Olympia in Vogue

When Edouard Manet exhibited Olympia at the Paris Salon in 1865 she was the scandal of the season. Manet’s courtesan with her grubby heels, downy underarms, and boyish hips horrified a public accustomed to insipid Venuses painted with convenient waves and lustrous locks to protect their modesty. If Venus was the pearl of the oceans, Olympia was the bit of grit.

The critics were vitriolic. ‘Her face is stupid,’ remarked one, ‘and her skin cadaverous.’ She was ‘prematurely aged and vicious’ and ‘the body’s putrefying colour recalls the horror of the morgue.’ Warming to the deathly theme, another wrote that Olympia looked as if she were ‘dead of yellow fever and already at an advanced stage of decomposition.’

Particular bile was reserved for the thin trail of dark hair running from Olympia’s breast bone to her navel. The Salon had to appoint two wardens to stand sentry over the courtesan protecting her from the raps of angry canes.

Olympia is a memorable figure. She is sullen and bored, but sensuous. Her nakedness is carefully accessorised: backless mules trimmed with pale blue fringing, a gold bangle, pearl earrings, a thin black ribbon for a necklace and a pink carnation tucked behind her ear. What she is wearing is more interesting than what she isn't.

Which is why, when I saw the January issue of Vogue, I didn’t think Keira, I thought Olympia. There’s something familiar about the pose, uncomfortably propped on one elbow, with the shoulder slightly forced back. But more than the pose, it’s the necklace. It’s such an unusual choice – chokers haven’t been in vogue (capital V or small v) since the nineties – and such a curious combination of Olympia’s choker and pink carnation.

Vogue got their headline wrong. Keira Knightly: Renaissance Girl? How about: Keira Knightly: Modern Impressionist?