During a run on the beach, I pass a homeless man sleeping in the sand. I wonder what his skin's microbes are like, and whether he smells. After all, he sleeps in dirt (where the good bacteria live), probably has no beauty products nor much opportunity to shower. After some intense Googling, I learn that, when it comes to B.O., wearing dirty clothes is way worse than not showering. So if you have the choice between bathing or doing laundry, take the latter.

When I get home, I spray myself liberally with the Mother Dirt mist (the microbes feast on sweat and work better when it's present, says Aganovic), then set about prepping food for a dinner party. It's liberating -- and a total time saver -- to not have to worry about getting myself ready. At the last minute, I change into a clean, long-sleeved shirt and hug our guests hello. "You must be doing so much laundry right now," says my friend. My cheek sticks to her face as we pull apart. "You don't smell, but your skin feels really tacky," she says.

Today, Jessica is literally gagging on her own odor. At the gym, her workout buddy Hannah confesses that when she walks by Jessica or works out on the equipment she just finished on, she can still smell Jessica's "lingering stink cloud."

According to those who have quit showering before us (who knew there's an active no-soap movement on Reddit?), it can take weeks for the body to adjust. I read accounts of people who claim they don't smell at all, and I'm convinced they're lying. Aganovic assures me this is actually the norm. In 60 percent of people, the good bacteria push the smelly microbes out, and they're able to quit deodorant completely. Either it's taking a long time for our good bacteria to colonize, or Jessica and I belong to the other 40 percent.

When Jessica returns from the gym, the editors who sit closest to her stand up and cover their noses in protest. "This is the worst day by far." They take their laptops and book a conference room on the other side of the building.

Since realizing the other day that my patch of scalp psoriasis is shedding in sheets, I can't keep my hands off of it. Usually, it's inflamed, irritated and angry -- and I can't stop scratching it. I assumed until yesterday that it had gone away (a Mother Dirt miracle?), because there's been no discomfort for a week. But now that I know it's lifting off my scalp, I want it gone and can't help but coax it along, so to speak.

The result is chunks that stick to my greasy hair. At lunch, our managing editor says she can see flakes all around my ear. Later in the day, as I glance in the mirror, I see it sprinkled all along my hairline. I almost don't go to the supermarket after work because I know people standing in line behind me will be staring at my scalp. I feel extremely self-conscious, don't look around at all and barely make eye contact with the cashier.

It's been five days since I rinsed any part of my body. The crazy part: I no longer feel like I need it. Though my armpits continue to radiate a dead-animal smell (and look like they're birthing furry creatures), the rest of me -- yes, even down below -- looks, feels and smells perfectly clean. That dirty tackiness is gone. I haven't had a single pimple since this whole experiment began, and my feet are the softest I can remember (even my husband notices).

Meanwhile, Jessica notices that her body hair (we've got a lot of it now) is silky-soft and her skin is rejuvenating at warp speed. Her acne is clearing up and leaving no marks where she picked at it.

Jessica and I have begun to realize something huge: We don't actually need soap to stay clean. When we rinse our action zones with water, we feel as clean as if we'd just lathered up. We wonder if the same might be true about shampoo and decide that, for the rest of the experiment, we'll rinse our hair as well.

Since hair is already dead, there's no need to grow a culture in our strands -- just our scalp. Technically, we could have been washing the ends of our hair without ruining our experiment, but the beauty editors in us want to know if we actually even need shampoo. Up until the late 1800s, people washed their hair monthly; daily shampooing took off only in the 1970s. Shampoo-free advocates (no 'poo for short) claim baking soda and apple cider vinegar, or even just water, is all you need. We'll see about that.

I kneel on the floor alongside my tub, dunk my head under the faucet and work water through my hair for the first time in over three weeks. My hands become slick with grease. When I put a hand on the bottom of the tub to steady myself, I slip from all the oil. My hair smells like a wet dog.

Later in the afternoon, I can't tell if my hair is still wet or just greasy. It's ropey and tacky, like a dirty mop, and looks that way, too. My husband gets home from a business trip, pulls me in by the back of my head for a kiss and recoils. "Your hair feels like seaweed -- off a dead person."