Hey y’all! Abby here to share my experience living with eighteenth-century hair care and dressing every day for nearly a year. I’m going to bust all those falsehoods, myths and extreme rumors that surround eighteenth-century hair, its care and the people of the time period.
One of my favorite myths is that rattail combs were invented because women would leave their hair up in these elaborate hairstyles and rats would live in them. Seriously. Rats. Can you imagine having a rodent that weighs between 8 and 12 ounces (226 and 340 g) living on your head? [1] Now imagine Queen Charlotte of England living with rats on her head.
It just doesn’t make sense. It’s so illogical, it’s funny. But for some reason, people have perpetuated this myth over and over again.
Good hygiene was an important part of eighteenth-century society, and it’s important to address pomade and powder from this hygienic perspective. While the concept of germs, bacteria and viruses was not quite there, people of the eighteenth century understood that hygiene was closely associated with good health. Stench and foul odors of the body were linked to the transmission of disease. [2] Most people associate pomade and powder exclusively with the aristocratic elite, but these products were available to everyone. [3] This was hair care, as basic and simple as hopping in the shower for us today.
When looking through eighteenth-century hairdressing manuals and cosmetic books, you’ll find that washing of the hair usually centered around dyeing the hair or an attempt to cure an ailment. [4] While it was understood that fresh water wouldn’t damage the hair, hairdressers were against bathing in salt water unless it was recommended by physicians. [5]
It still seems weird, though. Can you have “clean” hair without water, shampoo and conditioner? I set out to answer that question, spending almost an entire year using pomade and powder made from eighteenth-century recipes as my main source of hair care, with only the occasional wash. Here’s what I learned:
Gilles Edme Petit, 1694–1760. Le Matin. 1700s. The Metropolitan Museum of Art. 53.600.1042.
Toilet set in original leather case, c. 1743–1745, The Metropolitan Museum of Art. 2005.364.1a-d-.48.
Ravenet, S., Engraver, and William Hogarth. Marriage à la mode—the toilette scene / invented, painted & published by Wm. Hogarth; engraved by S. Ravenet. England, 1745. Photograph. Library of Congress. https://www.loc.gov/item/95507453/.
Combing your hair was encouraged in eighteenth-century hair care books for a reason. It moves the oils and powder away from the scalp and prevents buildup. On the other hand, brushing your hair is a terrible idea. Brushing makes the powder pile up and look like the worst case of dandruff of all time. It isn’t a good look.
I had to do a fresh pomade and powder at minimum every two weeks, but it was best to do it every week. The fresh application of pomade and powder would clean and freshen my hair and make my scalp feel better. If I pushed it longer than two weeks, my hair would start to smell funky.
A day or so after applying fresh powder, it would start to disappear. While my hair wasn’t as dark or glossy as it would be when freshly washed with shampoo and conditioner, it also didn’t have that stereotypical powdered look. The powder would be absorbed, but I would still have the pliability and volume that I wanted while my hair was more natural in color.
I was able to dress my hair and take it down every day. The first day was always the trickiest, but by the following day the hair had been trained to assume the style. Throwing it over a cushion and redoing the buckles and chignon was really quick. At night I just had to pin up the pre-parted sections individually, so I didn’t have to re-part my hair the next morning. I could dress my hair in just a few minutes. I didn’t need to leave it up and sleep with my hair in full dress, another common modern myth that does not appear in original hairdressing manuals.
I never got lice, fleas, rats, bugs, unicorns, narwhals, boogeymen or unwanted vermin in my hair. I would find bits of thread and fuzz, though. I never got an infection, nor did I lose my hair. It was healthy and happy as long as I combed it.
I learned that eighteenth-century hair care and hygiene is completely viable and an incredibly intelligent way to care for my hair. I loved having hair that I could curl, mold and twist into beautiful designs on a whim. Rumors and myths have clouded logical judgment on this natural and healthy way to care for our hair. Women, men and their hairdressers were obsessed with keeping their hair healthy, nourished and in the best possible condition. It was incredibly important to those in the past, as every hairdressing manual and book reiterates over and over again.