Hello dear readers and fabulous followers. I have decided to consolidate my blogs down to the two most popular. In a way its an experiment, too. So from now on look for interesting and revealing postings regarding sensual apparel throughout history via 'Mediterranean Delux: History Channel',
Its true that I am not a noted Egyptologist. I've never even seen a mummy close up. However, there's a few things I'm willing to be quoted on in terms of my limited knowledge of the supremely remarkable ancient culture - and mainly that would be that Egyptians were not beings from an alien planet. Seems historians will go to just about any length to disassociate Egypt, or Klem, the the original term meaning 'the black land', from Africa, tsk, tsk, tsk.
From numerous mummies found in digs throughout more modern times, it is apparent that the elongated head was a commonality during more than several dynasties. Its is believed that the presence of what modern people would consider abnormally misshapen heads was intentionally manipulated by the practice of head flattening. Statues depicting both Queen Nefertiti, and her husband, Pharaoh, Akenaten who reigned during the 18th, indicate that they both had rather extensively elongated heads with Akenaten virtually laden with physical defects from head to toe.
'The feminine features and elongated head of ancient Egypt's King Akhenaten may be attributed to two genetic defects called aromatose excess syndrome and craniosynostosis, said Yale School of Medicine dermatology professor Irwin Braverman, M.D.'
Now one thing we all already know (lol) is that in ancient Egypt especially, royalty went to the utmost measures to maintain an untainted blood line that they went as far as to marry brother to sister, as in the case of King Tut. In terms of this practice, there was no limit; father to daughter, mother to son, as long as the dynasty could continue unscathed [by commoners].
My theory is this (and get your pens because this is a direct quote), as a result of all of the incestuous liaisons, royal offspring were susceptible to all types of genetic defects, such as in the famous case of Akenaten. It is likely that Nefertiti was also a product of closely related nobles. Secondly, the general public of the time would doubtlessly try to emulate its beloved leaders, truly their Gods and Goddesses. Therefore the trend of head flattening besets a nation. Further those who were not fortunate to have a fashion conscious mother, could readily create the effect by donning the majestic head dress so elegantly stylized by the alluring Nefertiti. Imagine following a fashion trend that glorifies incest? I guess art really does imitate life.
Queen Nefertiti achieved historic noteriety as the wife of the misshapen King Akenaten. To this day she is considered among the most alluring and beautiful women of ancient Egypt. When the bust of her image was discovered in the 19th century it revealed an exceptionally beautiful woman wearing a tall headdress. Though no clothing of the icon was obviously included on the bust, she shined supreme with a glorious slip of ornate jewelry.
Later when the bust of Nefertiti was fitted into a a costume that was discovered in her sepulcher it caused a significant controversy among Egyptologists and the public alike. The outfit itself consisted of little more than an overlay of thin sheer material low cut to reveal the shape of her breasts and her body line, which revealed the impact of having given birth to seven children. To many, this representation was vulgar at the very least. After much debate and concern among many historians, the costume was eventually removed so that to the eyes of the world all that remains is the regal imagery of the adornments and characteristic aristocratic headdress of arguably to most captivating beauties in history.
In the next blog posting we'll explore the scandalous secret of the aristocratic headdress and the taboo look it was intended to achieve.
The Ode to'la femme fatale' which this blog honors as one of the, if not the greatest manipulator of fine fabric and clothing to compliment the soft lines of the feminine form to intrigue and excite the enemy, the allie, both or neither... ssshhh.
Mata Hari was the stage name Dutch-born Margaretha Zelle took when she became one of Paris' most popular exotic dancers on the eve of World War I. Although details of her past are sketchy, it is believed that she was born in the Netherlands in 1876 and married a Dutch Army officer 21 years her senior when she was 18. She quickly bore him two children and followed him when he was assigned to Java in 1897. The marriage proved rocky. The couple returned to the Netherlands in 1902 with their daughter (their other child, a son, had died mysteriously in Java). Margaretha's husband obtained a divorce and retained custody of his daughter.
Margaretha then made her way to Paris where she reinvented herself as a Mata Hari Indian temple dancer thoroughly trained in the erotic dances of the East. She took on the name Mata Hari and was soon luring audiences in the thousands as she performed in Paris, Berlin, Vienna, Madrid and other European capitals. She also attracted a number of highly-placed, aristocratic lovers willing to reward her handsomely for the pleasure of her company.
With the outbreak of World War I, Mata Hari's cross-border liaisons with German political and military figures came to the attention of the French secret police and she was placed under surveillance. Brought in for questioning, the French reportedly induced her to travel to neutral Spain in order to develop relationships with the German naval and army attaches in Madrid and report any intelligence back to Paris. In the murky world of the spy, however, the French suspected her of being a double agent. In February 1917 Mata Hari returned to Paris and was immediately arrested; charged with being a German spy. Her trial in July revealed some damning evidence that the dancer was unable to adequately explain. She was convicted and sentenced to death.
In the early-morning hours of October 15, Mata Hari was awakened and taken by car from her Paris prison cell to an army barracks on the city's outskirts where she was to meet her fate.
"I am ready."
