Marie Antionette, Fleas and the Origin of the Color Puce

A flea-ridden history of the strange hue, which varies from brownish purple to mauve.

Could this be the infamous dress that created the color puce?

It’s unlikely that you’ll ever find the color puce in a box of Crayola crayons. But did you know that Marie Antoinette, the last queen of France and sartorial rule-breaker, was responsible for starting a fashion trend inspired by the ignoble bloodsucking flea?

​​Reviled or admired, the Austrian-born dauphine seemed to spark strong emotions. After an initially warm reception, at a mere 14 years old, Marie Antoinette adopted extravagant tastes and frivolity that earned her a reputation as spoiled and vain. As a means of self-expression, the young queen ornamented herself in earnest with elaborate coiffures, plumage adornments and lavish attire. 

“ When Louis XVI was asked what he thought of his wife’s latest look, he replied, “C’est puce” — that is, flea-colored.

And so a new color was born.”

She also liked to pretend to be a shepherdess in her faux-rustic village, the Hameau, built near the Petit Trianon on the grounds of Versailles. The enclave included thatched-roof cottages and a functioning farm, complete with stables, a pig sty and a hen house, where she would retreat by herself or with intimate friends. 

Her legacy continues to influence and inspire creatives more than two centuries after her beheading by the French revolutionaries at the age of 37. The Netflix series Emily in Paris mentions the mythical origin story of the champagne coupe glass, purportedly modeled after Marie Antoinette’s perfectly proportioned breasts.

A portrait of Marie Antoinette by Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun

Let Them Dress Like a Flea

Like champagne, the color puce (pronounced pooce) is rooted in French history and culture. The term was coined in 1778 and has an interesting origin. It’s defined as a brownish purple color. The etymology, however, is far from enticing — its name is French for flea, a reference, one imagines, to the tiny vampiric parasite’s belly full of blood. 

In Revolutionary France, color played a major role in publicly announcing who you were and what side you were on. Marie Antoinette’s sartorial whims set trends and came to symbolize the excess of the royals. Her unapologetically voracious appetite for fashion and extravagance became the stuff of legends. 

According to the biography of Marie Antoinette’s dressmaker, Rose Bertin, the queen had a brownish purple dress made. When Louis XVI was asked what he thought of his wife’s latest look, he replied, “C’est puce” — that is, flea-colored. And so a new color was born.

Did King Louis XVI say Marie Antoinette’s dress looked like a flea because of the color of the insect, or the blood it sucks?

The Parisian bourgeoisie adopted puce in droves, as it was less cost prohibitive than lighter tints and hid stains well. The color was produced by combining madder root with a metallic salt or mordant, which deepened and fixed the dye to a textile. 

Puce became the “it” color of the summer of 1775, inspiring a myriad of hues, each with its own spin, from ventre de puce (flea belly), cuisse de puce (flea thigh) and even vielle puce (old flea).

Dyers and weavers struggled to keep up with demand. But fashion, as they say, is fickle. After only a few months, it was out of style. 

Strangely enough, in French you can call your sweetheart “ma puce” (my flea) as a term of endearment. 

Which puce is really puce? Pantone declares it to be a purplish brown, while others think it’s more of a mauve.

On top of that, no one seems able to agree on the actual hue of puce. Pantone’s version, 19-1518 TPX, is more of a grayish-brown, while A Dictionary of Color, by A. Maerz and M. Rea Paul, describes it as a mauve pink. 

Wherever the color lands on the spectrum, it will always have as its claim to fame a connection to Marie Antionette and a bloodsucking parasite. –Duke

8 Wild Facts About Saffron

Why are people mad about saffron? The fragile tendrils of the Crocus sativus flower yield the most expensive spice in the world. 

Three small strands that jut out of the crocus flower are what we use as the spice saffron.

The most precious and costly spice in our cupboard — and most likely yours — is saffron, which comes from Crocus sativus, the saffron crocus. Its name is derived from the Arabic za’faran, which has its roots in the word for yellow. Today, Iran is the world’s top producer, though the plant is also a cash crop of Spain, Greece, Morocco and the Kashmir region of India. 

