Around 1485, Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco de' Medici commissioned Botticelli to paint Venus for his villa. This was revolutionary and risky. For nearly a thousand years, the Catholic Church had banned depictions of nude pagan gods.
The painting depicts the moment Venus, goddess of love and beauty, is born from the sea foam created when the Titan Kronos castrated his father Uranus and threw his genitals into the ocean… yes, really. She stands in a giant scallop shell, blown to shore by wind gods while a nymph rushes to cover her nudity with a flowered cloak.
Botticelli made Venus impossibly beautiful, but also strangely modest: her hand strategically placed, her pose deriving from ancient Venus pudica (or “modest Venus”) sculptures. He was painting paganism but with Christian sensibility, a precarious balance.
Everything changed when Girolamo Savonarola, a fire-and-brimstone Dominican friar, seized control of Florence in 1494. He believed Renaissance art was corrupting souls, and called for the destruction of anything deemed sinful: books, cosmetics, musical instruments, mirrors, and especially "immoral" paintings.
On February 7, 1497, Savonarola organized the Bonfire of the Vanities in Florence's Piazza della Signoria. Citizens were urged to throw vanity items into massive pyres. Thousands of artworks burned. Paintings depicting mythological scenes, exactly like Botticelli's Venus, were primary targets.
Botticelli himself fell under Savonarola's spell. The artist became a follower, destroying some of his own paintings and adopting a more severe religious style.
But Birth of Venus survived. The Medici family, though temporarily exiled, hid their art collection. Venus was tucked away in the villa at Castello, too valuable to destroy but too controversial to display. For over 300 years, only the Medici inner circle saw the painting.
During this time, the painting's meaning was reinterpreted. Medici scholars argued Venus represented divine love, not earthly lust. The west wind blowing her to shore symbolized spiritual inspiration. The nymph's cloak represented the soul covering the body. With enough intellectual gymnastics, pagan nudity became Christian allegory.
It wasn't until 1815 that Birth of Venus moved to the Uffizi Gallery. Even then, it was kept in the tribune: a restricted room visitors needed special permission to enter. Women were often denied access; the nudity was considered too corrupting.
The painting was damaged while in storage: water spots, darkened varnish, paint loss along the seams. Major restorations in the 20th century revealed Botticelli's original colours: Venus's skin luminous and pale, the sea a brilliant blue-green, the flowers impossibly detailed.
Today, Birth of Venus is one of the most famous and recognisable paintings in the world, reproduced on everything from coffee mugs to album covers. Andy Warhol made screen prints; Lady Gaga recreated the pose. It's appeared in hundreds of advertisements.
The painting that was once too scandalous to show publicly is now so ubiquitous we've forgotten how revolutionary it was. Four million people visit the Uffizi annually, and most come specifically to see Venus. The painting that should have burned in 1497 instead became immortal.
For a scrap of fabric that exists solely to circle your neck, the collar has a history that is anything but modest. From status symbols to sweat-stained shirt edges , collars have been through it all. And today, we can still trace their dramatic transformations through the ages, immortalized in museum portraits of men, women, and children from every era.
Before the 1400s, collars weren't really a thing. Men's necklines ranged from high to what we'd call today a scoop or boat neck. Shirts didn’t need collars because, frankly, there wasn’t much need for them.
By the mid-1500s, the ruff had emerged as the first true collar, evolving from simple shirt gathers at the neck into a separate accessory tied around the throat. What began as a practical way to keep garments clean soon caught on as a fashion trend, spreading from Spain to the rest of Europe. Early ruffs were modest in size and easy to launder, but not for long.
But what began as a modest pleated trim soon escalated into a theatrical halo of linen, lace, and starch...
The cartwheel ruff especially turned heads (and made turning your own head quite difficult). Popular from 1580 to 1610, these oversized collars were stiffened with starch, layered into hundreds of pleats, and could stretch up to a foot from the neck. The finer the linen, the more elite the wearer, with embroidery, jewels, and even precious metals adding to the extravagance.
They were as impractical as they were impressive. Wearing one meant assuming a proud, rigid posture, and making eating or moving your head nearly impossible. Often, ruffs could only be worn once before collapsing from heat and humidity.
Of course, not everyone was impressed. In the 1580s, Englishmen sporting these oversized neck donuts were mocked in France as “the English monster.” Fair.
As the ruff lost its hold (and the neck regained its freedom), a new style emerged: the falling band. Flat, soft, and often edged in lace, it was a welcome shift, easier to wear, easier to clean, and far less theatrical.
