“Michelangelo seemed to recoil from worldly comforts. He ate simple meals, often hastily, slept in his clothes, and lived with almost ascetic disregard for cleanliness.” Whimsy columnist CLIVE WILLIAMS shares some surprising habits of one of the towering geniuses of the Renaissance.

“Michelangelo’s David? Now there’s a guy that works out.” –Graham Norton 

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni (1475-1564) was one of the towering geniuses of the Renaissance.

He is remembered for his transcendent artistic achievements – the statue of David, the Sistine Chapel ceiling, the Pietà, and countless drawings and architectural innovations. 

Yet alongside this near-mythic brilliance was another, considerably less glamorous reputation: Michelangelo was notoriously indifferent to personal hygiene.

His contemporaries, friends, and even his own apprentices described a man who lived in a state of near-constant physical neglect, so much so that his habits became as much a part of his legend as his chisels and brushes.

Many Renaissance artists embraced elaborate grooming and sought patronage by appearing polished, social and urbane. Michelangelo, by contrast, seemed to recoil from worldly comforts. He ate simple meals, often hastily, slept in his clothes, and lived with almost ascetic disregard for cleanliness.

One of his apprentices claimed the master might keep the same clothes on for so long that they would have to be peeled off his skin, “as if he were shedding the skin of a snake.” 

Modern biographers often interpret this behaviour as a combination of obsessive dedication to work, mild misanthropy, and an almost monk-like belief that physical comfort was a distraction from higher artistic or spiritual pursuits.

For Michelangelo, hygiene, grooming, and fashionable dress were trivialities that stole time from the artistic labour that consumed him.

Among the more colourful details preserved in historical accounts is the matter of his dog skin boots.

Michelangelo is said to have worn boots made from the hides of dogs – an unusual but not unheard-of choice in the late medieval and Renaissance periods.

Dog skin boots were rugged, durable, and, in his case, seldom removed. According to anecdotal reports, he sometimes kept them on for months at a time, even sleeping in them, until the leather stiffened so severely that the boots had to be cut off. 

Dog skin, though an unacceptable choice today, was sometimes used in Europe for specialised types of clothing and equipment.

In the pre-industrial world, leather was a widely used material – from shoes and belts to armour components, bookbindings, and saddlery – with the type of hide used depending on local availability, durability requirements, and cost. 

Dog hides were not widely used for general garments, as cattle, goats, and sheep provided most leather needs. However, dog leather was sometimes valued for being tough yet flexible, making it suitable for specific utilitarian items.

Gloves made from dog skin were known for their softness and sensitivity – useful for certain trades – and dog leather could produce boots that were especially hardy. It appears Michelangelo sought exactly this ruggedness. 

His lifestyle – moving between cramped studios, marble quarries and dusty workspaces – favoured footwear that could withstand heavy wear and needed minimal care; qualities dog skin boots offered.

While dogs were loved and kept as pets in Renaissance Italy, they were also working animals, and the boundary between pet and livestock was culturally different from today’s norms.

Leather producers relied more on leather’s utility, so hides from various animals, including cats, found practical uses. While dog leather was valued for durability, catskin was valued more for warmth and softness. 

Taken together, Michelangelo’s poor personal hygiene and his dog skin boots reflect the character of a man driven almost entirely by artistic compulsion.

His unwashed clothes, unclean body, and battered boots were outward signs of an inward intensity: a relentless, sometimes obsessive devotion to creation. That such a figure produced some of the most refined and spiritually profound works in Western art only heightens the paradox – and the fascination – of Michelangelo’s life.

On a lighter note: One Sunday a pastor tells the congregation that the church needs extra money to fix the roof and asks them to consider giving a little extra in the offering plate. He says that whoever gives the most will be able to select three hymns.

After the offering plates are passed, the pastor glances down and notices that someone has donated a $100 bill. He is so excited that he immediately shares his joy with the congregation and says he’d like to personally thank the person who placed the money in the plate.

An older lady in the back shyly raises her hand. The pastor asks her to come to the front where he tells her how wonderful a gesture it is and asks her to pick out three hymns.

Her eyes brighten as she looks over the congregation, points to the three handsomest men and says: “I’ll take him, and him, and him.”

Clive Williams is a Canberra columnist.

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