Nauseating Things

Test Case: What Happens When I Skip Showering For A Whole Week?

Columnist Allison Peryea tries something gross (so you don't have to).

Shower PhotoWhile my résumé doesn’t boast about my personal hygiene, I like to think I at least fall into the middle of the bell curve as far as cleanliness goes. I admit that sometimes I don’t have time to shower after a workout, and show up at post-boot-camp happy hour kind of swampy. And washing and blow-drying my hair tacks on a good half hour in the morning that could be better spent in bed trying to stop my cat from walking across my face. But generally speaking, I don’t feel like I have presented my best self to the world unless I have hit the shower and washed my hair that day.

When I came across a Buzzfeed article a few weeks ago quoting dermatologists who say we only really need to shower two or three times a week, I was intrigued. In fact, they said, it can dry out the skin if you shower too much—potentially critical information, as I was recovering from a Las-Vegas-pool-itch situation.

I figured that if people in medieval times could get away with bathing once a fortnight and covering up odor with a neck satchel of herbs, I could push the present-day envelope and make it for a week without a shower. If anything, I would at least save time and water—indeed, the average American shower uses 17.2 gallons of water. And I had some practice, having gone five days before without a shower when backpacking the Grand Canyon last year. (I wore the same shorts every day, which by Day Two were marinated in urine.)

My plan was just to live life as usual—including adhering to my gym schedule and professional and weekend plans—and just see if anybody noticed. My biggest concern was my hair, which fuses into a single frizzy dreadlock when neglected.

The first two days featured a spin class and two client meetings. Triumphantly, I managed to keep my hair down for both of these days. After a second workout, I decided to try that dry shampoo all the ladies are raving about. You spray it onto your roots like a hairspray that mixes in with your hair grease and then apparently makes you feel less disgusting. Alas, by the morning of Day Four my hair had transformed into a sort of fibrous clay that had to be molded rather than brushed.

I also didn’t seem to be saving a lot of time in the morning by skipping the shower. As each day passed, more and more of my new “free” time was eaten up trying to mask my grossness, and some time was consumed just knowing that I had more time to consume. I also noticed that I was putting less time into looking presentable: Less effort seemed necessary when I was starting the day feeling like Pig-Pen without the visible cloud of dirt surrounding me.

The good news was that I didn’t seem any more smelly than my usual funk, and when I picked my parents up from the airport for a visit, my mom actually complimented my ballerina bun, which at that point stayed in place by itself.

By the weekend, I was a Filthy Allison convert. I reveled in the fact that, after a family hike, I could relax before dinner while everyone else had to clean up. To celebrate my last night of living the Shower-Free Lifestyle, I tried to wear my hair down for our evening meal out. But—like a toddler who has been denied a juice box for too long—it would not cooperate.

My first shower in seven days was like being baptized with mountain spring water and Herbal Essences conditioner. I was reborn with a bounce in my step and shampoo-commercial hair.

The Verdict: Going without a shower for a week wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. Quite frankly, nobody noticed except me. It was a testament to the power of deodorant and the female body’s self-cleaning powers. I did focus on changing my clothes often, as the article said a big part of staying fresh is avoiding stewing in dirty stuff. And post-exercise I indulged in a couple of those underarm, middle-school-P.E. towel showers. But mostly my body’s bacteria and I stayed buddies the whole week. Theoretically, I saved more than 120 gallons of water by skipping the shower.

I have to disclose that I did submerge myself in a hot tub and a pool—it was Memorial Weekend, people—but I kept my hair out of the water, didn’t rinse off the chlorine, and guiltily skipped the mandatory pre-swim shower in the name of science.

The experience taught me that it’s not the end of the world if I have to skip a shower or two (or seven). It’s not so much about looking clean as feeling clean. But I do think that if you want to put your best foot forward, consider washing that foot (and the rest of you) in the shower first.


Allison Peryea is a shareholder attorney at Leahy Fjelstad Peryea, a boutique law firm in downtown Seattle that primarily serves community association clients. Her practice focuses on covenant enforcement and dispute resolution. She is a longtime humor writer with a background in journalism and cat ownership. You can reach her by email at [email protected].