Hamblin started to notice that he smelled less pleasant when stressed. He interviewed a researcher who could train dogs to sniff out cancer in humans, while lovers he spoke to told him they thought the way their partner smelled naturally was good. He writes: “The hundreds of subtle volatile chemical signals we emit may play roles in communicating with other people (and other species) in ways we’re just beginning to understand.”
Hamblin also highlights the bare-faced cheek behind the rise of the skincare industry, as soap progressed from a multipurpose, often homemade product to a seemingly infinite parade of near-identical concoctions advertised for different problems, genders and occasions, at wildly different prices. Once hooked on daily soapings that remove our natural oils, we needed moisturisers and hair conditioners to replace them. In the 50s, the industry further cashed in by highlighting the drying effects of soap and offering milder detergents. Today, Hamblin writes, we have come full circle; many people seek products that are “as close as possible to nothing at all”.
He writes about a fellow journalist – and soap dodger – Maya Dusenbery, who had been prescribed every acne treatment going. The only one that worked? Nothing at all.
She had tried astringents, to dry out the skin; oral and topical antibiotics; the pill; and isotretinoin, a drug that has been linked to side-effects such as suicidal thoughts and inflammatory bowel disease. Not only were these ineffective, but she also developed rheumatoid arthritis – an agonising autoimmune condition. When she started taking immune-suppressing medication for that, her hair started falling out.
Enough was enough: Dusenbery stopped taking any medication for her skin. After an extremely oily few months, it settled. Now, the only things that touch her face are a microfibre cloth and water. Thanks to her adoption of a more holistic approach to her rheumatoid arthritis, in consultation with a specialist, this has gone into remission, too.
Perhaps as a result of experiences such as Dusenbery’s, microbiologists, dermatologists and skincare companies are striving to create new medicines for skin conditions, along with mainstream beauty products that contain live bacteria or ingredients that could feed our microbiomes. There is even the prospect of bespoke products from beauty behemoths such as L’Oréal that are tailored to our own skin microbiomes, which are as unique as our fingerprints. But we are certainly not there yet – and we should be wary, says Hamblin, of “anyone who’s out there right now selling a single microbe, or who tells you that you have a certain [microbial] imbalance you need to get corrected medically”.
There is a good chance we will never understand our microbiomes well enough to manipulate them confidently and to positive effect. “Maybe there are some things we can do, but … it keeps coming back to this holistic sense of ‘everything matters’.”
Microbiologists have found that hunter-gatherers and Amish people, who work together on farms from childhood, have optimally diverse microbiomes and minimal chances of contracting autoimmune conditions and associated inflammation. Urban westerners who want to boost their more modest skin microbes would benefit from close contact with other people and animals, and from spending as much time as possible in nature, preferably getting dirty.
But now that we are in a pandemic, much of that behaviour is on hold. In fact, if the relative sterility of the world before Covid-19 (in which Hamblin’s book was written) was already compromising our microbial balance, lockdowns and social distancing could challenge it even more. “I don’t know when we’ll go back to handshaking and ways that we might have been sharing different sorts of microbes with one another,” says Hamblin.
Of course, reducing antibiotic use is key to microbiome success, along with resisting washing so frequently. Which brings us to bottoms – for this is what people visualise when they get grossed out over other people not soaping themselves. How can you get rid of unwanted residue down there with just your hand and water? “Dry toilet paper kind of creates that problem,” says Hamblin. “If you were gardening and had mud all over your hands, would you just use a dry paper towel? No, you’d at least get them wet and scrub them together. When people use bidets, they have less of an issue with that, or when people use disposable towelette things.” But the towelettes are expensive, wasteful and block drains, he admits, so “wetting toilet paper is fine”. This is his solution, which he shares to satisfy curiosity, rather than to preach or prescribe. And no, the paper does not fall apart when wet – “unless you’re trying to drown it”.
Clean: The New Science of Skin and the Beauty of Doing Less by James Hamblin is published on 6 August by The Bodley Head
Hamblin also highlights the bare-faced cheek behind the rise of the skincare industry, as soap progressed from a multipurpose, often homemade product to a seemingly infinite parade of near-identical concoctions advertised for different problems, genders and occasions, at wildly different prices. Once hooked on daily soapings that remove our natural oils, we needed moisturisers and hair conditioners to replace them. In the 50s, the industry further cashed in by highlighting the drying effects of soap and offering milder detergents. Today, Hamblin writes, we have come full circle; many people seek products that are “as close as possible to nothing at all”.
He writes about a fellow journalist – and soap dodger – Maya Dusenbery, who had been prescribed every acne treatment going. The only one that worked? Nothing at all.
She had tried astringents, to dry out the skin; oral and topical antibiotics; the pill; and isotretinoin, a drug that has been linked to side-effects such as suicidal thoughts and inflammatory bowel disease. Not only were these ineffective, but she also developed rheumatoid arthritis – an agonising autoimmune condition. When she started taking immune-suppressing medication for that, her hair started falling out.
Enough was enough: Dusenbery stopped taking any medication for her skin. After an extremely oily few months, it settled. Now, the only things that touch her face are a microfibre cloth and water. Thanks to her adoption of a more holistic approach to her rheumatoid arthritis, in consultation with a specialist, this has gone into remission, too.
Perhaps as a result of experiences such as Dusenbery’s, microbiologists, dermatologists and skincare companies are striving to create new medicines for skin conditions, along with mainstream beauty products that contain live bacteria or ingredients that could feed our microbiomes. There is even the prospect of bespoke products from beauty behemoths such as L’Oréal that are tailored to our own skin microbiomes, which are as unique as our fingerprints. But we are certainly not there yet – and we should be wary, says Hamblin, of “anyone who’s out there right now selling a single microbe, or who tells you that you have a certain [microbial] imbalance you need to get corrected medically”.
There is a good chance we will never understand our microbiomes well enough to manipulate them confidently and to positive effect. “Maybe there are some things we can do, but … it keeps coming back to this holistic sense of ‘everything matters’.”
Microbiologists have found that hunter-gatherers and Amish people, who work together on farms from childhood, have optimally diverse microbiomes and minimal chances of contracting autoimmune conditions and associated inflammation. Urban westerners who want to boost their more modest skin microbes would benefit from close contact with other people and animals, and from spending as much time as possible in nature, preferably getting dirty.
But now that we are in a pandemic, much of that behaviour is on hold. In fact, if the relative sterility of the world before Covid-19 (in which Hamblin’s book was written) was already compromising our microbial balance, lockdowns and social distancing could challenge it even more. “I don’t know when we’ll go back to handshaking and ways that we might have been sharing different sorts of microbes with one another,” says Hamblin.
Of course, reducing antibiotic use is key to microbiome success, along with resisting washing so frequently. Which brings us to bottoms – for this is what people visualise when they get grossed out over other people not soaping themselves. How can you get rid of unwanted residue down there with just your hand and water? “Dry toilet paper kind of creates that problem,” says Hamblin. “If you were gardening and had mud all over your hands, would you just use a dry paper towel? No, you’d at least get them wet and scrub them together. When people use bidets, they have less of an issue with that, or when people use disposable towelette things.” But the towelettes are expensive, wasteful and block drains, he admits, so “wetting toilet paper is fine”. This is his solution, which he shares to satisfy curiosity, rather than to preach or prescribe. And no, the paper does not fall apart when wet – “unless you’re trying to drown it”.
Clean: The New Science of Skin and the Beauty of Doing Less by James Hamblin is published on 6 August by The Bodley Head
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