Jonathan Swift was a man of many contradictions, but mostly, he was just incredibly cynical. In 1732, he published The Lady’s Dressing Room, and honestly, the literary world hasn't really been the same since. It’s a poem that basically functions as the 18th-century version of "doomscrolling" through someone's private search history. It is filthy. It’s meant to be. If you’ve ever felt that weird, sinking realization that your idols are actually just messy humans who use the bathroom and get pimples, you’ve experienced a lite version of what Swift was trying to provoke.
Most people today know Swift from Gulliver’s Travels, which we’ve somehow sanitized into a children’s story despite it being a biting satire about humanity being literal trash. But The Lady’s Dressing Room hits closer to home because it’s not about giants or tiny people. It’s about a guy named Strephon who sneaks into his crush’s room and finds out that she isn't a goddess. She's just a person with pores.
What actually happens in The Lady’s Dressing Room?
The plot is simple, almost voyeuristic. Strephon—who is clearly a bit of a creep—wanders into Celia’s dressing room while she’s out. He expects to find some sort of heavenly sanctuary. Instead, he finds the 1730s version of a biohazard site. Swift spends an agonizing amount of time describing the "begummed, bemattered, and beslimed" items Strephon discovers.
We’re talking about sweaty smocks, combs filled with "dandriff," and oily cloths used to wipe off lead-based makeup. It’s gross. Swift doesn't hold back. He writes about "pomatums" made from mixed-up fats and the "foul excremental smell" that permeates the air. The climax of the poem, if you can call it that, is when Strephon looks into her "commode"—the cabinet that holds the chamber pot.
He’s devastated.
Strephon leaves the room a changed man. He can no longer look at any woman without thinking of the "guts" and "garbage" inside them. It’s a total breakdown of the romantic ideal. Swift ends the poem by mocking Strephon’s disillusionment, suggesting that if men would just "stop their noses," they could enjoy the "magnificence" of women without being bothered by the reality of their digestive systems.
The Satire vs. The Misogyny
Is Swift being a massive jerk to women here? That’s the big question that scholars like Felicity Nussbaum and Laura Brown have been arguing about for decades. On one hand, you have the "Swift was a misogynist" camp. They argue that the sheer level of detail he uses to describe female filth suggests a genuine obsession or hatred. On the other hand, some see it as a critique of the "cult of beauty."
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In the 18th century, the pressure on women to look perfect was insane. We’re talking about wearing poisonous white lead on your face and never washing your hair because your wig was too complicated to take off. Swift might be pointing out that the "goddess" image is a lie created by men, and when men realize it's a lie, they lose their minds.
It’s kinda funny, actually.
Strephon is the one being mocked as much as Celia. He’s the idiot who thought a human woman didn't have a colon. Swift is essentially saying, "Grow up, guys. Everyone poops." But he says it in the most aggressive, nauseating way possible.
Why Lady Mary Wortley Montagu Had the Best Response
You can’t talk about The Lady’s Dressing Room without talking about the "The Reasons that Induced Dr. Swift to write a Poem called the Lady’s Dressing Room." That is the actual title of a response poem written by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. She was a brilliant aristocrat and writer who did not take Swift’s nonsense lying down.
She basically wrote a "diss track."
In her poem, she suggests that Swift only wrote the original piece because he suffered a certain "performance issue" with a prostitute and blamed her "smell" for his own shortcomings. It is one of the most legendary burns in literary history. She basically tells him that his poem isn't a deep philosophical take on the human condition; it’s just the venting of a frustrated, bitter old man.
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The Scatological Obsession
Swift had a thing for "scatological" humor. That’s just a fancy way of saying he wrote about poop. A lot. This wasn't just him being immature; it was a common trope in "Augustan" satire. The idea was to use the "low" (bodily functions) to deflate the "high" (pretentious social standards).
- The Smock: A sweaty, dirty undergarment.
- The Tweezers: Used for some pretty gross grooming.
- The Lead Makeup: Which literally rotted the skin of the women wearing it.
Think about the modern "clean girl" aesthetic on TikTok. It’s all beige linen and expensive skincare. If someone did a "The Lady’s Dressing Room" version of a modern influencer’s bathroom, it would be crusty makeup sponges, half-empty bottles of dry shampoo, and the hidden reality of Botox bruising. The medium changes, but the gap between the public image and the private reality is exactly what Swift was poking at.
Breaking Down the "Goddess" Myth
During the Enlightenment, there was this weird obsession with "Order" and "Reason." Everything was supposed to be perfect. Women were often portrayed in poetry as these ethereal beings who lived on dew and sunshine. Swift hated that. He was a realist to a fault.
He wanted to strip away the artifice. When Strephon looks in the jar and sees the "vapors," he’s seeing the truth that society tries to hide. It’s a very "unmasking" moment. Honestly, the poem is less about Celia and more about the fragility of the male ego when faced with the fact that women are biological organisms.
The language is rhythmic and almost jaunty, which makes the disgusting descriptions even more jarring. It’s written in "octosyllabic couplets"—that’s four beats per line. It sounds like a nursery rhyme, but it’s describing a dirty toilet. That contrast is exactly where the humor (and the horror) lives.
What We Get Wrong About Swift
People often think Swift was just a hater. But he was a Dean of St. Patrick's Cathedral. He was a complex guy who cared deeply about Irish politics and social justice, even if his methods were... abrasive. When he wrote The Lady’s Dressing Room, he wasn't just trying to be gross for the sake of it. He was trying to shock people out of their complacency.
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He used "vile" imagery to force a conversation about sincerity. If you can’t handle the fact that the person you love has "guts," do you actually love them, or do you just love the costume they wear?
Actionable Insights for Reading Satire
If you're diving into Swift or any 18th-century satire for the first time, don't take it at face value. Here is how to actually process this stuff without getting a headache:
- Check the Speaker: Just because Swift wrote it doesn't mean he is Strephon. Usually, the narrator in a satire is a "persona"—someone Swift is actually making fun of.
- Look for the "Turn": Most satires have a moment where the logic becomes so extreme it breaks. In this poem, it’s the ending where he tells men to just "stop their noses." It’s sarcastic advice.
- Read the Counter-Arguments: The 18th century was a "conversation" in print. Reading Montagu alongside Swift gives you a much fuller picture of the gender wars of the time.
- Acknowledge the Context: Hygiene in the 1700s was objectively terrible by modern standards. What Swift describes as "filthy" was often just a Tuesday for people back then.
Swift’s work reminds us that the human obsession with "perfection" is an old, tired game. We spend so much energy curating our lives and our bodies, but at the end of the day, we’re all just "Strephons" poking around in "Celia’s" dressing room, terrified of what we might find in the dark corners.
To truly understand the impact of The Lady’s Dressing Room, you have to look past the dirt and see the social commentary. It's a poem about the death of illusions. Whether that death is a good thing or a tragedy is something Swift leaves for the reader to decide, though he clearly finds the whole struggle hilarious.
Don't just read the poem as a historical artifact. Look at the way we still demand "flawlessness" from public figures today. We haven't really moved past Strephon's shock; we've just gotten better at hiding the "pomatums."
To get the most out of your study of 18th-century satire, compare Swift's descriptions to Alexander Pope's The Rape of the Lock. While Swift focuses on the filth, Pope focuses on the glittering surface of the dressing room. Together, they provide the "high" and "low" perspectives of the same era. You should also look into the history of 18th-century cosmetics to see just how accurate (and dangerous) those "pomatums" actually were.