Saffron might not be worth its weight in gold — but it’s the most expensive spice in the world.

1. It’s said that a pound of saffron is worth more than a pound of gold, but this turns out to be a myth. 

Despite this, saffron is still the most expensive and labor-intensive spice in the world. Fortunately, a little goes a long way. It only takes a pinch to infuse its aromatic, earthy flavor and brilliant color. Saffron is integral to far-ranging dishes, from Spanish paella to Indian biryani, from Persian pilau to the yeasted saffron buns of Cornwall, England. Its widespread usage was often introduced by conquerors: the Moors in Spain and the ancient Persians in India. 

The crocus is sterile and needs to be planted each year, and then harvested by hand.

Interestingly, saffron is a sterile plant that is difficult to reproduce without human intervention. New plants are grown by digging up and replanting the corm (the bulb-like part of the stem). Its high price makes sense: There’s no way to harvest the delicate crimson filaments of the Crocus sativus mechanically. The strands, known botanically as stigmas, must be carefully removed from the heart of the small violet blooms by hand, and there are only three per flower. To put this into perspective, approximately 350 tiny threads of saffron make up a single gram. So, it takes about 75,000 flowers for 1 pound of saffron: Its retail value is estimated at around $5,000 a pound. A pound of gold as of this writing is worth over $27,000.

Buddhist monks, like these in Cambodia, don’t waste saffron on dyeing their robes; they use other natural dyes, including tumeric.

2. The robes of Buddhist monks aren’t actually dyed with saffron.

When I think of my first trip to Southeast Asia, I can picture the vivid saffron-colored robes worn by the Buddhist monks of Cambodia. According to monastic discipline, the robes must be made from cloth that is naturally dyed using indigenous plants, barks or spices, though saffron is too expensive to be used widely. Instead, that distinctive yellowish-orange color most often comes from the knobby turmeric root.

Perhaps the association with saffron and the dye used for monks’ robes comes from a transliteration of the botanical name for turmeric, curcumin, which originates from the Arabic kurkum, meaning saffron. 

I can attest to the dyeing power of turmeric, from the intense amber stains it left on my hands and the chute of my juicer.

What exactly is Donovan’s “Mellow Yellow” about? Who’s this Saffron he’s mad about?

3. The song “Mellow Yellow” by Donovan was actually about a female sex toy.

The first time I recall hearing the word saffron was riding in a car with my dad while he was listening to an oldies station. The song was “Mellow Yellow,” written and recorded by the Scottish singer Donovan. It begins, “I’m just mad about Saffron. Saffron’s mad about me.” I wasn’t sure if it was saffron the spice or a woman with that name that made him mellow. But when the song was released in 1967, a rumor emerged that it was about smoking bananadine cigarettes, the scraped and dried white pith of a banana peel, which were believed to have hallucinogenic properties. The myth has since been debunked, as Wally can attest from a high school “experiment,” when he tried smoking dried banana peels, to no effect.

Donovan admitted that “Mellow Yellow” was about a vibrator.

Donovan later admitted in an interview in NME that the idea for the song came from an ad for a yellow vibrator that he saw in the back pages of a magazine. You can catch the reference in the lyrics “Electrical banana is gonna be a sudden craze.” 

Could this have been the sex toy that inspired the lyrics “electrical banana”?

As for the phrase “mellow yellow,” it first appeared a half-century earlier in James Joyce’s Ulysses in a description of the protagonist’s unfaithful wife Molly Bloom’s buttocks. 

Not surprisingly, the name Saffron gained popularity after the release of Donovan’s song. Quite rightly.

Cleopatra had undeniable sex appeal and claimed two Roman leaders as her lovers. Was it because of her saffron and mare’s milk baths?

