The Weirdest Things You Could Find at a Feudal Japanese Pharmacy

Japanese drugstores tend to confuse first-time visitors. The first few steps are familiar enough as you walk past rows of face masks, toothbrushes, shampoo, etc. But then the selection starts to get… very broad. Cosmetics, fresh meat and produce, a wide selection of alcohol (sometimes including top-shelf brands) — even sex toys are pretty easy to find in a store supposedly selling medicine. But it’s been this way for over 400 years. Back during the Edo period (1603–1867), Japanese apothecaries (kusuri-ya), stores carrying yakushu (medicinal products) and traveling medicine sellers/herbalists sometimes included the most surprising things in their inventories, like:

Japanese Nightingale by Utagawa Hiroshige (c.1830s)

Bird Poop (for Your Face)

The mid-Edo period was a time of great prosperity for the Japanese merchant class, which wanted to go wild with its newly acquired fortunes, like buying animals that didn’t do anything! They weren’t for eating, or to bring good fortune, or for protection. They were just… there. We now call those “pets,” but for 18th-century commoners, the idea was pretty new. Birds were particularly popular, and besides bringing joy and song to many households, they also created a new (weird) job: the bird-poop buyer (tori-no-fun-gai).

Bird droppings were a very popular ingredient in products meant to whiten and moisturize the face, treat skin ailments and help remove white makeup among kabuki actors and geisha. The reason why people didn’t just throw seeds on the ground and then stand under branches heavy with birds with their faces pointed skyward is because the “white gold” wasn’t applied fresh; it first had to be carefully dried and powdered — and preferably come from the Japanese bush warbler, which produced the highly prized uguisu-no-fun (Japanese nightingale droppings).

Customers at Edo pharmacies could buy the powder and mix it themselves with rice bran, or purchase creams and ointments made from the bane of modern statues everywhere. And the wildest part is that these fecal facials apparently kind of worked thanks to the droppings’ enzymes and amino acids, etc., and they’re STILL available in some high-end spas. But hey — a sought-after element of modern perfume is derived from ambergris that whales either vomit or poop out, so, you know, it’s not the craziest idea in the world.

Depiction of a man being handed Chomeigan at Yotsumeya

Aphrodisiacs: As Seen in Books

Product placement did not start with television. In feudal Japan, popular authors would often include references to real restaurants, cosmetics and medicines (that they had a stake in) in their stories because even hundreds of years ago, writing was something that required a side hustle. The bestselling writer Shikitei Sanba made a lot of his money from his medicine shop, whose inventory was frequently mentioned in his books, like the Edo no Mizu (Edo Water) face lotion and his brand of tooth powder.

But, as we’ve mentioned before, what people in Edo-period Japan loved reading the most were stories about prostitutes, and those most often advertised aphrodisiacs. Historically, boosting sexual performance in Japan was done via powdered animal parts or specific foods like deer antler, ginseng, unagi extract, silkworm cocoon powder and fugu (puffer fish). Japanese pharmacies commonly carried those, but what people really wanted were the topical balms mentioned in erotic stories and guides to Edo’s red-light district.

For women, there was Nyoetsugan (Woman’s Delight Pill), a special cream that supposedly enhanced sensations and even had its own slogan: “If she won’t moan, make her moan with Nyoetsugan!” Catchy. Men, on the other hand (or whatever appendage), had the Chomeigan (Long Life Pill) ointment. Both aphrodisiacs were easily available at Yotsumeya, a… specialty pharmacy located somewhere near modern-day Ryogoku, which possibly also carried adult toys, potentially making it Japan’s very first sex shop.

Beauty applying makeup by Utamaro (c. mid-1790s)

White Death

During the Edo period, women’s makeup revolved around just three colors: white, red and black, their specific combinations letting everyone know the wearer’s age, marital status and social class without them having to talk to other people. Truly, it was an introvert’s paradise.

Black coloring, which could be achieved with calligraphy ink, certain dark-color vegetables or crops, or even lamp soot, was most often applied to the teeth to mark a woman as married. Once a woman gave birth, she’d once again reach for the black to shave off and repaint her eyebrows. Repainting them high up, near the hairline, was also used to signal an aristocratic background, as is seen today in noh makeup.

Red was the only bright color that Edo-period women could find at pharmacies. Derived from safflowers, it was the color of youth applied to the cheeks, nails or lips. But the most important part of feudal makeup was the white foundation that made the black and red pop.

White skin was considered the epitome of refined feminine beauty in feudal Japan for the same reason as in the West: It let people know you were rich or noble enough to not have to work outside. Nothing was more blue-collar than a tan. There was also the saying “light skin conceals seven other defects,” so every good Edo pharmacy carried oshiroi white face powder, though it was sometimes applied as far down as the chest. Oshiroi was also bought in bulk by kabuki actors and geisha.

That turned out to be unfortunate because the primary ingredient in oshiroi was lead. With daily use, it didn’t take long for people to come down with lead poisoning. Symptoms included everything from hair loss to skin lesions, organ failure and even death. This possibly inspired the creation of the Oshiroi Baba yokai (supernatural creature), a very ugly old woman caked in toxic face powder who demands makeup or sake from travelers on the road. Lead-based makeup was only banned in 1934, and it’s impossible to say what its final death toll was. Beauty really is pain.