildings. PU coatings for wood often add both scratch resistance and fire protection. The finish can keep surfaces looking newer, but in a fire, it prevents the quick flash-over that can endanger crowds. Plastic panels in electronics and appliances also benefit from PU flame retardants. Manufacturers use them in TV frames and plastic casings for consumer gadgets, sometimes shaving valuable seconds off ignition times in more extreme tests.
Pull back the tongue of many athletic shoes or hiking boots. That cushy midsole material often gets a PU finish, sometimes including flame retardants. Shoes rarely make headlines for fire safety, but for military or industrial use, this feature can’t be overlooked. Synthetic rainwear, tents, and backpacks target not just tough weather but also open flames—think of a stray campfire spark. Engineers and designers learned the hard way that adding just a touch of flame inhibition to these surfaces can spare property and prevent injuries.
Today’s cities see more plastic, composite, and synthetic materials in homes, cars, and public spaces. PU-based flame retardants help keep these things safer without making people switch to uncomfortable or ugly alternatives. Some argue about chemical safety, and it makes sense to take those claims seriously. Product safety testing and third-party certifications give buyers a little extra peace of mind. Options for halogen-free, lower-emission flame retardants keep growing, showing cleaner chemistry isn’t out of reach.
Choosing materials treated with PU flame retardants won’t make front-page news, but it can mean the difference between safety and tragedy. I’ve seen the results of corners cut—sooty office furniture and a few close calls in public venues. The underlying lesson sticks: in places where people gather, travel, or just relax, a little hidden protection makes a lot of sense.
Sparks fly, ovens overheat, or small mistakes in the home or at work can turn dangerous fast. Flame retardant (FR) fabrics show up everywhere these days, from kids’ pajamas to firefighter uniforms. The big selling point has always been safety. But there’s a question that keeps coming up around laundry day: Just how well do these special materials stand up to washing and everyday wear?
Laundry routines aren’t always gentle. Hot water, detergent, and even hard water all play a part in stripping out chemicals from fabrics. If the protection’s just sprayed on, it washes off quicker than most folks realize. Imagine dropping a raincoat into a few hot cycles—soon, that waterproof layer doesn’t help much. Flame-resistant finishes can act in a similar way.
Some chemical FR treatments only survive a few dozen washes before fading away. Researchers at North Carolina State University tested common FR workwear and found that after 40 washes, flame resistance dropped off sharply. Clothes that start off promising won't help if the safety feature washes out long before the fabric gets thin.
Manufacturers often say their “inherently flame resistant” fibers stand up to washing better. Aramid fibers, used in racing suits and firefighter gear, were first made to shrug off both flames and laundry. Still, dirt and oils build up over time, especially in workwear. That grease cancels out much of the protection and makes the fabric burn faster. I’ve seen mechanics lean on their laundered shirts—shirts that passed FR tests months before—but after enough engine work, a drop of solvent and a spark can do real harm.
Some FR clothes promise 100 washes, but even these figures come from careful lab testing, not real homes or rough job sites. Homespun laundering, with shortcuts and overloading the machine, wears down even the toughest threads quicker than a test lab will admit.
Parents count on pajamas to protect little ones. Labels say “flame resistant,” but the fine print calls for gentle washing, no bleach, low heat. How many parents have the time for that every single week? One rough spin, a bit of heat, or leftover soap scum, and suddenly the fabric doesn’t protect as expected. It’s a hidden risk: parents buy peace of mind, but that fades load by load.
Routine matters as much as the product itself. Washing in cool water and skipping softeners actually helps clothes hold onto their protective finishes. Checking care instructions—really reading them—saves more than a few dollars: it keeps the protection where it’s needed.
Buyers deserve honest durability from the start. Some clothing makers stamp a “wash countdown” on RN tags, showing how many cycles safety can survive. Others offer QR codes with care tips and reminders. This kind of clear info keeps workers and families better prepared.
No magic formula lets flame retardant coatings last forever. Habit, maintenance, and honest warnings about limitations matter. The best gear mixes strong fibers with transparently tested claims. Spot checks—burn tests, direct visual inspection—have helped many crews in tough jobs catch worn gear before disaster strikes. Upfront knowledge and practical habits do more for real safety than trusting the latest label in the shop.
People buying furniture or clothes want handsome colors, cozy textures, and that “fresh out of the box” feel. Polyurethane coating with flame retardant has become a staple in upholstery, shoes, auto interiors, and outdoor gear. Safety matters, especially with fire risk. Some folks, though, start asking questions as soon as the words “chemical coating” pop up. Does the fabric get stiffer? Will the sofa feel plasticky rather than plush? Does the coating tint the fabric? Designers and shoppers both notice the difference in hand and sheen between untreated and treated materials.
Growing up in a household with practical parents, the couch had to survive two rowdy kids and a big yellow dog. The look and touch of the upholstery changed with every “upgraded protection.” Soft, woven cloth covers started showing a shinier, slicker finish after a few seasons. That wasn’t accidental. Flame retardant coatings create a sort of barrier—a thin shield over every fiber—intended to delay ignition and limit spread. The coating itself tends to seal the surface, creating a slight gloss. For lighter or natural shades, an extra layer sometimes deepens the color or even adds a mild yellowish tinge, especially after a few months in a sunny living room.