4. Cleopatra and Alexander the Great used saffron as a health and beauty hack.

Cleopatra, the legendary seducer of not one but two powerful men of Ancient Rome, bathed in saffron-infused mare’s milk as an all-natural bronzer and aphrodisiac to enhance her allure. The lactic acid contained in milk is believed to gently exfoliate dead skin cells, while saffron gave her skin a healthy glow and acted as a perfume. In fact, saffron baths were a luxurious trend amongst the elite of Rome. And the Macedonian ruler Alexander the Great enjoyed soaking in saffron-colored water, convinced it would heal his battle wounds. 

An illuminated manuscript that depicts women shopping at a spice merchant’s stall

5. People in the Middle Ages were willing to die for saffron.

The marketplaces of Medieval Europe were filled with the exotic spices and spoils of returning crusaders. Saffron was so popular in 14th century Europe that the theft of a single ship en route to Basel, Switzerland, carrying 800 pounds of the spice led to the 14-week Saffron War that lasted until the shipment was returned. 

Perhaps these two were caught selling counterfeit saffron — and were burned at the stake!

Its purity was of such importance that the Safranschou code was enacted to deter fraud. Because of saffron’s high price tag, cheap substitutes were often passed off as authentic saffron. Merchants caught selling adulterated forms of the spice faced the possibility of imprisonment, public burning or being buried alive. 

Be careful getting too transfixed by dancing nymphs — you might end up being turned into a flower!

6. Saffron features prominently in a couple of Greek myths. 

In the most common version of the story, a handsome Arcadian youth named Krokos was passing through the Athenian woods, when he spied the nymph Smilax dancing with her friends. He was bewitched and began to visit the forest regularly to seek her out. For a time, Smilax allowed him to find her but couldn’t decide if she should let herself be courted by a mortal. The gods were not amused, though, and lost patience with the couple. They struck Krokos with their wrath, transforming him into a small purple flower that bears his name, the crocus. Its bright red stigmas glow with his fiery, unrequited love. Smilax was simultaneously turned into a thorny briar vine. Why such a choice? Because the vine would strangle the flower, the would-be lovers were prevented from ever meeting again.

The bisexual Greek god Hermes had a male lover who was killed by a discus — so he turned him into a crocus.

In an alternate version of the tale, the Greek trickster god Hermes was smitten with a young Spartan named Krokos, or Crocus. One day, while playing a game of discus, Hermes accidentally struck the young man on the head, killing him instantly. Distraught by what had happened, Hermes turned his lover into a purple flower, which became known as the crocus. And the three drops of blood upon his head became the red stigmata used for the spice saffron.  

The coat of arms for the town of Saffron Walden in England — note the three crocus flowers at the center

7. Saffron found its way to Britain from the Crusades.

Britain’s often damp and chilly weather seems far from the perfect climate for producing saffron, which thrives in arid terrain. However, it was grown commercially in the fields of Norfolk and Suffolk from the 15th to 18th centuries. It was most likely brought to England from the Holy Land during the Crusades, either by the Knights of St. John or, as popular lore goes, by a pilgrim who risked his life by concealing a saffron corm in the hollow of his walking staff. 

The spice was cultivated in large quantities in the village of Chipping Walden and brought prosperity to the small town — so much so that it changed its name to Saffron Walden. The lasting impact can be seen on the town’s official coat of arms: three crocus flowers surrounded by two castle towers and its walls, a heraldic pun — as in, “Saffron Walled-in.” 

A lot of saffron in Spain finds its way into paella.

8. Each country has its own standard for grading and classifying saffron, based upon aroma, color and flavor.

Not all saffron is created equal. There are different strengths or grades determined by how much of the yellow stamen is still attached to the stigma. In Spain, for example, there are four varieties: coupe, la mancha, río and sierra. Coupe is pure red stigmas only and has the highest amount of crocin, the property responsible for the distinct aroma of saffron. For Iranian traders, the highest grade is sargol, which means “top of the flower” in Farsi and consists of the strongest grade with only the tips of the dried red stigmas. –Duke

---

MORE COLORFUL POSTS!

