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I’ve had fun connecting my family history with my college experience at Western Michigan University. In a past post, I explored how my Watt ancestors’ work in textile mills tied into the textile classes I took for my Home Economics major. This month, I’m tapping into my Health Education minor to tackle a different kind of topic: how my ancestors smelled. Yes, you read that right! This post dives nose-first into the world of historical hygiene, where I explore what my great great grandparents might have smelled like. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t all roses and lavender.
Historical Hygiene: What My Ancestors Probably Smelled Like"
A humorous yet research-based post about historical hygiene practices across different eras in your family.It’s a question we don’t often ask in genealogy, but it opens a fascinating window into the daily lives of our forebears. Hygiene, like everything else, has a history. And chances are, your 19th-century ancestors weren't as fresh as we might like to imagine.
Bathing Once a Week—If That
In many American and European households before indoor plumbing, bathing was a labor-intensive affair. Water had to be hauled, heated over a fire or stove, and poured into a tub, often shared by the whole family. Saturday night was the traditional bath night, and even then, it might have been a quick rinse.
Daily bathing didn’t become common until the late 19th to early 20th century, and even then, it was more likely to be a sponge bath than a full immersion. Soap was used sparingly and was often homemade, harsh, and reserved for hands and faces.
Source: Bushman, Richard L. The Refinement of America: Persons, Houses, Cities. Knopf, 1992.
Toothbrushes, Toothpowder, and Mouth Odor
Toothbrushes weren’t widely available until the mid-1800s, and toothpaste as we know it didn’t exist. People used toothpowder made from charcoal, chalk, salt, or even brick dust. Mouthwash? Not a thing. Halitosis probably ran rampant.
George Washington famously suffered from dental issues and wore dentures made from a combination of ivory, animal bone, and human teeth—a reminder that oral hygiene was rudimentary at best.
Source: National Museum of Dentistry, University of Maryland, www.dentalmuseum.org
The Great Unwashed—Clothing and Laundry
Clothing wasn't washed often. Underclothes like chemises and drawers (if worn) were changed more frequently, but outer garments, wool suits, dresses, coats, might go months without a wash. Instead, they were brushed or aired out.
Laundry day was a weekly ordeal. In rural settings, this meant boiling water outside in a cauldron, scrubbing clothes by hand on a washboard, and line-drying them. The smell of lye soap and wet wool likely hung heavy in many homes.
Source: Strasser, Susan. Never Done: A History of American Housework. Pantheon Books, 1982.
Perfumes, Pomades, and Powder Rooms
To mask odors, both men and women relied on perfumes and scented oils. Pomade was used in hair to control it and add fragrance (or hide grease). In wealthier households, powder rooms weren’t just for makeup. They were meant to help freshen up without full-body washing.
In some places, people believed that water could carry disease into the body through pores. Dry bathing, wiping with cloths and powders, was sometimes preferred to soap and water.
Source: Classen, Constance, et al. The Deepest Sense: A Cultural History of Touch. University of Illinois Press, 2012.
The Nose Knows: Reimagining the Past
So what did your ancestors smell like? The answer might include:
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Smoke from wood stoves
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Sweat from manual labor
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Lye soap or pine tar
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Leather, wool, or unwashed cotton
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Farm animals or coal smoke
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Tooth decay or strong breath
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Rose water or lavender oil (if lucky)
Since most of my ancestors came from agrarian stock, it’s safe to say their daily scent was a blend of hard work and the land itself. The smell of the barn, hay, livestock, manure, and leather, likely clung to their clothes and skin no matter how clean they tried to be. Add to that the earthy aroma of freshly turned soil, sweat from field labor, and the lingering smoke from woodstoves or open fires, and you get a sensory picture of rural life that was anything but sterile. It wasn’t unpleasant to them, it was simply the smell of their daily lives.
Next time you visit an old homestead or archive, take a moment to breathe deeply. You might not smell the past, but you’ll certainly appreciate modern hygiene a bit more.
Sources
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Bushman, Richard L. The Refinement of America: Persons, Houses, Cities. Knopf, 1992.
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Strasser, Susan. Never Done: A History of American Housework. Pantheon Books, 1982.
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Classen, Constance, et al. The Deepest Sense: A Cultural History of Touch. University of Illinois Press, 2012.
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University of Maryland School of Dentistry, National Museum of Dentistry. www.dentalmuseum.org
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