In the 21st century, it is nearly impossible to imagine going through a day without using soap in some capacity. We use one kind of soap on our faces, another on our hands, a third on our bodies and a fourth on our hair. Then there is the soap for our dishes and the soap for our laundry. And within these categories, there are different products available depending on what outcome you might be looking for: face wash with age prevention abilities; shampoo that gives you soft and silky hair; or dish soap that will give your cutlery an apple blossom-scent.
In her video essay “THE CULT OF CLEANLINESS,” YouTuber Mina Le argues that “we’re getting a little too obsessed with…cleanliness and fragrance, and most of it is because of marketers” (20:52). Evidence to support this claim is found easily in the body wash aisle. Brands like Dove and Method recently developed lines intended specifically for men (and here I was, thinking everyone could enjoy scents like lavender, citrus, or coconut). Aside from more muted packaging and more nonchalant, “tough,” and “conceptual” scents (e.g. “charcoal and clay;” “sea and surf;” “glacier and granite”), they are still, at the end of the day, just soap. The way certain personal hygiene brands now pander to men as an offshoot of their regular products begs the question, were men not cleaning themselves before Dove Men+Care or Method Men hit the shelves?
While I do support a regular washing routine, I find it compelling to investigate how such an expectation came about. Personal “cleaning rituals” were not the norm until “a few decades” into the nineteenth century (McClintock 207-208). But once the process for creating soap became simpler, the item became a staple of imperial commerce as well as evidence of “Britain’s evolutionary superiority” (McClintock 207-208). Soap was marketed not only as a physical cleanser but as a moral purifier, and Victorians came to associate cleanliness as the mark of civilization. An 1890 advertisement for Pears’ Soap is one of the most salient examples of this strategy and mentality. The notice depicts a person of color, stylized as indigenous, discovering a box of Pears’ soap that has just washed ashore. Above the image reads “The Birth of Civilization–A Message from the Sea.” This advertisement clearly operates under a colonial logic that asserts cleanliness as superior and seeks to impose this value onto whichever nations are able to be subjugated. Under the image, the sentiment continues: “The consumption of soap is a measure of the wealth, civilisation, health, and purity of the people.” This assertion reminded me of a line from the 1928 book A Tale of Soap and Water: The Historical Progress of Cleanliness, which Le mentions in her video. The book explains that “Most of us want the good and beautiful and worthwhile things of life. Soap and water alone cannot give them to us, but we know that they help” (19:49). Grandiose claims about the powers of soap did not stop at the turn of the century. In fact, the connection between personal hygiene products and wealth/purity has only intensified in our modern day internet-obsessed culture (more on that later).
Victorian soap advertisements are early iterations of how the hygiene industry’s marketing “disproportionately targets women” (21:15). An 1898 advertisement for Watson’s Matchless Cleanser depicts a line of women in maid’s uniforms carrying baskets of the cleanser; the line is neverending, stretching all the way back until the sun meets the horizon. Throughout the iconography presented in this poster we encounter the narrative that it is a woman’s duty to clean and to be clean. The silhouette of the maid’s uniforms is consistent with fashionable styles at the time–if it were ever required by an employer, they would be an extremely wealthy one. Furthermore, a maid in this type of dress would likely perform more “front-of-house” duties like greeting guests, tidying living areas, and serving refreshments, rather than being down on her hands and knees scrubbing away at the floor. This advertisement then suggests that even if you are a middle-class woman who does her own cleaning, buying this soap will at least partially align you with the behaviors of a higher class. The image of a rising sun conveys ideas of beginnings: the start of the work day; the dawn of time. This suggests a continuous cycle of women working for the service of others, and that this position is where they belong, underscored by the uncanny alacrity with which the maids approach labor.
In class, we considered whether women having agency in purchasing/women being the subject of advertising is empowering. I find it hard to answer “yes” when I look at how the discourse surrounding hygiene has developed on the internet, especially TikTok. Anne McClintock opines that, with the commodification of soap during the Victorian period, the product was imbued with “magical, fetish powers” (207-208). I concur and argue that nothing has changed. An online space that fosters the development of micro-trends and niche appearance-based fixations, TikTok peddles products through a sort of virtual word-of-mouth, sponsored content, and–their most recent addition–TikTok shop. In my experience on the app, hygiene products (e.g. soaps, perfumes, lotions, skincare products) are marketed heavily. While TikTok is infamous for its hyper-sensitive algorithm and hyper-unique “For You” page, it has also become, in part, a space for commerce–no matter which “side” of TikTok you’re on.
One of the longest-lasting trends on the app is the “clean girl aesthetic.” First gaining popularity in 2021, the look is now easily identifiable, with staples such as “slick back” hairstyles, minimal makeup, stacks of gold jewelry, a fresh manicure, and clothing that is muted in both color and pattern. However, the aesthetic is most often seen on young, skinny, white girls who don’t outwardly say that they’re rich–but that’s because they don’t have to. So much of the clean girl aesthetic is wrapped up in buying, whether that be hundred-dollar skin care and thousand-dollar jewelry (mixed with Amazon jewelry to demonstrate humility, of course) or facets of the associated lifestyle, like pilates classes and $8 matcha lattes. In the videos above, both women list off the things you should do (buy) if you want to participate in the aesthetic. At one point @0emmamac introduces one of the clean girl requirements (having a fresh set of nails) by saying “This one’s super expensive and not everybody can do it,” a rare acknowledgment of how much the aesthetic relies on an extremely comfortable financial status. As explained by Averyl Gaylor of The Conversation, part of the allure of the clean girl aesthetic is the implication that “not everyone has the capacity to be a clean girl.” This exclusivity reflects the inextricable historical link between modern hygiene, race, class, and gender that this piece has sought to understand.
