Why You Need A Bidet
I'm not joking.
Few European household appliances are considered to be more effete or vaguely homosexual to Americans than the bidet. Here in Italy, 95% of all households have at least one, which must bewilder and alarm the many American tourists that vacation here. What’s it for? What do you do with it? At least one friend of mine adorably described the bidet in her Roman B&B as a “sink for children.”
America is a paper culture. Apparently, it is the masculine—indeed, only acceptable—way to use a bathroom. This puzzles me. How did the bidet get such a bad rap? Why is it associated with, gasp, the etiolation of masculinity, with Frenchness, with women? Because I’m here to tell you with a high degree of authority that paper is barbaric, and bidets are the only way to go, especially with there being no toilet tissue in the United States right now. Water beats paper every time.
The bidet first came about in France in the 1600s, not its modern iteration, of course, as a fixture situated next to the toilet with hot and cold running taps, but as a bench you straddled that had a basin at one end. Then, as now, you filled the basin with water either pre- or post-sex, or after the unlading of freight.
Depending on the situation, you can either straddle a bidet frontward or backward, fill the basin with water, or avail yourself of running water. There have been no known instances of a bidet turning a red-blooded American man into Clay Aiken. Sure, you might sing a few off-key showtunes. If you suddenly speak a very lisping French, we’ll know the bidet has performed its wonderful alchemy.
Another thing the bidet has long been associated with is wealth. In the 17th century, only the upper classes could afford the manpower it took to lug cumbersome buckets of water all the way to the bedchamber. Napoleon had a silver bidet, which he took with him on every military campaign. In his last will and testament, he bequeathed the imperial bum-washer to his son who may or may not have received it with the alacrity that it was due.
Even today, installing a bidet can be a costly enterprise, anywhere in the ballpark of $800-$2500. There are, however, bidet attachments, which average $120 if you go for the water heating option. Unlike standalone units, bidet attachments go between your toilet and toilet seat. They don’t offer as many features as a traditional bidet, which can double as a mop wringer, a gentle and non-abrasive way to wash a baby’s bottom, and even an extra sink to soak bras, socks, and undies, but they do the trick.
Bidets are also eco-friendly because they reduce or even eliminate the need for toilet paper. Despite requiring water, they end up using less water. How? It takes almost 37 gallons of water to make one roll of toilet paper. A bidet requires, on average, 1/8th of a gallon to serve its function.
Americans who prefer not to see unsightly skidmarks on their briefs stock up on wet wipes. So frightened is the American male consumer of a wet wipe compromising his masculinity, companies started naming them Dude Wipes, Bro Wipes, and One Wipe Charlies. It’s a $2.2 billion industry. What else could they do but cater to this laughable American neurosis?
The problem is, despite manufacturer claims that the wipes are flushable, they are anything but, no pun intended. These so-called “flushable” wipes are wreaking havoc on city sewers, bonding to fat from food waste and creating “fatbergs,” massive blockages that can clog an entire system. London had a 10-ton fatberg that cost the city $600,000 to extract. I’m guessing fewer wet wipes and a little more fiber in the diet might do the trick.
I’m glad to read that bidets might finally be catching on in the U.S. High time! If you need a crash course on using one, come to Italy. We’ve got bidets everywhere. What we don’t have in Italy are …
Microwaves.
More than seven years I’ve lived in Italy, and not once have I seen a microwave. I’m not even sure they sell them at Media World (Italy’s version of Best Buy). I don’t think your average Italian would even know what to do with one. Cooking is done with a oven. Convection stovetops are becoming more popular here, but like most luxury items in Italy, they aren’t cheap, and there’s a learning curve to using them.
Your newer apartments may or may not have space for a dishwasher. In the centro storico, or historic districts where I have always lived, dishwashers are mostly unheard of. When Italians move from apartment to apartment, they usually take their kitchen with them: cabinets, refrigerator, stove, countertops, islands. All that’s left is a frayed wire poking out of the wall, which gives you space to move your kitchen inside the apartment. It’s probably better that way.
Parking is a problem no matter where you go in Italy. That was quite an adjustment for me, coming from half-the-state-is-a-parking-lot Texas. I can count on one hand the number of times I was forced to parallel park there. In Italy, you’re parallel parking damn near every time you leave the house. I’ve seen John do maneuvers that aren’t physically possible. I watch in slack-jawed envy as he squeezes into spaces half the size of his car and on an incline. Maybe it’s a drummer thing.
Last but not least are clothes dryers. Italians don’t do dryers. Theoretically, they exist; just not in people’s houses. Most Italians dry their laundry in the perpetual sunshine, or they dry it on specially designed racks for inside the home. All appliances are eco-friendly anyway, which means smaller loads, less soap, and half the water.
So, when you finally make it over here, remember: bidets, yes. Dryers, microwaves, parking, dishwashers, no. If you actually use the bidet, you will learn to love it. As for the rest of those modern conveniences … you don’t actually need them. Not as much as you think you do.
Bee-DAY. Bidet. Embracing the future sometimes means repurposing the past.
Do you have any “first time I saw a bidet” stories—or thoughts on the subject in general? If so, I want to hear them. Feel free to comment below.
It works as a foot wash also after a long day in sandals trekking Italian paths!
The first time I saw a bidet was in a hotel room just off the Ban Jelacic in Zagreb, Croatia. I knew what it was- or, at least, I'd heard the term- but how to properly employ it? THAT was a different story altogether.
Of course, I didn't want to come off as just another stupid American (which is EXACTLY what I was), so after some reflection, I turned on the water...and immediately got a stream in my face.
Ah, so it's a water fountain, as well? Man, these Europeans think of EVERYTHING!!
That's f*****g brilliant, eh?
Then I had to puzzle out how to position myself over it and do my business without turning the whole process into an unwitting enema and/or flooding my hotel room. Unfortunately, I never did figure that part out.
In the end, I went back to toilet paper. However, since I spent a month in that room during the dead of a Croatian winter, I ended up using the bidet (as I did everything else in the room) as a drying rack for the laundry I did in the bathtub.
Hey, when you're working in a war zone, improvisation is the only way to get things done. You'll be happy to know that I did draw the line at trying to use the bidet to brush my teeth. Even for me, that seemed beyond that pale.
After all, a man's gotta have standards, knowhutimean???