Life, 1923-04-19 · page 15 of 36
Life — April 19, 1923 — page 15: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page satirizes the American obsession with Ancient Egypt that peaked in the 1920s-30s, likely sparked by King Tutankhamun's tomb discovery (1922). The poem mocks tourists flocking to Cairo and museums to see Egyptian artifacts, mummies, and sphinxes. It ridicules how this fascination infiltrates fashion, art, and decoration—"our painting, our passions, our garments of every description, will all be Egyptian." The illustration depicts a museum scene where a mother and child view Egyptian exhibits. The caption reveals the joke: the mother complains there were too many mummies but no "daddies"—a pun suggesting absent fathers, possibly referencing wartime or social changes. The satire targets American consumer culture's superficial embrace of exotic trends.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
* LIFE Egyptomania T present we’re throwing conniptions About the Egyptians, And lifting our Western sombreros To all the old Pharaohs; Though he who must bear the gravamen Is King Tut-ankh-Amen Whose sepulchre, bared to the gapers, Gives news to the papers. Now Mr. and Mrs. Shapiro Take tickets for Cairo, While Timothy Jenkins et wxor Are headed for Luxor. And soon shall our wandering teachers Descant on the features Of cities and temples of Nilus With eloquent stylus When each shall return with his booty, A petrified cootie— A warranted-genuine scarab— Purveyed by an Arab. We're in for a deluge of gammon On Jupiter Ammon, Osiris and Apis and Isis— In fact, there’s a Crisis; For sinuous-angular minxes Attired as sphinxes, Already are taking grave chances With dangerous dances. Now, swift as the shaft of the bowman, Belasco and Frohman Will bear from some shattered pilaster The Work of a Master— A drama of blood and horrifics In strange hieroglyphics; Yea, though they are forced to invent it They'll stage and present it. Last year was it Russian, Esthonian, Or Czecho-Slavonian? Last week was it Turkish, Hungarian, Or Madagascarian? No matter; to-morrow our fashions, Our painting, our passions, Our garments of every description, Will all be Egyptian. Mother (leaving Egyptian room in vn What did you think of it, dear? Dorothy: Well, it was all right, but I don’t see why there were so many mummies and no daddies. comicbooks.com