By the mid-1600s, these relaxed collars, sometimes called fallen ruffs, had taken over. Men wore them first, but women soon followed. Over time, this style continued to simplify, eventually giving rise to jabots and cravats…
In the 18th century, Enlightenment ideals ushered in a more restrained approach to dress. Out went lace, excess, and flamboyant ruffs. In came simplicity, refinement, and the cravat, a modest white neckcloth first worn by 17th c. croat cavalry, that set the stage for the modern tie.
In the 1830s, a woman named Hannah Montague had a stroke of domestic genius: the detachable collar. Tired of constantly washing her husband's entire shirt, she cut off the grimy collar and stitched on a clean, starched one instead. It worked, and it caught on fast.
This clever hack offered the look of a freshly laundered shirt with a fraction of the effort. Soon, crisp, removable collars became a menswear staple and a subtle status symbol.
By the 1930s, fashion loosened up. As the Duke of Windsor put it, “We were all beginning to ‘dress soft'". Stiff, starched collars faded, and René Lacoste’s polo shirt kicked off the casual revolution.
Around the same time, “white collar” and “blue collar” emerged, terms born less from style than from laundry. Office workers wore crisp whites, while laborers opted for darker, practical fabrics.
Collars grew more relaxed, dress codes blurred, but the collar never vanished, it simply adapted.
The collar lives on, crisp or rumpled, buttoned-up or barely there. It still says something, whether it's "hire me," "brunch time," or "yes, this is vintage." And thanks to period dramas and runway revivals, even the ruff has staged a comeback. One person's historical hassle is another's fashion fantasy.
There’s something undeniably romantic about wandering into a gallery without any idea of what you want to see. Alas, this is a sure-fire way to miss-out on some of the best exhibits, and a one-way-ticket to cultural burnout.
Alright, this one might seem a bit obvious… but when some paintings are worth upwards of 100 million big ones, it’s definitely worth repeating.
Some people like to experience art in a vacuum – but reading-up on the context behind a particular work can transform and enrich our understanding of it.
For example, Edvard Munch’s The Sick Child hits so much harder when you know that it was based on his own sister, while Paul Gauguin’s dodgy personal life completely changes how we view his paintings of Tahiti.
But if you find traditional gallery labels a bit stale, you’re not alone. Download MuseMuse for bite-sized breakdowns of all your favourite pieces, packed full of fun facts and juicy gossip!
A gallery isn’t a library – so if you want to discuss a painting with your friend, or argue about whether we should cancel Picasso, then knock yourself out. But try to keep it down, and try to keep it on topic – because it’s hard to focus on the art when someone’s barking into a mobile phone, or debating what to have for dinner!
Visiting a gallery shouldn’t be an endurance test. Make sure to take a seat every now and then – and if you find yourself seriously flagging, a trip to the café is a great opportunity to refuel and recharge.
Last but not least, we’ve got the art gallery equivalent of manspreading. There’s usually more than enough space for multiple visitors to take in a painting – but then someone decides to stand directly in front of it, blocking everyone else’s view.
Obviously, this is incredibly annoying: so make sure that this someone isn’t you!
So, there you have it – the MuseMuse guide to the dos and don’ts of the gallery world. With these top tips, you’re ready to make the most of your visit. But don’t get too hung up on etiquette: the most important thing is to enjoy yourself!
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While the museum’s main entrance on Great Russell Street is pretty impressive to look at, it can also attract some equally impressive queues. To cut down the wait time, try the rear entrance on Montague Place. Thankfully, most visitors seem to have no idea that it exists (or perhaps they just really love queuing).
Either way, this ‘back door’ is usually a safe bet for a much smoother entry – giving you more time to peruse the museum’s incredible collection!
While it might be a bit of a cliché, it’s also an inescapable fact: London has some pretty terrible weather. So, on those rare days that the sun decides to make an appearance, most normal people want to make the most of it, not spend the day indoors.
Which is great for us. While everyone else is outside getting some vitamin D, we can enjoy a less crowded, less hectic British Museum. Sure, this might seem just a little bit wrong – but to get a better look at the likes of the Rosetta Stone and the Sutton Hoo Helmet, it’s more than worth it!
(And whatever you do, just try not to go on a rainy day – because then things really can get messy).
The British Museum is a vast site – but few visitors venture beyond a few core exhibits. Their loss is our gain: from the Holy Thorn Reliquary to the Mold Gold Cape, the museum’s less popular galleries are still packed full of priceless historical treasures – and you won’t have to elbow anyone out of the way to see them!
In a collection as big as the British Museum, you’re never going to be able to see everything – but MuseMuse can help you make the absolute best of your visit. With our custom itineraries and bite-sized guides to the essential exhibits, you can cut out the aimless wandering and glide through the place like a pro.
Right then, you’re all set for a spiffing day out at the British Museum – we hope that our top tips will add that extra bit of sparkle to your visit! Just don’t telltoomany people about that back entrance, eh?
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