In the bustling markets of 7th-century Chang'an, Tang Dynasty elites didn't queue for imported perfumes or gold-leaf serums. Instead, they sought beauty in an unlikely source: pigs. While pork rarely graced aristocratic tables, the animal's fats, organs, and even hooves became the cornerstone of China's first documented skincare revolution.
Historical records, including physician Sun Simiao's (孙思邈) precious prescriptions, reveal over 50 pig-derived beauty treatments. Collagen-rich pig hooves were boiled with herbs like white mulberry bark to create anti-aging "lightening toners." Pig pancreas, packed with natural enzymes, formed the base of exfoliating scrubs. Rendering yards worked overtime to supply pharmacies with zhū zhī (pig fat)—the Vaseline of its day—used to seal moisture into wind-chapped skin.
"This wasn't folk medicine but systematized dermatology," explains Dr. Li Wen, a historian of Chinese medicine. "Sun's formulas specify exact ratios, preparation methods, and even application schedules—like modern prescription skincare."
The Tang beauty regimen was meticulous. Wealthy women began their mornings with zaodou (澡豆), a grainy cleanser made from pig pancreas, pea flour, and spices. Evening routines included slathering on mianzhi (面脂), a lard-based night cream infused with jasmine or lotus. For special occasions, aristocrats applied kouzhi (口脂), a pig-fat lip balm tinted with safflower. Even men participated: scholars rubbed hoof-derived serums onto sunspots caused by long hours writing under oil lamps.
The Imperial Endorsement: When Skincare Became Statecraft
Beauty in Tang China transcended vanity—it was political. Court archives describe an annual winter ritual: the Emperor distributing kouzhi (lip balms) and mianzhi (face creams) to officials and soldiers. These luxuries, often pig-fat based, served dual purposes.
For bureaucrats, receiving imperial skincare gifts signaled favor. A surviving 8th-century thank-you note gushes: "Your Majesty's balm has melted winter's cruelty from my lips, allowing humble words to flow freely in service of the realm."
For frontier troops battling western regions (西域) sandstorms, these "gifts" were survival kits. Medical texts like Medical Secrets of an Official (外台秘要) detail pig-fat salves prescribed for soldiers with "skin cracked like desert earth." The message was clear: The throne cared—or at least needed troops presentable while guarding Silk Road profits.
Beyond the Battlefield
The palace's beauty diplomacy extended to foreign envoys. Persian merchants received pig-fat creams as trade sweeteners, while Japanese diplomats documented Tang skincare routines in diaries. "The Empress's envoy gifted us jars of a pearlescent unguent," wrote 9th-century monk Ennin. "It smelled of pork, yet left the face softer than silk."
Even childbirth had a porcine connection. Royal physicians prescribed "postpartum qi tonics" using pig's milk, believed to restore "radiance drained by labor." Skeptics might dismiss this as placebo, but modern studies confirm pig-derived collagen's wound-healing properties.
Why Pigs Beat Goats: The Science Behind Ancient Choices
While Tang texts mention sheep and cattle fats, pig products dominated skincare. Practicality played a role—swine thrived on kitchen scraps, making them cheaper than pasture-raised livestock. But biochemistry sealed the deal.
Pig fat's fatty acid profile (40% palmitic acid) closely matches human sebum, allowing better absorption than plant oils. "It's why lard remains in moisturizers today," notes dermatologist Dr. Emma Zhou. Meanwhile, pig pancreas contains lipase and protease—enzymes still used in exfoliants.
Yet Tang innovations weren't blindly copied. Their "zinc oxide alternative" used pig liver ash for sun protection, risking heavy metal exposure. Worse, acne treatments mixed toxic mercury powder (shuiyin) with pig fat—a dangerous practice later abandoned.
Archaeological finds reveal the costs of vanity. A noblewoman's tomb in Xi'an contained a silver cosmetic box holding a greenish paste—lab tests identified it as mercury-laced pig-fat cream. "Her bones showed signs of chronic poisoning," says Dr. Zhou. "This was beauty at a price."
Echoes in Modern Beauty
Walk through Shanghai's skincare aisles today, and Tang Dynasty wisdom persists—sans mercury. Brands like Pechoin revive herbal-pig collagen masks, while "imperial skincare" tourism booms in Xi'an. At the city's Tang West Market Museum, visitors grind mock zaodou scrubs and marvel at replica pig-fat compacts.
Science is catching up, too. A 2023 study in Journal of Ethnopharmacology validated pig-hoof soup's collagen benefits, though researchers caution: "Modern extraction methods yield safer, more concentrated results." Meanwhile, startups are patenting Tang-inspired formulas. "We replaced lard with squalane from olives," admits Chen Wei, founder of Sui-Tang Cosmetics. "But the core philosophy—nature as pharmacy—remains unchanged."
As Dr. Li notes: "They got the basics right: hydration, sun protection, gentle cleansing. We just replaced pigs with hyaluronic acid."
Perhaps pigs deserve belated credit. After all, as Sun Simiao wrote: "To dismiss the lowly is to blind oneself to heaven's pharmacy." Even if that pharmacy oinked.
