That headline sounds way more salacious than it is. I’m not talking about anything erotic here—just a powerful, persistent wish of mine.
Here it is: I want to time travel, but in a very specific way. I want to
I want to hear what English sounded like in Jamestown in 1607. Hear Old English in 1000 AD and Latin in 1000 BC. I want to hang out among Neanderthals. Visit 9000 BC and see what life was like at Göbekli Tepe (maybe sneak a taste of whatever they’re eating). I want to walk in the filthy streets of the world’s biggest cities when they’re packed with horses and humanity. Experience the odors, the cacophony, and the social behavior. I want to smell the exhaust and hear the engines of the earliest Model T Fords. I want to observe the night sky from a lightbulb-free planet.
More than anything else, I want to rewind time more than 66 million years so I can get up close and personal with DINOSAURS. Can you even imagine? Hearing them roar ... feeling the ground vibrate from their footsteps ... watching a Tyrannosaurus murdering its next meal. I want to inhale that extra oxygen and marvel at all the bizarre flora and fauna. (Being imperceptible means that no mosquitos or other creatures would ever bite me.)
Similarly, in a more recent era, I’d love to get close to some wooly mammoths,* saber-toothed cats, and—above all—giant sloths. Actually, I might go on an extinction world tour and check out some dodos, elephant birds, and maybe the Titanoboa (a snake that was something like forty feet long and 2,500 pounds).
It’s all a nice dream. But alas, it ain’t gonna happen.
So instead, I indulge in the next best thing: old stuff. I’m not talking about visiting grand cathedrals and monuments—rather, I crave anything that reveals the experience of day-to-day life. I want to know where people slept and what they ate. What did they wear? Where did they eliminate their bodily waste? How’d they attempt to care for their teeth and trim their toenails? What songs did they sing? What games did they play? How did they treat one another? What did they smell like?
I stare at daguerrotypes, including post-mortem photographs (👈 don't click on that if corpses upset you). When I discovered the early-20th-century color photos of Sergey Prokudin-Gorsky, I absolutely swooned. They show the actual vibrant hues of people’s clothing, and for me, they serve as a magical portal to a much earlier time.
I follow social media accounts with names like “Abandoned Places” and “Ancient Marvels of Mankind.” I can’t get enough images of Pompeii—the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79 AD is the tragedy that keeps on giving.
I delight in a well-stocked antiques store, but I especially appreciate those antiques that still remain in their original locations—things like hitching posts, milk boxes, boot scrapers, and, of course, cobblestones. I adore ghost signs and other types of old signage.
One of my favorite ways of slipping into the past is through old print advertising. A visit to the Internet Archive or Duke University’s John W. Hartman Center for Sales, Advertising and Marketing History can entertain me for hours. Old ads show us a lot about the hucksters of the era, sure, but they also hint at what the general public struggled with and cared about. Here are three ads I found this week, captioned with what they tell me.
Here it is: I want to time travel, but in a very specific way. I want to
- Easily go to any place and time I fancy (only in the past; the future spooks me)
- Remain invisible, unnoticed, and entirely safe while I’m there
- Retain the use of all five of my senses
- Be dressed comfortably—I want to experience the weather, but I don't want to suffer from it
- Have my husband accompany me, and be able to converse with him without anyone or anything around us noticing
I want to hear what English sounded like in Jamestown in 1607. Hear Old English in 1000 AD and Latin in 1000 BC. I want to hang out among Neanderthals. Visit 9000 BC and see what life was like at Göbekli Tepe (maybe sneak a taste of whatever they’re eating). I want to walk in the filthy streets of the world’s biggest cities when they’re packed with horses and humanity. Experience the odors, the cacophony, and the social behavior. I want to smell the exhaust and hear the engines of the earliest Model T Fords. I want to observe the night sky from a lightbulb-free planet.
More than anything else, I want to rewind time more than 66 million years so I can get up close and personal with DINOSAURS. Can you even imagine? Hearing them roar ... feeling the ground vibrate from their footsteps ... watching a Tyrannosaurus murdering its next meal. I want to inhale that extra oxygen and marvel at all the bizarre flora and fauna. (Being imperceptible means that no mosquitos or other creatures would ever bite me.)
Similarly, in a more recent era, I’d love to get close to some wooly mammoths,* saber-toothed cats, and—above all—giant sloths. Actually, I might go on an extinction world tour and check out some dodos, elephant birds, and maybe the Titanoboa (a snake that was something like forty feet long and 2,500 pounds).
It’s all a nice dream. But alas, it ain’t gonna happen.
So instead, I indulge in the next best thing: old stuff. I’m not talking about visiting grand cathedrals and monuments—rather, I crave anything that reveals the experience of day-to-day life. I want to know where people slept and what they ate. What did they wear? Where did they eliminate their bodily waste? How’d they attempt to care for their teeth and trim their toenails? What songs did they sing? What games did they play? How did they treat one another? What did they smell like?
I stare at daguerrotypes, including post-mortem photographs (👈 don't click on that if corpses upset you). When I discovered the early-20th-century color photos of Sergey Prokudin-Gorsky, I absolutely swooned. They show the actual vibrant hues of people’s clothing, and for me, they serve as a magical portal to a much earlier time.
I follow social media accounts with names like “Abandoned Places” and “Ancient Marvels of Mankind.” I can’t get enough images of Pompeii—the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79 AD is the tragedy that keeps on giving.
I delight in a well-stocked antiques store, but I especially appreciate those antiques that still remain in their original locations—things like hitching posts, milk boxes, boot scrapers, and, of course, cobblestones. I adore ghost signs and other types of old signage.
One of my favorite ways of slipping into the past is through old print advertising. A visit to the Internet Archive or Duke University’s John W. Hartman Center for Sales, Advertising and Marketing History can entertain me for hours. Old ads show us a lot about the hucksters of the era, sure, but they also hint at what the general public struggled with and cared about. Here are three ads I found this week, captioned with what they tell me.
Beyond this woman’s unnerving headlight eyes, this is a fairly run-of-the-mill product ad from 1890. Until you hit the line reading “FIT ALL AGES—Infants to Adults.” INFANTS? A little online research showed me that yes, children’s corsets were a thing. (For little boys, too, though the real gut-crushing styles were reserved exclusively for the fairer sex.) See also: MATERNITY CORSETS.
Asbestos is natural, so what's the harm? (1903)
If your asbestos baking sheets gave you cancer, good news! In 1905, you could get yourself one of these Physician-endorsed ANTI-CANCER pipes. They were great gifts for gentlemen, but women weren't worth saving, I guess.
Oh, advertising! There’s so much about you that’s disturbing, but you do such a wonderful job of helping me step back in time (and appreciate my ability to return to the current day).
*Did you know there’s a project to bring back the wooly mammoth? Horror movies just write themselves, don’t they?
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