The Hygiene Olympics Has Black People in a Chokehold
When systemic racism affects the optics of cleanliness, can the Black community ever take home the gold?
“Undoubtedly, much of the desire for cleanliness is to overcome the prejudicial old wives’ tale that ‘all Negroes smell bad’.”
As I sit down to write this essay, a mass of slick, wet curls sits on top of my head; each coil laden with conditioner, scented with bananas and coconut.
I washed my hair today. I’m a Black woman.
Without any further elaboration, Black women understand what that entails. The washing of one’s hair is an undertaking that is universally understood within the Black community.
Aching arms, multiple products, a battle with a wide-tooth comb, frustration, procrastination, and a period of existential dread are all common features of such an endeavour.
I find myself basking in post-wash feelings of satisfaction and accomplishment — almost like a reward for enduring this necessary evil that we submit ourselves to in the pursuit of personal cleanliness.
Bodily hygiene means a great deal to me. I’d argue that my morning shower is my absolute favourite time of day. Initially, I assumed that it was because my parents always emphasised the importance of starting the day with a wash:
“Clean of body, clean of mind,” my mother would always say.
However, I recently began to question my relationship with having stellar personal hygiene. Is it something I truly enjoy or is it based on something more profound?
I note feelings of anxiety when I feel unclean, despite the fact that I might not appear outwardly dirty. I would’ve just chalked this up to being one of my many particular quirks, however, I have noticed that this is a much more prominent theme for my Black friends than for my white friends.
So, I’d like us to talk about it.
The topic of hygiene, while nothing new, seems to be more and more prevalent in social discourse these days. Global artists like Cardi B, Lil Wayne and Juicy J’s lyrics reference female gynaecological cleanliness — often weaponising the natural scent of a woman’s genitals.
The hashtag #showerwithme has amassed more than 49.4 million views on TikTok. It’s a challenge to spend more than a few hours on Black Twitter or POC-orientated Instagram accounts such as themelaninshadesroom without witnessing hygiene debates scrutinising the degree of people’s cleanliness.
B. Simone, business owner and co-host of the podcast Know For Sure, came under fire in 2022 for candidly admitting that she doesn’t shower every day.
Comments admonishing her for this admission flooded social media:
So B. Simone doesn’t shower every day. That’s gross. Don’t care, not doing it. I take 2–3 showers a day. I hate odors & smells coming from women, a shower a day is MANDATORY. Who is teaching these women hygiene?!
— @ih8MORGZ with 2907 retweets and 15.4k likes.
As the topic of her personal hygiene is dragged into the court of public opinion, it becomes apparent very quickly that this is not simply an issue of cleanliness and its significance to overall health and wellness, but rather a matter of cleanliness and its relationship to the Black identity:
The fact that a black woman said this in public and thought that it was a completely normal thing not to wash up and handle her personal hygiene on a daily basis really made me sad. What happened to BW how did they become like this they just don’t care about themselves anymore.
— @ColtonFBA
So it begs the question:
What does cleanliness have to do with race?
There’s a running theme on social media about white people not washing their legs in the shower. What started as a simple online comment swiftly became fodder for memes, GIFs, and online debates that have swept the length and breadth of social media for over five years.
In 2019, a white woman tweeted about her approach to bathing:
i don’t like use soap on my whole body when i shower? and i don’t think i’m gross? i pretty much just wash my face and my armpits with soap. and i shower like once or twice a week lol. i think it’s fine.
— @sophcw
While she received a barrage of backlash from horrified POC, vilifying her for her choices, she wasn’t short of backup from other white people who shared her lived experience:
“I have a confession: I only started washing my legs after the “white people don’t wash their legs” discourse” — @goblinshoes
“I can’t think of a single reason why I don’t wash my legs but I am white and sure as shit I never have. I wash my arms in the shower, why not my legs? Who taught me not to wash my legs? I want answers.” — @purple_mids
“I just let the soapy water get it. I don’t usually get dirt on my legs and it’s not a part of the body that smells bad” — @ratioparker
“I did not know of this discourse but I’m very white and only started washing my legs recently.” — @owlfeathers0
What’s interesting to note is that the white people admitting to incomplete acts of showering are not claiming a lack of ability or limited access to soap and water as a contributing factor. They posit it as a personal choice—a bold display of individual liberty, under which one can do as much or as little with their own body as they choose, irrespective of stigma.
This further highlights the dichotomy between the perception of people of colour and white people, as far as cleanliness is concerned. Stereotyping POC as “smelly” or “nasty” is rooted in racism and propagated by the long-term effects of slavery.
Why was B. Simone taken to task but the people who don’t wash their legs were allowed to escape unscathed?
D Parke Gibson wrote in his 1969 book on Black consumers: “Undoubtedly, much of the desire for cleanliness is to overcome the prejudicial old wives’ tale that ‘all Negroes smell bad’.”
Growing up in Spain, where it is often incredibly hot in the summer, the act of sweating — a normal human bodily function — takes on two completely different complexions, depending on whether the sweater is white or Black.
Spaniards are more than happy to enter a crowded public space having evidently avoided applying deodorant that day. Smelling of sweat and body odour is not a cause for concern or an instigator of judgement for them. I personally know numerous Spaniards who don’t:
use a washcloth in the shower
shower more than 4 times a week
wash their hands after using the bathroom.
Conversely, odour discrimination affects BIPOC much more negatively. Barbed comments are made about the smell of our food, as well as the condition of our hair and the colour of our skin.
The commentary around this topic goes to show the stark contrast between the hygiene practices of white people versus POC. In a society where racism is still at the root of the marginalisation of BIPOC, can we really expect the scales to be tipped in favour of the equalisation of hygiene perception? Without tackling the entire system first? It’s definitely doubtful, in my opinion.
I wonder if my desire to be constantly clean comes from my upbringing as a Black girl in Spain. The weight of the comments asking if my naturally darkened knees were dirty or if I could wash my hair as well as everyone else. The necessity to be exceptional in order to be considered average, at best.
I intend to contemplate this element of my reality, and will do so while soaking in a nice, hot bubble bath.
Thank you very much for reading! If you have any questions or comments, please feel free to leave them below.
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