• The red dye made from bugs

• The poisonous white paint artists loved

---

Cochineal Red: How Bugs Created One of the World’s Most Expensive Colors

From Aztec “cactus blood” to British redcoats to a Starbucks scandal, cochineal has long been coveted. Just don’t tell your vegetarian friends they’ve probably eaten bugs.

Who’d have thought that a tiny cactus-eating bug would end up being responsible for one of the most-sought-after dyes?

Primal and elemental, the color red is associated with such varied emotions as love, sin, anger — and even, thanks to Charles Dickens — the frustration that comes from red tape, a metaphor for the rigid rules and procedures of bureaucracy. 

First coveted by the ancient Aztec and Inca civilizations, the highly prized crimson dye-producing cochineal insect has been used since then to create the color red. It even enabled the Spanish Crown to finance its empire for nearly two centuries. 

“It takes nearly 70,000 cochineal bugs to make a single pound of red pigment. ”

For a long time, a Mexican bug had the entire world seeing red.

Bugging Out: The Nopal Cactus and the Cochineal 

Although occasionally referred to as a beetle, cochineal (pronounced “coke-in-neel”) is in fact a scale insect, a parasitic bug that attaches itself to a host plant, drawing sustenance from it. They’re about the size of a peppercorn and resemble a burgundy-colored piece of gnocchi. 

It’s the female cochineal bugs that can be used to create red — it just takes 70,000 of them to make 1 pound of dye.

At maturity, it produces a white, cottony covering as camouflage to hide from predators. Clusters can be found in abundance on the wide, flat “paddles” or “pads” of the nopal, the fruit-bearing prickly pear cactus. In addition to their downy coats, the female cochineal produces a chemical called carminic acid, which is the source of the color used to make a red dye. 

The lifecycle of a Polish variety of the cochineal insect

The Aztecs were the first to domesticate cochineal and referred to the insects as nocheztli, Nahuatl for “cactus blood.” A colorfast pigment was produced by harvesting and grinding the dried carcasses of the female cochineal bug into a fine powder. In the dyeing process, a mordant is used to fix the color. Different metallic compounds yield different shades. Aztecs often added a mordant of aluminum sulfate to the dye bath to bind the carminic acid to ritual and ceremonial textiles worn by their rulers as a symbol of wealth and status. 

A red to dye for

Blood Money

Cochineal quickly became a prized commodity for Spain soon after Hernán Cortés and the conquistadors discovered macnu, the scarlet-colored pigment sold in cakelike form in the Aztec markets of Tenochtitlan. The Spanish saw the commercial value of these bugs, which quickly became the third-most valuable export of the New World, after gold and silver. 

Nothing in Europe could match the bright red that came from the cochineal bug. The Madonna With the Iris, from the workshop of Albrecht Dürer, circa 1500-1510

Cochineal red finally escaped the clutches of Spain-controlled Mexico, thanks to a sneaky botanist named Thiéry de Menonville. Here are pages from his sketchbook showing cochineal and the nopal cactus.

It takes nearly 70,000 insects to make a single pound of pigment. At the time, Europe didn't have a dye that matched the brilliance and longevity of cochineal. For this reason, cultivation was restricted to Spanish-controlled Mexico from the 16th century up until 1777, when a young French botanist by the name of Nicolas-Joseph Thiéry de Menonville managed to smuggle cochineal-infested cactus pads to Haiti. 

Some of the iconic redcoats of the British military were dyed with cochineal — the fact that they somewhat masked blood stains was a bonus.

The Redcoats Used It, as a Madder of Fact

The term “redcoats” was coined in Tudor Ireland to refer to the British military uniform, which included the now-iconic fiery red jacket.

Only officers’ coats were dyed scarlet with cochineal bugs.

After passing the New Model Army ordinance in 1645, the British military officially adopted red as its uniform color. Most were dyed a rusty red using the cheaper and more accessible madder root. The costlier scarlet obtained from cochineal was reserved for officers and sergeants. It’s said that red was used because it wouldn’t show blood stains, but blood dries to a blackish color, and this is believed to be a myth. 