Small changes to the surface show up fast. Materials sealed for fire performance often lose that tactile, “natural nap.” Fabrics that once had a soft, gentle hand start feeling a bit rubbery. Some compare it to the difference between an old cotton t-shirt and a rain jacket—the magic vanishes. The coating fills tiny gaps between fibers, erasing the open, breathable texture. Synthetic leather, or PU leather, already looks a little glossier than the real thing. A flame retardant finish pushes it further, so bags, jackets, and shoes take on an even more artificial gleam. Anyone who swaps out gear every year or two won’t notice much, but those who keep things for years can spot the shift in a heartbeat.
Factory managers, furniture makers, and designers all argue about how much coating is “enough.” The more flame retardant added, the higher the safety rating, but also the more obvious the changes: stiffer hand, lost breathability, muddied colors. Textile labs try to balance chemical recipes that protect without spoiling the original appeal. The European Union took tough stances on certain flame retardant ingredients after research found possible health risks—not only for users, but for workers applying these coatings. The industry pivoted to safer alternatives, though some still suspect legacy ingredients creep into less regulated regions.
Retailers, squeezed by tight rules, have started labeling more honestly. “Treated for flame resistance—may affect hand and shade” pops up on tags. For outdoor tents and kids’ pajamas, nobody gripes about a minor color shift if the fabric resists fire. For high-end purses, buyers get picky. Some leather artisans choose to skip chemical barriers in favor of old-school production, but insurance premiums run high, and large chains won’t take the chance.
Biobased coatings, milder chemicals, and improved manufacturing all promise less trade-off. Foam makers experiment with blending flame retardant inside, not over the surface, keeping touch and color truer to the source. Some brands try double-layered solutions, sandwiching performance and aesthetics. Others investigate using nanocoatings—ultra-thin, almost invisible films—that halt fire without turning a shirt into a cheap raincoat. The trick remains: protect without spoiling the pleasure of touch, sight, or long-term use.
Most consumers appreciate fire protection, especially in areas like home or travel. They just want to keep the comfort, beauty, and authenticity of the material. Honest information, better chemistry, and smart design will decide whose coating wins trust in every household and closet.
| Names | |
| Preferred IUPAC name | 2,2',6,6'-Tetrabromo-4,4'-isopropylidenediphenol |
| Other names |
Polyurethane Coating Flame Retardant PU Flame Retardant Polyurethane Flame Retardant PU FR Flame Retardant for PU Coating |
| Pronunciation | /piː juː ˈkoʊ.tɪŋ fleɪm rɪˈtɑːr.dənt/ |
| Identifiers | |
| CAS Number | 13674-84-5 |
| Beilstein Reference | 4-01-00-02456 |
| ChEBI | CHEBI:131722 |
| ChEMBL | CHEMBL2103839 |
| DrugBank | DB12021 |
| ECHA InfoCard | echa.infocard.100.123.407 |
| EC Number | EC 500-176-2 |
| Gmelin Reference | Gmelin Reference: 209285 |
| KEGG | C22175 |
| MeSH | Polyurethanes", "Coated Materials, Manufactured", "Flame Retardants", "Fire Extinguishing Agents", "Surface Properties", "Materials Testing |
| PubChem CID | 146346264 |
| RTECS number | VH8575000 |
| UNII | 3KM6INIC0E |
| UN number | UN1993 |
| Properties | |
| Chemical formula | C9H6Br2O2 |
| Molar mass | 814.77 g/mol |
| Appearance | Milky white or light yellow viscous liquid |
| Odor | Slight characteristic odor |
| Density | 1.18 g/cm³ |
| Solubility in water | Insoluble |
| log P | 4.7 |
| Vapor pressure | Negligible |
| Acidity (pKa) | 13.7 |
| Basicity (pKb) | 8.6 |
| Magnetic susceptibility (χ) | Diamagnetic (-20 × 10⁻⁶ to -16 × 10⁻⁶) |
| Refractive index (nD) | 1.49 |
| Viscosity | 200 ± 50 mPa·s |
| Dipole moment | 1.99 D |
| Thermochemistry | |
| Std enthalpy of combustion (ΔcH⦵298) | -24.8 kJ/g |
| Pharmacology | |
| ATC code | ATC133 |
| Hazards | |
| GHS labelling | GHS02, GHS07, GHS08 |
| Pictograms | Flame, Exclamation Mark, Health Hazard |
| Signal word | Warning |
| Hazard statements | Hazard statements: H315, H319, H335 |
| Precautionary statements | P210, P261, P280, P305+P351+P338, P337+P313 |
| NFPA 704 (fire diamond) | NFPA 704: 1-1-0 |
| Flash point | >100°C |
| Autoignition temperature | 450°C |
| LD50 (median dose) | LD50 (median dose): > 5000 mg/kg (Rat) |
| REL (Recommended) | Less than 10 mg/m³ |
| Related compounds | |
| Related compounds |
PU Binder Flame Retardant PU Synthetic Leather Flame Retardant PU Adhesive Flame Retardant PU Resin Flame Retardant TPU Flame Retardant |
