§ With all the incessant and frequent handwashing everyone has undergone since the beginning of the pandemic, this post (originally published on July 13, 2018) seemed remarkably timely! §
The other day I was at my daughter’s home, and she commented that “Puppy” (a full-grown, 40-pound Husky) was in need of “a spa day pretty soon; she smells like a dog”.
Now, I lost much of my sense of smell–no, not due to coronavirus, but to a sinus disorder many years ago. Consequently, I could not comment on the problem, despite the fact that my granddog was dancing in front of me, performing her “I have not seen you in at least two days and you’re my favorite person on the planet” act. She might not have smelled like roses, but Puppy’s doggy-odor hadn’t reached offensive levels, I thought. However, the comment on smell jogged my memory regarding an article I’d read a few months earlier.
The author of the article was a proponent of infrequent bathing. His essay discussed the natural biome of the skin which was, he claimed, destroyed by too-frequent bathing (which, his article seemed to indicate, was basically any form of bathing at all). The author explained that he no longer showered or bathed, contenting himself with occasionally rinsing off excess sweat, something made easy in the summer months by merely standing beneath the garden hose—especially to rinse off his genital area.
After I finished retching (and wondering just how active this joker’s sex life wasn’t!), I continued reading to his conclusion that, instead of soap, he “smelled like people”.
As I clicked off the article, I wondered to myself if smelling like people might be somewhat equivalent to smelling like a dog, especially after the garden hose trick. Despite my weak sense of smell, wet dog is not one of my favorite scents. I’m pretty certain that wet, unwashed people smell pretty similar to that. And I was absolutely certain that the male author of the “don’t wash” essay had never been a menstruating woman on a hot summer day.
I’ve always equated not bathing with, oh, say, body lice and bubonic plague. I’ll take the sheer, unmatched pleasure of soaking in a hot bath with lavender salts, or a steamy shower with scented soap on a “scrubbie” body puff—yeah, I’ll take that any day over any amount of “natural biome”. And don’t even get me started on the “no-poo” non-hair-washing crusaders. No-poo-schmoo-poo! I generally use styling products to arrange my long hair, so unless I’ve not needed to do much more with my locks than brush them (i.e., been nowhere or seen no one for days–which usually happens only when I’m sick in bed), my hair gets thoroughly shampooed and conditioned every second or third day. On the rare occasions that I must wait longer than that to wash it, it feels absolutely icky and looks dull and anyone trying to restrain me from the hot water and shampoo had best be armed! I use a nail brush to scrub beneath my fingernails every morning, too, all the while wondering to myself just what frightening “natural biome” lurks beneath those lovely gel-manicured fake nails I see on every second pair of female hands.
I still wonder how the author of the “don’t bathe” article felt about the CDCs recommendations for handwashing during the flu season. And that causes me to recall another article that I read, this one long before the marvels of instantly available knowledge on the Web. That article discussed the age-old scourge of the disease trachoma, a bacterial eye inflammation that causes granulations to form beneath the eyelids. The disease is progressive, eventually causing the eyeball itself to harden and blinding the sufferers. Trachoma is a common cause of blindness in third-world countries. But the researchers had discovered a simple way to reduce the spread of trachoma and prevent re-infection of those receiving treatment.
They simply had the people, either infected or at risk, wash their faces every day.
Natural biomes are not necessarily benign. Queen Elizabeth the First may have bathed monthly “whether she needed it or not”, but I’ll stick to my daily schedule, thank you very much. And enjoy every blessed minute of rearranging the natural biome of my skin.