So, I was just scrolling through this Reddit thread, and it’s one of those wonderfully bizarre but fascinating discussions that only the internet can really host, you know? The whole thing started because someone in the textbook publishing world was chatting with a historian about Native American history, and as a joke, they brought up this question: “What did Native Americans use to wipe their butts?” in the colonial and pre-colonial periods. Well, the historian got genuinely curious and asked them to actually post it online to see if anyone knew. And boy, did they get an answer.
The main response, which absolutely blew up with thousands of upvotes, came from an archaeologist who works in the US Southwest. He dove deep into the evidence from preserved human coprolites—that’s dried poop, for the non-archaeologists among us—found in caves and rock shelters. He listed off all these different materials people used, depending on the region and resources. In Texas, they found smooth river rocks and chewed bits of lechuguilla leaves stuck to ancient poop. In Mesa Verde, there were corn cobs. In New Mexico, juniper bark. He even shared some ethnographic records from the late 19th and early 20th centuries, mentioning things like the Blackfoot using young mugwort leaves, the Copper Inuit using snow, the Chipewyans using leftover rabbit fur, and some Amazonian groups using live saplings or sassafras leaves. There was this funny note about the Warao people saying they were “going to kill a deer” when they grabbed sassafras shoots to use as, well, their toilet paper. The whole point he made was how incredibly diverse and resourceful these practices were, tailored to the local environment, and how a high-fiber diet probably made things easier to clean anyway. He wrapped it up with this sense of wonder about human cultures, which really resonated with everyone.
The reaction to this detailed answer was overwhelmingly positive and kind of amazed. People were saying things like, “God, I love Reddit,” and “This is what social media should be for.” There was a real appreciation for the depth of knowledge shared in such a casual, engaging way. Many comments expressed gratitude for experts who take the time to reconstruct these everyday, intimate aspects of past lives—aspects that often get lost because they weren’t written down. One person reflected on how learning about this stuff, even something as mundane as ancient bathroom habits, connects us to these “lost epics” of human history that happened right where our parking lots are now. There was a shared sentiment that this kind of quirky, thorough inquiry is far more valuable than the usual noise online.
A few other experts chimed in too, like another archaeologist who mentioned cataloging “quids”—those bundles of plant material—that were used for everything from a starch source to toilet wipes to menstrual pads. That added another layer to the conversation about multi-purpose tools in daily life. Some folks had follow-up questions, wondering about the use of water for cleaning, or what people used for diapers and menstrual care, which the original archaeologist briefly addressed by pointing to some archaeological evidence of absorbent materials.
Of course, there was some humor mixed in. Someone joked about whether this was the origin of the term “corn hole,” and another person mused about the philosophical implications, referencing Heraclitus and the river. A few comments got removed for breaking forum rules, like sharing personal anecdotes, which kept the discussion focused on the historical and archaeological evidence.
Overall, the thread felt like this collective moment of curiosity and respect. Even though the question started almost as a joke, the discussion treated it with seriousness and fascination. It highlighted how everyday human experiences—things we all do but rarely talk about historically—can open a window into the ingenuity and adaptability of different cultures. And there was this underlying current of appreciation for the scholars who dig into, quite literally in this case, the nitty-gritty details to tell those stories. It was less about the shock value of the topic and more about the genuine human connection and learning it sparked.
