![]() What’s in a mint? The more I think about this, the more any breath-freshening quality of the mint seems superfluous. So when we obligatorily consume a mint passed our way down the table in the cafeteria at lunch, that’s really a gesture of social inclusion and assimilation. After all, it’s pretty difficult to smell your own breath. However, the anxiety is located in the consequence - social alienation - not in the stink itself. Whether this anxiety is natural, or a result of the fears brought to our attention and fed by the advertisers, the fact is that it’s real. Advertisers are keenly aware of the anxiety people feel about the smell of their own breath. Like a shiny pair of wingtips, breath freshness makes a good first impression. The deeper truth, of course, is simply that we worry the disgusting smell emanating from our face hole all day will turn off of our colleagues, friends, and lovers. When did fear of stinky breath become such a thing? Granted, the breath can be a solid indicator of gum disease or a serious gastrointestinal problem. But it’s wrong-headed to characterize these food objects exclusively as breath-freshening tools. President Trump has pretty much ruined Tic Tacs for the rest of us. There’s also the cartoonish ubiquity of Binaca breath spray and those curiously strong Altoids. In the Southern US, there’s a proliferation of toothpicks. The Mayans and Aztecs chewed a gum made from boiled sap. In ancient Rome, people would chew on parsley sprigs to freshen their breath. ![]()
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