The 18th-century scavenging of "discarded leather-scraps" for producing Prussian Blue pigment

History is just one long, glorious dumpster dive. In 1704, the world’s first synthetic color wasn't born in a clean lab, but from a pot of literal trash. A color maker was trying to create red, but he accidentally used potash contaminated with "animal oil"—a foul stew of boiled leather scraps and dried blood.

Instead of red, the iron reacted with the nitrogen in that gunk to create a deep, electric blue. This "Prussian Blue" eventually coated royal uniforms and famous woodblock prints, proving that high art often starts in the gutter.

Wait, why was he even boiling blood and leather scraps?

Diesbach was just a guy trying to cut costs. He wanted to make carmine red but didn't want to pay full price for the ingredients. So, he turned to a shady alchemist named Dippel for some discount potash.

Dippel was the king of the 18th-century dumpster dive. He was distilling 'animal oil' from hooves, horns, and blood, peddling it as a miracle medicine. It was basically liquid roadkill.

When Diesbach dumped that greasy, nitrogen-heavy gunk into his pot, he didn't get his red. He got a chemical reaction that turned trash into the most coveted blue on the planet.

Hold on, people actually swallowed that 'liquid roadkill' as medicine?

Oh, they didn't just drink it; they paid good money for it. Dippel marketed his 'Dippel’s Oil' as a cure-all for everything from epilepsy to the plague. It smelled like a burnt hair factory in a swamp, but back then, if it tasted like death, people assumed it was working.

It was the ultimate alchemical grift. He took the nastiest leftovers of the slaughterhouse and rebranded them as high-end wellness. It’s basically the 18th-century version of selling swamp water as a luxury detox smoothie.

So how did he actually convince people to swallow that stench?

Dippel leaned into the "no pain, no gain" logic. Back then, if medicine didn't make you gag, it wasn't working. A foul stench was proof the "vital force" was strong enough to fight off death.

He played the "mad genius" card. He claimed his oil was a byproduct of his search for the Philosopher’s Stone. By framing slaughterhouse waste as a secret alchemical breakthrough, he rebranded trash as a miracle.

It was the ultimate Enlightenment-era grift. People were so terrified of the plague they’d swallow anything if a charismatic guy promised it held the secret to immortality.

Did he actually think he could turn hooves into gold with that?

Alchemists were the ultimate cosmic scavengers. They believed every piece of matter—even a rotting hoof—contained a hidden "soul" or "essence" that was the same across all things.

Dippel’s pitch was that by distilling the nastiest animal parts, he was extracting the "primal matter" needed to create the Philosopher’s Stone. If you could find that secret sauce, you could supposedly turn lead into gold.

It was the ultimate alchemical flex. He convinced people that the secret to infinite wealth and eternal life wasn't in a palace, but hidden inside the literal garbage of the natural world.