Taste the rainbow — as well as some bugs! Prior to 2009, the “natural color” used to make your favorite red candies, including Skittles and Starburst, came from dried, ground-up cochineal insects.

Food for Thought: You’re Eating Bugs!

Not limited to clothing, cochineal (or carmine, as it’s also called) is used to give alcoholic beverages, cosmetics, shampoo and pharmaceuticals a bright red color. 

It’s also used in food. In 2012, cochineal made headlines when Starbucks faced a public relations furor. Vegetarians and others who didn’t like the idea of eating bugs learned that the source of the red color in popular food items such as their Red Velvet Whoopie Pie and Strawberries and Crème Frappuccino contained insect guts. 

But the U.S. Food and Drug Administration has tested and approved cochineal as a food coloring. To make this more appealing to consumers, it's often listed by other designations. So the next time you’re picking up something at the store, watch out for these ingredients, which are all other names for cochineal or carmine: E120, carminic acid, crimson lake or natural red 4 — because, really, what’s more natural than bugs?

I’ve unintentionally swallowed my fair share of insects while riding my bike to work. Sure, it’s gross — but compared to synthetic red dyes such as Red No. 2 and Red No. 40, which carry far greater health risks and are derived from coal or petroleum byproducts, bugs sound positively appetizing. –Duke

Lead White: The Deadliest Color?

Other ways to make white pigment paled in comparison — but was it worth the risk of lead poisoning?

Queen Elizabeth I loved her white makeup (made from a toxic blend of lead and vinegar) so much that she supposedly had an inch’s worth on her face when she died.

White: the color that evokes the purity of freshly fallen snow and the innocence of virgins. If you’ve ever flicked through a bridal magazine, you can’t help but notice the color white — though you no longer need be chaste to wear it.

But how can one of the earliest and most important pigments produced by mankind be one of the deadliest in the history of color? Its popularity was all the more alarming, given that it could result in lead poisoning (also referred to as painters’ colic or plumbism). Adult symptoms include headaches, abdominal cramps, joint and muscle pain and high blood pressure. Children can suffer developmental delays, learning difficulties and weight loss.

“Geishas used lead white makeup — it contrasted beautifully with their teeth, which they painted black.”

Japanese geishas are part of a long line of standards of beauty that decree that the whiter the skin the lovelier.

A Recipe for Lead White: Don’t Try This at Home 

Since antiquity, artists have used pigments to represent the colors they saw in the natural world. Lead was used  as the principal white pigment in paintings and glazes from ancient times until the 20th century. 

The statues you see in museums and at historic sites were originally painted — and that often included the poisonous lead white.

The laborious process was documented by Roman author and naturalist Pliny the Elder. First, pour a bit of vinegar into the bottom of an earthenware pot. Place a wooden spacer in the pot with a coiled band of lead on top so that only the rising vapors from the vinegar come in contact with the metal. The clay vessel was then surrounded by fresh animal dung and left in a sealed chamber for 30 days. As the manure fermented, it released carbon dioxide, which reacted with the vinegar and chemically corroded the lead, producing the perfect conditions for white papery flakes to grow. 

Pliny the Elder shared his recipe for the bright but toxic shade of white made from lead.

After a month or so, some poor soul was sent to retrieve the pieces of lead, which were now covered with a crust of lead carbonate. This was scraped, cleaned and washed to remove impurities. The raw pigment was ground into powder, formed into small cakes and left to dry in the sun for several days before being sold.

Sure, the process to make lead white cakes could lead to severe ailments — but it was just so bright and pretty!

The resulting pigment was highly valued by artists. Affordable and dense, painters swore by its ease to work with and primed their canvases with it to make their works appear more luminous. 

Art historians are also grateful for its use. When combined with the use of x-ray imaging technology, the paint reveals details such as the earlier stages, alterations and additions of a painting. 

A self-portrait of James McNeill Whistler, who used lead white paint in his works.

