Exit Through The Vomitorium
An Exit Strategy, Not a Bacchanal
Caligula once hosted a feast that is mythical for its opulence and absurdity. The banquet displayed unimaginable wealth and indulgence in his palace's grand halls. Caligula, draped in silk robes and adorned with jewels, presided over the event from a throne of gold. The tables were set with dishes made of solid silver, and the floors were strewn with rose petals imported from Egypt.
The feast's centerpiece was a colossal dish of rare and exotic foods, including flamingo tongues, roasted peacocks, and a myriad of seafood, all prepared by the finest chefs of the empire. Guests reclined on couches in the traditional Roman fashion, marveling at the spread before them as slaves poured wine from amphorae encrusted with gemstones.
As the night wore on, Caligula's eccentricity became even more apparent. Caligula had the floor beneath the guests' couches covered in gold dust, ensuring that even their footprints would testify to the night's grandeur. With its unparalleled luxury and bizarre excesses, this feast became a symbol of Caligula's reign and a stark reminder of the capriciousness of absolute power.
Incidentally, no contemporaries of his called Caligula Caligula. As Emperor, he would have been referred to formally as Gaius Caesar Augustus Germanicus. As the First Citizen of the Roman Empire and Emperor, Caligula would most often have been called Gaius Caesar, as Emperors had since Augustus initiated the practice and turned a family name into a title. The nickname Caligula can be roughly translated as little boots in Latin and was derived from the small military boots (caligae) he wore as a child. Gaius grew up among Roman soldiers because his father, Germanicus, was a highly esteemed general. The soldiers affectionately named him "Caligula" as a young boy because he often wore a miniature soldier's uniform, complete with these small boots.
The description of Caligula's (Apologies: Gaius Caesar's) feast detailed above is a prime example of what typifies the absolute apex of Roman opulence and decadence in the modern mind (and likely less fortunate Romans of the time). Literally an embarrassment of riches. And yet, absent from this story is that piece of historical trivia that would tip the balance from opulent and decadent to needless and grotesque. At what point did Caligula and his guests begin throwing up so they could restart the feast from the jump?
Contrary to popular belief, a vomitorium was not a designated space for ancient Romans to purge their stomachs to make room for more food. This myth likely stems from a misunderstanding of Roman dining practices and the term itself. In reality, a vomitorium was an architectural feature in Roman theaters and amphitheaters, including the famous Colosseum. It referred to the passageways that allowed large crowds to exit rapidly. The term is derived from the Latin "vomere," meaning "to spew forth," which aptly describes how these passageways would "spew" spectators out of the venue.
Now, I don't know about you, but even the myth about this, contextual fuck-up notwithstanding, has never made sense to me. Perhaps I just have a less-than-adequate constitution, but I recall encountering the vomitorium myth for the first time and remembering the last time I vomited. Stomach cramps and that acid taste in my mouth, sweating, face red and throat raw. I'd be hard-pressed to think of a moment when I'd be less likely to desire more food. After I vomit, the smell, the sight, or even the mere thought of food is enough to trigger a gag reflex and send me spiraling again toward the bathroom. Granted, there are conditions and disorders wherein sufferers binge and purge, but those are outliers, and for the average person, post-vomit, food is the last thing on their mind. And despite all of Rome's societal flaws, I have never been presented with any evidence that they were uniformly bulimic.
So, let's assume, for argument's sake, that a vomitorium was what it is often misunderstood to be. How does that comport with what we know about how Romans treated feasts? Simply put, while Roman banquets, or conviviums, were indeed lavish and featured multiple courses, the evidence for systematic purging is scant. Romans valued their meals and the social interactions that accompanied them, often engaging in intellectual conversations, entertainment, and enjoying various foods.
A distinctive feature of Roman dining was the reclining posture on couches, called "triclinia," arranged in a U-shape around a low table. Elite Romans would lie on their left side, propped up on their left elbow, leaving only their right hand free for eating. This posture marked status and sophistication, symbolizing leisure and opulence. However, reclining while eating posed practical challenges. The limited use of only one hand meant that meals consisted primarily of finger foods, as the fork had yet to be invented. This arrangement would make consuming large amounts of food inconvenient, further debunking the idea of systematic overeating and purging.
As a perhaps needless tangent, it is nearly impossible for me to get that while the Romans made massive innovations with roads, aqueducts, their military strategies, sculpture, architecture, and at least a nascent form of what they considered a democracy, the god damn fork eluded that time of grand invention. Evidence of the usage of forks dates back to ancient Egypt and China. Yes, they were two-pronged and not the clearly superior three-pronged we enjoy today. Still, there is no record or evidence of using anything resembling forks until the Roman Empire split and the Byzantine Empire emerged seven hundred years after Augustus died. Food for thought. Well, provided it's finger food or soup.
The contrast between the daily meals of typical Roman citizens and the extravagant feasts of the elite was stark. For an average Roman, a typical meal, known as "cena," often consisted of simple fare such as bread, olives, cheese, fruits, and occasionally small portions of meat or fish. Puls, a type of porridge made from grains like barley or wheat, was also a staple for many.
