For as long as us humans have existed, we’ve shat – but the
implement with which we’ve cleaned the dregs of poo from our butts
has varied wildly, governed by resources and cultural norms. The
first known instance of folks wiping with paper occurred in medieval
China, 589 CE. Rather than using a refreshing spray of water
like many did at the time, the Chinese used one of their greatest
inventions, paper, to get their backsides squeaky clean post-toilet
time. By the early 14th century, millions of packs of TP were being
distributed around China, but sheets weren’t the teeny squares we’ve
come to know and love. Instead, bog paper for the Imperial Court was
as big as two-by-three feet, or around the size of a bath towel.
In other parts of the globe, the rich scrubbed their butts with wool,
hemp or lengths of lace (the preferred way to wipe in France). If you
were poor, you could go shit in the river, then wipe yourself clean
with your own hand – or, if you were feeling fancy, you could rub
your unmentionables with grass, moss, rags, corncobs (complete
with handy in-built ridges), snow, leaves, or – should you be
willing to suffer a splinter or two – wood chips. Legend has it the
ancient Romans had the clever idea of popping a sponge on a stick
(when not in use, this device lived in a bucket of vinegar, a natural
disinfectant), and sources indicate the ancient Jewish practice
was to polish one’s arse with a set of small pebbles. The pebbles
were carried around in a special bag; use of dry grass and broken
ceramics was also encouraged.
Up until the 1800s, folks in the Western world were still getting by with
their corncob arse-cleaners, but in 1857, New York inventor Joseph
Gayetty came up with an idea the Chinese had been onto for eons:
toilet tissue. Only, Joseph’s TP – made from hemp and infused with
aloe – wasn’t yet called ‘toilet paper’. Since the idea of acknowledging
that shit does, in fact, happen made Americans scramble for the
smelling salts, Joseph named his product ‘therapeutic paper’. Added
bonus: it prevented haemorrhoids (apparently). But America didn’t
see any reason to buy Joseph’s product when they could just as easily
use the catalogues that came for free in the mail (haemorrhoids be
damned). Wiping with Sears brochures became the norm, sending
Joe’s therapeutic paper sales down the toilet.
Had toilet technology remained rudimentary, we might still be
using catalogues, newspapers and, yes, even magazines, for the
purpose of cleaning ourselves of poo and wee. But towards the end
of the 19th century, flushing toilets became increasingly common
in American homes – even though they’d been invented way back
in 1596 by British nobleman Sir John Harington (hence ‘the john’).
A flushing toilet, unlike a hole in the ground, requires paper that will
flush and disintegrate, lest one’s pipes become damaged; catalogues,
like corncobs, weren’t up to the task. Americans needed toilet paper,
stat. So, in 1890, when brothers Clarence and E. Irvin Scott had the
genius idea of selling paper on a roll, they quickly became the biggest
producers of TP in the States.
Actually mentioning toilet paper was still a no-no, however, which
meant it was marketed as a medicinal item until 1928, when the
Charmin Paper Company’s use of a pretty lady on its packaging
made it appear more, well, charming. The Charmin baby replaced
the Charmin lady in 1956, leading to the “Charmin babies your skin”
campaign, and toilet paper manufacturers have used babies and
puppies as mascots ever since – although the idea of using either of
these to refer to the product’s softness seems odd, given you’d never
wipe your bottom with an infant or a dog (we hope).
Over the course of the 20th century, as the general population
became less averse to acknowledging the need to clean themselves
butt-wise, TP-makers celebrated by releasing loo roll in many
colours: pink, lavender, green and more. No longer were you limited
to stocking your dunny with plain old white paper – now you could
coordinate your poo wipers with your tiles, linoleum floor or nail
polish, if you were so inclined. The heady days of rainbow toilet rolls
were short-lived, however; folks reckoned the dyes caused medical
dramas of the highly unfortunate variety, from inflammation of the
pubic area to cervical cancer.Yep, we’ve come a long way from rubbing our anuses with lace,
pebbles or the side of a broken vase. And toilet paper itself continues
to improve, with increasingly generous ‘ply’ (England’s St. Andrews
Paper Mill produced the first two-layer paper in 1945) and convenient
perforations every 10 centimetres, allowing one to tear off a square
to blot one’s lipstick or dab a runny nostril. It’s also ideal for throwing
ad hoc over your most despised teacher’s house in the middle of
the night, before running away to contemplate your destructive and
environmentally questionable tendencies.mia timpano examines the tearable
history of toilet paper.
spray and wıpe
learn something new