 Op-Ed: Queen Nefertiti was hot
Yes.
Queen Nefertiti, favorite wife of a famous pharaoh, restless religious
reformer, and original L'Oreal girl, was totally smokin'
hot. And I don't mean Amarna-in-August hot. I mean
drop-dead-sexy, put-the-kids-to-bed-early-honey hot.
Her
flawless amber skin, smooth as desert dunes; full ochre lips like two
dewy petals of a mature safflower bud, beckoning to be parted;
elegantly elevated cheekbones in perfect symmetry about her noble
nose. All gracefully balanced atop a swan's neck. Ah, but
'tis mere
dressing for the portals to her timeless soul. Those serene,
Kohl-lined eyes,
with their exotic, abruptly descending inner canthus, reveal a wisdom
and a calmness of spirit that whisper across the millenia, “I
am not a crazy-ass bitch.”
Her
slender
torso, adorned with perfect petite pomegranate breasts, flows through
an hourglass waist and expands voluptuously into femininely fecund hips
and belly. (Hey, she had six daughters. What do you
expect? It's not exactly like Queens do crunches, you
know.) Yes sir. Had I been an 18th Dynasty Egyptian
commoner I would have definitely considered hitting that
hard. Of course the threat of desert
banishment to roast under the punishing rays of Aten for the entire term of my natural life may have
curbed my lawless libidinous exploits somewhat – at least in the
royal arena. But one never knows what might have been.
(Yeah. Okay. You're right. Sometimes one knows
exactly what might have been. But let me dream.)
Perhaps
I, though but a lowly papyrus pusher, might have found some fleeting
opportunity to ingratiate myself to the Lady of the Two Lands,
whereupon she would request a private audience, maybe in the
courtyard of her sunshade temple amidst reflecting pools and lush
verdure. Her queenly, comely body, draped only in a
sheer sash gown covering but half her bosom. She stares
through me to my naked heart with lids half lowered, her
eyes aching to be taken... But I digress, and in more ways than one, too.
Of
course Nef was much more than a pretty face. Together with
hubbie Amenhotep IV (a.k.a. Akhenaten) they gave the entire population
of Egypt mono – theism that is – by
worshiping only the sun god. Okay, sure Akhenaten was an
incestuous, pedophilic, bigamist with a penchant for mascara.
But hey! It was swingin' mid-2nd millennium B.C. Egypt, man,
which made him a real catch at the time.
In fact, Akhen was a true leader
for the ladies. The original feminist pharaoh, if
you will, placing great importance on women in religious
ritual. Plus he totally loved Nef, showering her
with heady hieroglyphic flattery, once calling her:
“Great
in the Palace, Fair of Face, Adorned with the Double Plumes, Mistress
of Happiness, Endowed with Favors.”
Okay
it may lose some of the romance in the translation, but trust
me. Back in the day, being “adorned with double
plumes” meant you had it goin' on, girlfriend. Junk in the trunk, if you will.
Now,
I know some Cairo curmudgeons have claimed that Nef eventually fell from the good graces
of the people over whom she and Akhen ruled but there's no doubt in my mind that it was actually that
royal pain Kiya, another of Akhenaten's queens and mom to future
pharaoh Tut, whose popularity soured. I like to believe Nef
outlived her man and even ruled for a time.
Always
an independent woman, Nef changed her name to Ankhkheperure
Neferneferuaten – perhaps to accomodate a
grief-induced speech impediment brought on by the death of her husband
– and, later, abandoned the Aten religion altogether for one
worshiping Amun. She also moved the whole friggin' capitol from that backwater bore,
Amarna, back to swinging Thebes. Conjecturally, she spent
the rest of her days in or amongst power. First, ruling after Akhen's death and then
tinkering in the affairs of her successors: her step-son, the boy
pharaoh, Tut, and his wife/half sister (and Nef's daughter),
Ankhsenamun.
So if you get the chance check out that famously lovely visage of Nefertiti which has been on display for the last ninety years
in Berlin's Altes Museum.
It is not just arguably the most recognized bust in history, but
both proof and symbol of the continuity and steadfastness of human
aesthetic ideals since the dawn of civilization if not time
immemorial. Oh, I could gaze into her one good eye
for all eternity... that is, if the museum's security didn't have me in
their face recognition database of undesirable patrons.
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