One of my mother’s concerns foremost for her college-aged
children is the area of personal hygiene. On the sticky note of priorities,
showering and brushing your hair are tasks most easily postponed until this
paper is finished or that midterm is over. During the winter months especially,
hoodies and beanies make a portable place to hibernate.
Perhaps my mom’s worry proves justified as busy
semesters seem less than conducive to healthy hygiene habits. But when
my morning routine is compared with ideas of regency era cleanliness, I think Mom will
feel somewhat relieved. Therefore, I submit the regency toothbrush as exhibit
number one.
In Jane Austen’s day, ladies and gentlemen first
selected a suitable stick. That’s right, a stick. Made of wood. From a tree.
These twigs were usually from the Birch tree, a deciduous
hardwood from the genus Betula.Perhaps Darcy had a grove of toothbrush trees in the yard at Pemberley.
Next, one would chew on an end of the stick until a
fibrous pulp was created closely resembling the bristles of a modern
toothbrush. No wonder people smiled with their lips in old portraits. They
would hate for us to see the splinters in their teeth.
The modified twig was then combined with a chalky
toothpowder. Not until 1824 did a dentist combine this powder with soap to
invent toothpaste.
This knowledge
motivates me to enjoy all the wondrous conveniences of modern hygiene. When
I pull myself out of bed before class, I can walk straight to the sink instead
of darting outside to collect tree limbs. So worry less, Mom—at least I’m not
using sticks.
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