Whistler: What a Mama's Boy

One such painter who used lead white was the American-born, British-based artist James McNeill Whistler (1834-1903). Whistler is perhaps best remembered for the iconic portrait, painted in 1871, of his mother. Titled Arrangement in Grey and Black, No. 1, most know it as Whistler’s Mother. It was the first artwork by an American artist to be purchased by the French government for display in a museum. When it’s not traveling, it resides at the Musée d'Orsay in Paris. The painting represents the peak of Whistler’s radical method of modulating tones of a single color.  

This technique began years earlier when he submitted The White Girl to the 1862 Royal Academy of Arts exhibition in London to demonstrate his talents to the world. The ethereal painting depicts his mistress, Joanna Hiffernan, a well-known beauty who modeled for other artists of the day. Tousled locks of red hair frame her expressionless face as she stands atop a wolfskin rug that, to me, disturbingly resembles the pelt of a yellow Lab. 

Whistler’s The White Girl was deemed too modern for the Salon exhibition in Paris.

As far as the British were concerned, the work was too avant-garde. It was rejected by the Academy and ended up in the Salon des Refusés, a protest exhibition organized by the French painter Gustave Courbet.  

Whistler later retitled the work Symphony in White, No.1, perhaps after empathetic art critic Paul Manz commented on the subtle variations of white in the Gazette des Beaux-Arts as a “symphonie du blanc.”

Geishas still wear a stark white makeup as a sort of mask.

The Lingering Perception That Pale Is Beautiful 

In addition to painting, lead white was used in cosmetics. The controversial quest for lighter skin and its association with beauty, social status and wealth has existed since Ancient Egypt. Women of Ancient Greece and Rome whitened their skin with powders and creams made from lead. Japanese geishas also used it — it contrasted beautifully with their teeth, which they had fashionably painted black using a solution of powdered oak galls and vinegar.

Japanese felt that a geisha’s stark white skin paired perfectly with blackened teeth.

The beauty product Snail White (made from actual snail secretions!) is said to leave your skin more pale — and therefore more beautiful.

When Wally and I visited Thailand, we saw shelves at the 7-Elevens stocked with pink and white boxes of Snail White skincare products to give you paler skin. The main ingredient? Mucus secreted by snails. Pretty!

Queen Elizabeth I first began using her lead white makeup as a sort of putty to spackle smallpox scarring.

Fit For a Queen: From Elizabeth I to Laird’s Bloom of Youth

What could have possessed 15th century European courtiers to smear the stuff on their faces? Queen Elizabeth I (1533-1603) was 29 years old when she was diagnosed with smallpox. She survived the deadly illness but was left with smallpox-scarred skin. She appreciated the cosmetic’s ability to conceal her scars, so she adopted her now-famous chalk-white visage. The queen used Venetian ceruse (also known as spirits of Saturn), a foundation produced by combining powdered lead and vinegar. While it may have smoothed her complexion, it was exceedingly toxic — especially when worn for long periods of time. 

Elizabeth I’s legendary white makeup was used to help rebrand herself the Virgin Queen.

Elizabeth used her image to frame the narrative of a virgin queen who didn’t need a husband — she was wedded to her country. When she died at the age of 69, it was rumored that she had a full inch of makeup on her face, which, ironically, may have contributed to her death. 

Commercial lead makeup products like George W. Laird’s Bloom of Youth were introduced in the 19th century. Laird ran a series of advertisements in fashionable New York magazines, promising to smooth and whiten the skin. 

“It will immediately obliterate all such imperfections, and is entirely harmless. It has been chemically analyzed by the Board of Health of New York City and pronounced entirely free from any material injurious to the health or skin,” the ad (untruthfully) claimed.

Laird’s Bloom of Youth claimed to be harmless — but it wasn’t!

Women took notice and applied Laird’s Bloom of Youth foundation to their faces. Perhaps some women thought that a little bit wouldn’t hurt, and by the time the truth was clear, it was probably too late. –Duke