In stark contrast, the banquets of the wealthy, especially those hosted by emperors, were opulent affairs showcasing a vast array of exotic and expensive dishes. These feasts included delicacies such as peacock, ostrich, wild boar, and various kinds of seafood. The famed banquet of Emperor Elagabalus is a notable example of such extravagance. Elagabalus once hosted a banquet along an artificial pool, where the food was served to guests on small boats, creating a floating feast that epitomized luxury and indulgence.
So, what else do we get wrong about Rome? Another almost pathologically regurgitated myth (if you'll forgive the word choice) is that Roman society was flush with orgies. While sexual liberation did undoubtedly differ from current standards, and there were indeed instances of decadence, the idea of frequent, large-scale orgies is essentially a product of modern imagination. Much of this misconception comes from misinterpretations of Roman texts and the exaggerations of later writers. Romans did have festivals and celebrations that included more liberal attitudes toward sexuality, but these were not daily occurrences.
The Romans are often credited with inventing roads, but this, too, is a simplification. While they did not invent roads, their contribution to road construction and engineering was unparalleled. The Roman road system was one of the most sophisticated and extensive in the ancient world, facilitating trade, military movement, and communication across the empire. These roads were built with remarkable precision and durability, many of which have influenced modern road-building techniques.
Roman culture, far from being wholly original, was heavily influenced by the Greeks. The Romans borrowed extensively from Greek art, architecture, religion, and literature. For instance, Roman gods were often directly adapted from Greek deities, such as Jupiter from Zeus and Venus from Aphrodite. In literature, Roman authors like Virgil and Ovid were deeply influenced by Greek predecessors like Homer and Hesiod. Even in philosophy, the works of Plato and Aristotle were foundational for Roman thinkers like Cicero and Seneca.
While the misinterpretation of "vomitorium" is a humorous and relatively harmless example, the stakes of misunderstanding Roman culture can sometimes be far more significant. Many groups today—especially extremist or nationalist factions—romanticize Rome's supposed purity and strength, using this idealized image to support narratives of "Western" superiority. However, this vision often misses the mark entirely.
In truth, the Roman Empire was a diverse, multi-ethnic society spanning three continents, with emperors originating from places we now consider Africa, the Middle East, and Spain. Romans were not "White" in the way modern culture frames ethnicity. Roman identity was defined by citizenship, allegiance, and shared customs rather than race. In fact, Roman society was a melting pot, incorporating elements from the many cultures they conquered or absorbed. Their tolerance for varied religions, languages, and backgrounds allowed the empire to thrive in ways often overlooked today.
When modern groups invoke "Roman values," they often ignore or misunderstand this pluralistic reality. Instead, they cherry-pick aspects of Roman life—military discipline, architectural grandeur, or order—to fit modern ideological frameworks that the Romans themselves might not recognize. By applying these misinterpretations to present-day ideologies, the complex, diverse legacy of Rome is simplified into a distorted caricature, losing the very characteristics that made the empire resilient and innovative. Just as the myth of the vomitorium turns an architectural term into a grotesque image, reducing Rome to an imagined ideal of "purity" or "Western superiority" distorts history, erasing the empire's rich complexity in favor of an illusion.
The common misconceptions about Roman culture highlighted above (and there are many, many more) are partly due to the difficulty of contextualizing information from so long ago. Despite remarkable archaeological and anthropological efforts, much of Roman life remains beyond our grasp. The context in which Romans lived, joked, and interacted is often lost. For instance, many inscriptions on stone pillars might include irony or jokes that would only have made sense to Romans alive at the time. Understanding these nuances is challenging because ancient Rome's cultural and social cues are vastly different from those of the modern world. Much of what Romans considered everyday life, humor, or even slang has not survived the millennia, leaving gaps in our understanding.
The phrase "my ancient Rome is..." has morphed into a playful shorthand for any obsession that consumes someone’s attention in the same way Rome does for history buffs. It’s the ultimate way of saying, “I could talk about this for hours, even if no one asked.” For some, it’s "my ancient Rome is makeup"—hours spent analyzing contouring techniques as if they were mapping out Caesar's campaign routes. For others, it might be "my ancient Rome is sourdough," with bread starters discussed like long-lost artifacts. The phrase has become a kind of quirky badge, signaling the topics we dive into with perhaps too much fervor, treating each one like a personal empire of knowledge and trivia, all-encompassing and proudly excessive.
Ancient Rome's legacy is immense, but it is essential to distinguish fact from fiction if, for no other reason than, the facts are more than fascinating enough without embellishment. The vomitorium was nothing more than an efficient architectural innovation, not a testament to gluttonous excess. Orgies were not as ubiquitous as popular culture suggests, and while the Romans did not invent roads, their contributions to infrastructure were revolutionary. Acknowledging the Greek influence on Roman culture further highlights the interconnectedness of ancient civilizations. Understanding these nuances allows us to appreciate the complexity and grandeur of Roman history without the distortions of myth.
All hail the fork.