By Robert Neff
In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, a popular subject in letters home or to local newspapers was Western visitors' perceptions of cleanliness in Korea. While there may have been some truth to their observations, most appear to have been exaggerations ― if not fabrications ― to amuse their audience.
In the 1860s, a sailor (an occupation at the time that was not exactly associated with cleanliness) asserted that Koreans "appear to regard filthiness as a virtue" and that "their appearance would testify that water was unknown to them." An Englishman malignantly declared to his American companion, Richard A. Little, that "the dirtiest man he ever met was a clean Korean."
Later, in 1904, when Little visited Korea he wrote:
"I do not indorse his remark, or even encourage anybody to smile at it. Still I found the Koreans, sampan [boat] men at least, were pleasantest to study when one stood well to windward of them."
His amusing but caustic pen was not reserved just for his Korean hosts. In early 1904 ― during the early months of the Russo-Japanese War ― finding a hotel room was no easy task. When Little asked for a room at a hotel, the French proprietor was rather reluctant to rent one to him.
"[The proprietor] said there was one small room. I said promptly I would take it. He looked at me. I am 6 feet 4 inches high. He said the room was very small. I took it again. The room was small ― I discovered that at night when I tried to get into it. But I opened the hall door and made my bed on the floor with my feet in my room and my head well out in the hall. The other boarders coming up to their rooms in the night manifested a disposition to walk on my face. So I reversed my position and slept with my feet in the hall and my head in my room. They then stepped on my feet. So I cunningly constructed a barrier by putting my steamer trunk in the hall and placed my feet behind that. The guests who came in late at night hit the trunk as they stumbled heavily along in the darkness and plunged forward entirely over my feet without touching me at all or disturbing me in the least."
The startled guests cursed him in various languages ― including Portuguese, Japanese, Norwegian, German and "in other tongues that I could not comprehend, so that I cared not how terrible their words. I heeded them not, but turning over fell again into the deep sweet slumber that comes only to the innocent and good."
While staying at the hotel, Little met two other Americans who were stranded in Korea. They had chartered a small Chinese junk in Shanghai to take them to Jemulpo (modern Incheon) and each had paid a most princely sum ― 150 yen or about $75. Both men were miserable and were more than willing to pay twice that amount to return to China.
When questioned as to why they had come to Korea, one man ― somewhat embarrassed ― confessed that he was a traveling salesman. The salesman may have read an account by William Griffis (regarded as the leading expert on Korea in the 1880s) who claimed Korea had an "entire ignorance of soap" and decided to take advantage of this "ignorance."
Arriving with a small stock of "high grade, perfoomed [sic] toilet soap" he gave a bar to one potential Korean client who promptly took three bites out of it before the salesman could stop him. "If I hadn't stopped him, he'd a chewed it all up," declared the toilet soap peddler.
What became of the traveling salesman is unclear. He probably did not find a market for his goods, not because the residents of Korea were uninterested in soap, but soap was readily available in the foreign-owned stores in Seoul and the open ports.
These negative impressions of Korean hygiene are somewhat disingenuous. The average Korean was (judging from the accounts) extremely fastidious about their clothing and spent large amounts of money to stay in style. Western visitors often commented about how healthy and clean their Korean hosts' teeth were and there are a couple of accounts of Western gold miners being invited to go bathing with their Korean counterparts in the various warm springs about the country. While the Western gold miners often turned down these invitations, in all fairness, their refusal was probably due to their own prudish views in regards to the naked body.
In her 2003 book "Challenged Identities: North American Missionaries in Korea, 1884 to 1934," Elizabeth Underwood noted that Korean visitors to the United States also found fault with the hygiene of their American hosts ― except they were more polite and forgiving and kept their rude comments to themselves. When a group of Koreans visited New York in the early 1910s, they found the smell to be "unendurable" but "with ever ready courtesy, resolutely suppress[ed] the look of disgust, and account[ed] for the strange effluvia by the charitable assumption that it must be due to our wearing woolen clothes so much and never washing more than the inner clothes." One can imagine the Korean visitors' shock when they were compelled to enter their American hosts' homes with their shoes on.
Dirty floors and clothes can be scrubbed clean with some effort but it takes a lot of work to scrub away ignorance and deliberate misrepresentations.
Robert Neff has authored and co-authored several books including, Letters from Joseon, Korea Through Western Eyes and Brief Encounters.
