When you look at old portraits of Japanese noblewomen—or ukiyo-e prints, you may sometimes notice something strange: pitch-black teeth. It’s quite shocking the first time you see it and your first impression might be that the picture was damaged because… black teeth?! Yep — black teeth. It isn’t poor dental hygiene. It’s ohaguro (お歯黒), the once-common practice of dyeing the teeth black.
To modern eyes, the effect can be unsettling. But for centuries in Japan, blackened teeth were not just accepted, but they were admired. They were symbols of maturity, beauty, and even loyalty.
The Look of Refinement
The practice of ohaguro dates back at least to the Heian period (794–1185), though it became widespread among aristocrats during the later Muromachi and Edo periods. It was especially associated with court ladies and samurai wives, and eventually spread to townspeople and geisha as well.
Teeth were stained with a mixture made from iron filings dissolved in vinegar or sake, then combined with tannins from powdered gallnut or tea. The solution was reapplied regularly (sometimes daily) to maintain the glossy black appearance.
Far from being viewed as grotesque, ohaguro was considered elegant and refined. It served multiple cultural purposes:
- Maturity and marital status: For many women, blackening the teeth marked their transition into adulthood, particularly after marriage or childbirth.
- Beauty ideal: Just as white teeth are prized today, black teeth were seen as more harmonious with the powdered white faces of the time.
- Loyalty: In some cases, the black teeth were seen as a way of suppressing sexual allure; something of a signal of devotion to one’s husband or household, similar to wearing a wedding ring today.
There is no contradiction between those last two, by the way. Blackened teeth were considered an elegant, refined beauty. It wasn’t about sexual allure in a provocative sense, but rather harmony, restraint, and cultural taste. It also functioned as a visual marker of being “off the market,” much like shaving one’s eyebrows (a custom called hikimayu) or wearing certain kimono styles. It muted or redirected sexual attention rather than inviting it.
Practical Benefits, Too
The irony is that ohaguro may have actually protected teeth. The iron-tannin compound formed a kind of sealant that prevented tooth decay, making this beauty ritual something of an accidental dental treatment.
People in the past generally had much better teeth than we do today. Less sugar, for one. And the harder food meant their jaws got more of a workout and became more developed, leading to fewer cases of crowding and crooked teeth. Add black teeth as yet another reason their teeth were better than ours.
The End of Ohaguro
The decline of ohaguro was swift once Japan opened to the West in the late 19th century. During the Meiji era, the government aggressively modernized national customs, partly to change Western perceptions that Japan was “backward.”
In 1870, an imperial decree forbade civil servants and nobility from blackening their teeth. This didn’t stop everyone immediately, but the cultural tide had clearly turned. Soon, black teeth were no longer a sign of elegance: they were seen as old-fashioned, even embarrassing. By the early 20th century, the practice had mostly disappeared.
A Vanished Aesthetic
Today, ohaguro survives mostly in historical dramas or festivals, and even then it’s often misunderstood. To modern audiences, it can look alien or grotesque. Because of that, it is often skipped even by people who know about it. But this was once a mark of status, adulthood, and cultural belonging. It was no stranger, perhaps, than high heels or cosmetic surgery today; a Japanese person 200 years ago might have been just as horrified by Botox lips or giant fake breasts as we are by black teeth.
Understanding ohaguro reminds us that beauty standards are never fixed. They grow from the values and technologies of their time—and when those values shift, the standards disappear, often without explanation.
【Also published on my website】
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David is an American teacher and translator lost in Japan, trying to capture the beauty of this country one photo at a time and searching for the perfect haiku. He blogs here and at laspina.org. Write him on Bluesky. |