P.S.
One of the cornerstones of coming across as a clean girl is “smelling good” according to @0emmamac. Even beyond the clean girl aesthetic, there are creators on TikTok relaying their shower routines to any woman who wants to “smell amazing.” These videos typically emphasize double-cleansing the body and layering a minimum of three scented products onto your skin during/afterwards. Comments on the second of these two videos include “Why is everyone so rich lol” (@risshow_14) and “Definitely not poor girl friendly” (@livinitupliv).
The other creator whose instructional video I attached, @camreesec, even says that “clean girl aesthetic is not like, how clean you are, it’s basically, you look clean, if that makes sense.” It probably shouldn’t make sense, but as my roommate said when I explained the online jargon of the video to her, “Crazy how if I were to see that video, I wouldn’t bat an eye at any of the language.” Because there is the (mostly) unspoken rule that clean girls are rich girls and vice versa, @camreesec’s comment, weirdly, does make sense.
I want to end with a video by the creator @labyrinthave, who explains how the clean girl aesthetic is actually the result of white women co-opting the styles of black and brown women. She critiques the trend, arguing that,“brown people have always been seen as dirty, but when a white girl does it, it’s suddenly a trend.” While it is easy to look at the Pears’ Soap “Birth of civilization” ad as something offensive but far-removed from our culture, we must maintain a critical eye when it comes to what is marketed to us, whether that be traditional print or online influencers, because the connotations between cleanliness and civilization persist, just in (slightly) more covert ways.
Works Cited
Anastazia [@stazzylicious]. “My shower routine that is guaranteed to make you smell delicious #shower #showerroutine #smellgood.” TikTok, 27 March 2023, https://www.tiktok.com/@stazzylicious/video/7215284399892335877?_r=1&_t=8iJ7YaNm56p.
avery [@averykroll1]. “try these out its a game changer… last night a guy literally told me ‘how do you smell so good.'” TikTok, 11 June 2023, https://www.tiktok.com/@averykroll1/video/7243614183579831594?_r=1&_t=8iJ7lEVDKec.
Khan, Mohuya [@labyrinthave]. “the way all the cultural things i got made fun of are trends now #desi #bengali #browntiktok #browngirl #cleangirlaesthetic #wellness.” TikTok, 2 August 2022, https://www.tiktok.com/@labyrinthave/video/7127430881454656814?_r=1&_t=8iJOm4zt7tb.
Mac, Emma [@0emmamac]. “Full makeup tutorial of this look is on my youtube Emma Mac 🤭🩷🩷.” TikTok, 20 November 2023, https://www.tiktok.com/@0emmamac/video/7303407876201139463?_r=1&_t=8iJ6oKY7nV0.
McClintock, Anne. “Soft-Soaping Empire.” Imperial Leather: Race, Gender, and Sexuality in the Colonial Contest, Routledge, 1995, pp. 207-231.
Reese, Cam [@camreesec]. “Clean GURLLLL 🫧🤍🧸#cleangirlaesthetic #fypシ゚viral #howto #tips #backtoschool #glowup #confidence #fyp.” TikTok, 10 August 2023, https://www.tiktok.com/@camreesec/video/7265708746020637995?_r=1&_t=8iJ6lieVaSB.
“The Birth of Civilization–A Message from the Sea.” Special issue of The Graphic, London, 30 April 1890, https://library.si.edu/image-gallery/106407.
“THE CULT OF CLEANLINESS.” YouTube, uploaded by Mina Le, 30 January 2023, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lN4uQkaLVS8.“
“Watson’s Matchless Cleanser.” 1898, https://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/education/resources/selling-the-victorians/watsons-cleaning-polish-1898/.
Victorian Visual Culture 
I’m so impressed by this post which takes a powerful and sophisticated history of the colonialist and racist Victorian marketing of soap and moves that into the present. I don’t think that it is too much of a leap at all to make the astute leap to the “clean girl aesthetic,” a highly raced and classed ideal as you point out. I particularly like the way you considered carefully the context of TikTok as a marketing platform. Fabulous work!
By: amartinmhc on December 24, 2023
at 10:10 am
I appreciate your article and the thought put into it. I do not indulge in TikTok or most other social media platforms due to the high amounts of hidden marketing and the perpetuation of these stereotypes and misconceptions. You made very valid points and opened my eyes to the fact the toxic marketing of the beauty industry isn’t just hair and makeup, it includes the basic hygiene products we need for basic health.
P.S. The clean girl aesthetic clips made me cringe hard.
By: Dalyn Moon on January 4, 2024
at 4:06 pm