Henry Wales was a British reporter who covered the execution. We join his story as Mata Hari is awakened in the early morning of October 15. She had made a direct appeal to the French president for clemency and was expectantly awaiting his reply:
ADVERTISMENT "The first intimation she received that her plea had been denied was when she was led at daybreak from her cell in the Saint-Lazare prison to a waiting automobile and then rushed to the barracks where the firing squad awaited her.
Never once had the iron will of the beautiful woman failed her. Father Arbaux, accompanied by two sisters of charity, Captain Bouchardon, and Maitre Clunet, her lawyer, entered her cell, where she was still sleeping - a calm, untroubled sleep, it was remarked by the turnkeys and trusties.
The sisters gently shook her. She arose and was told that her hour had come.
'May I write two letters?' was all she asked.
Consent was given immediately by Captain Bouchardon, and pen, ink, paper, and envelopes were given to her.
She seated herself at the edge of the bed and wrote the letters with feverish haste. She handed them over to the custody of her lawyer.
Then she drew on her stockings, black, silken, filmy things, grotesque in the circumstances. She placed her high-heeled slippers on her feet and tied the silken ribbons over her insteps.
She arose and took the long black velvet cloak, edged around the bottom with fur and with a huge square fur collar hanging down the back, from a hook over the head of her bed. She placed this cloak over the heavy silk kimono which she had been wearing over her nightdress.
Her wealth of black hair was still coiled about her head in braids. She put on a large, flapping black felt hat with a black silk ribbon and bow. Slowly and indifferently, it seemed, she pulled on a pair of black kid gloves. Then she said calmly:
'I am ready.'
The party slowly filed out of her cell to the waiting automobile.
The car sped through the heart of the sleeping city. It was scarcely half-past five in the morning and the sun was not yet fully up.
Clear across Paris the car whirled to the Caserne de Vincennes, the barracks of the old fort which the Germans stormed in 1870.
The troops were already drawn up for the execution. The twelve Zouaves, forming the firing squad, stood in line, their rifles at ease. A subofficer stood behind them, sword drawn.
The automobile stopped, and the party descended, Mata Hari last. The party walked straight to the spot, where a little hummock of earth reared itself seven or eight feet high and afforded a background for such bullets as might miss the human target.
As Father Arbaux spoke with the condemned woman, a French officer approached, carrying a white cloth.
'The blindfold,' he whispered to the nuns who stood there and handed it to them.
'Must I wear that?' asked Mata Hari, turning to her lawyer, as her eyes glimpsed the blindfold.
Maitre Clunet turned interrogatively to the French officer.
'If Madame prefers not, it makes no difference,' replied the officer, hurriedly turning away. .
Mata Hari was not bound and she was not blindfolded. She stood gazing steadfastly at her executioners, when the priest, the nuns, and her lawyer stepped away from her.
The officer in command of the firing squad, who had been watching his men like a hawk that none might examine his rifle and try to find out whether he was destined to fire the blank cartridge which was in the breech of one rifle, seemed relieved that the business would soon be over.
A sharp, crackling command and the file of twelve men assumed rigid positions at attention. Another command, and their rifles were at their shoulders; each man gazed down his barrel at the breast of the women which was the target.
She did not move a muscle.
The underofficer in charge had moved to a position where from the corners of their eyes they could see him. His sword was extended in the air.
It dropped. The sun - by this time up - flashed on the burnished blade as it described an arc in falling. Simultaneously the sound of the volley rang out. Flame and a tiny puff of greyish smoke issued from the muzzle of each rifle. Automatically the men dropped their arms.
At the report Mata Hari fell. She did not die as actors and moving picture stars would have us believe that people die when they are shot. She did not throw up her hands nor did she plunge straight forward or straight back.
Instead she seemed to collapse. Slowly, inertly, she settled to her knees, her head up always, and without the slightest change of expression on her face. For the fraction of a second it seemed she tottered there, on her knees, gazing directly at those who had taken her life. Then she fell backward, bending at the waist, with her legs doubled up beneath her. She lay prone, motionless, with her face turned towards the sky.
A non-commissioned officer, who accompanied a lieutenant, drew his revolver from the big, black holster strapped about his waist. Bending over, he placed the muzzle of the revolver almost - but not quite - against the left temple of the spy. He pulled the trigger, and the bullet tore into the brain of the woman.
Mata Hari was surely dead."
"The Execution of Mata Hari, 1917," EyeWitness to History, www.eyewitnesstohistory.com (2005).
I've always found clothes as fashion to be fascinating and intriguing elements of the human experience. What was beautiful, elegant and expensive 10 years ago could be completely laughable today. The way people dress tell so much about themselves as individuals, their tastes, beliefs, habits, upbringing, intellect, lifestyle or even anti-lifestyle is made apparent by their choice, or in so many cases, limited option of clothing. At times, we fall in love with an era and remain forever (in the 80s - that may be me) or constantly seeking the next trend. In any case, my belief is that fashion is a living, thriving, though sometimes seemingly stagnant entity that lets us call ourselves a civilized society. Also, even at my advanced age, find it a lot of fun. Well, fellow citizens, dare we get a little wild? I consider myself a staunch proponent of daring to different. However, I note that my daring in the US is much more pronounced than in other locations, hmm. Oh well, with that, lets just see how far we can take our fantastic ideas of dressing how we really want, and if anybody has a problem with it - on y va!