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| A Korean gentleman in a smoky alley circa 1912 / Robert Neff Collection |
In the 1860s, a sailor (an occupation at the time that was not exactly associated with cleanliness) asserted that Koreans "appear to regard filthiness as a virtue" and that "their appearance would testify that water was unknown to them." An Englishman malignantly declared to his American companion, Richard A. Little, that "the dirtiest man he ever met was a clean Korean."
Later, in 1904, when Little visited Korea he wrote:
"I do not indorse his remark, or even encourage anybody to smile at it. Still I found the Koreans, sampan [boat] men at least, were pleasantest to study when one stood well to windward of them."
His amusing but caustic pen was not reserved just for his Korean hosts. In early 1904 ― during the early months of the Russo-Japanese War ― finding a hotel room was no easy task. When Little asked for a room at a hotel, the French proprietor was rather reluctant to rent one to him.
"[The proprietor] said there was one small room. I said promptly I would take it. He looked at me. I am 6 feet 4 inches high. He said the room was very small. I took it again. The room was small ― I discovered that at night when I tried to get into it. But I opened the hall door and made my bed on the floor with my feet in my room and my head well out in the hall. The other boarders coming up to their rooms in the night manifested a disposition to walk on my face. So I reversed my position and slept with my feet in the hall and my head in my room. They then stepped on my feet. So I cunningly constructed a barrier by putting my steamer trunk in the hall and placed my feet behind that. The guests who came in late at night hit the trunk as they stumbled heavily along in the darkness and plunged forward entirely over my feet without touching me at all or disturbing me in the least."
 |
| The Hotel du Palais in Seoul circa 1899 / Robert Neff Collection |
The startled guests cursed him in various languages ― including Portuguese, Japanese, Norwegian, German and "in other tongues that I could not comprehend, so that I cared not how terrible their words. I heeded them not, but turning over fell again into the deep sweet slumber that comes only to the innocent and good."
While staying at the hotel, Little met two other Americans who were stranded in Korea. They had chartered a small Chinese junk in Shanghai to take them to Jemulpo (modern Incheon) and each had paid a most princely sum ― 150 yen or about $75. Both men were miserable and were more than willing to pay twice that amount to return to China.
When questioned as to why they had come to Korea, one man ― somewhat embarrassed ― confessed that he was a traveling salesman. The salesman may have read an account by William Griffis (regarded as the leading expert on Korea in the 1880s) who claimed Korea had an "entire ignorance of soap" and decided to take advantage of this "ignorance."
Arriving with a small stock of "high grade, perfoomed [sic] toilet soap" he gave a bar to one potential Korean client who promptly took three bites out of it before the salesman could stop him. "If I hadn't stopped him, he'd a chewed it all up," declared the toilet soap peddler.
What became of the traveling salesman is unclear. He probably did not find a market for his goods, not because the residents of Korea were uninterested in soap, but soap was readily available in the foreign-owned stores in Seoul and the open ports.
 |
| A group of Korean gentlemen in the early 1900s / Robert Neff Collection |
These negative impressions of Korean hygiene are somewhat disingenuous. The average Korean was (judging from the accounts) extremely fastidious about their clothing and spent large amounts of money to stay in style. Western visitors often commented about how healthy and clean their Korean hosts' teeth were and there are a couple of accounts of Western gold miners being invited to go bathing with their Korean counterparts in the various warm springs about the country. While the Western gold miners often turned down these invitations, in all fairness, their refusal was probably due to their own prudish views in regards to the naked body.
In her 2003 book "Challenged Identities: North American Missionaries in Korea, 1884 to 1934," Elizabeth Underwood noted that Korean visitors to the United States also found fault with the hygiene of their American hosts ― except they were more polite and forgiving and kept their rude comments to themselves. When a group of Koreans visited New York in the early 1910s, they found the smell to be "unendurable" but "with ever ready courtesy, resolutely suppress[ed] the look of disgust, and account[ed] for the strange effluvia by the charitable assumption that it must be due to our wearing woolen clothes so much and never washing more than the inner clothes." One can imagine the Korean visitors' shock when they were compelled to enter their American hosts' homes with their shoes on.
Dirty floors and clothes can be scrubbed clean with some effort but it takes a lot of work to scrub away ignorance and deliberate misrepresentations.
 |
| A group of resting farmers circa 1900s / Robert Neff Collection |
Robert Neff has authored and co-authored several books including, Letters from Joseon, Korea Through Western Eyes and Brief Encounters.
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