I don’t have a framed print of the Mona Lisa hanging in my office, and I don’t know anyone who does. Millions of people recognize the painting. Yet, far fewer genuinely love it.
Art historians laud the portrait’s sfumato (its ombré-ness) and its aerial perspective—techniques Leonardo da Vinci either invented or took to the next level. Still, technical mastery alone rarely creates an emotional bond between viewer and sitter.
But here’s something that might. What if I convinced you that Leonardo’s portrayal of Lisa del Giocondo included feminist-like details that likely shocked everyone who knew this young, married woman?
Renaissance trophy wives
During the Renaissance, married women wore lavish clothing and opulent jewelry in their portraits—primarily to reflect their husbands’ social status. The intention was to present a carefully curated public image, similar to the way certain couples brand themselves on social media today.
For example, in Portrait of a Woman with a Man at a Casement, real fur prominently lines the woman’s velvet overdress, or giornea. On her sleeve, an arrangement of delicate seed pearls forms the word LEALTA (FAITHFUL), literally tagging her as the loyal wife of the man leaning in.
Her signature brooch is studded with large organic pearls that were exceptionally rare at the time. Importantly, a feathered headdress conceals her pinned-up hair—a vital detail because loose tresses would imply she is unmarried and open to romantic overtures.
The sitter, who is probably Angiola di Bernardo Sapiti, is dressed to the nines yet appears confined within her own home, almost as if she’s under house arrest. What could be the reason for this gilded isolation? Perhaps a clue is found on a centuries-old postcard written by a French traveler:
Women are more enclosed in Florence than in any other city in Italy! They see the world only from the small openings in their windows.
As a matter of fact, tax records from 15th-century Florence reveal that a concerning number of women fell from windows. Were some of them simply trying to catch a glimpse of the outside world?
A portrait of true affection
At first glance, the most striking thing about this Renaissance portrait of a woman is what Domenico Ghirlandaio, an Italian painter, chose to leave out. In the background, the traditional window view is missing.
To convey the tragedy of her death during childbirth, Ghirlandaio placed the woman in coffin-like confinement. Her signature brooch has been laid to rest on a shelf, while the coral beads that many new mothers carried as a protective talisman now hang idle from a hook.
The amber-colored overdress is embroidered with “L” motifs and other symbols that identify her as Giovanna Tornabuoni, wife of banker Lorenzo Tornabuoni. Beneath this lustrous garment, her red gamurra features one of the most beautiful sleeves in art history.
The Latin inscription placed above her gilded prayer book translates as:
Art, would that you could represent character and mind. There would be no more beautiful painting on earth.
For over a decade, Lorenzo kept the painting inside his private suite at the Palazzo Tornabuoni. More than four centuries later, the portrait was acquired by American financier J. Pierpont Morgan. Having lost his own wife just months after their honeymoon, Morgan perhaps felt a deep, personal connection to Lorenzo’s grief.
The world’s most famous stranger
As fate would have it, Leonardo da Vinci knew Giovanna’s family. He likely saw her portrait and read the Latin inscription. You might say he took the ball and ran with it.
First, he rewrote the Renaissance playbook. In his next portrait of a woman, which we know as the Mona Lisa, there would be no profile view, no flashy brooch, no pinned-up hair, and no status-signaling attributes.
He also turned his back on the idealized standards of beauty from the 14th century. If you look only at Italian Renaissance portraits, you could easily conclude that every woman possessed the same blonde hair and blue eyes of Laura, the married woman who inspired Petrarch’s famous love poems.
In Leonardo’s portrait of Lisa del Giocondo (née Gherardini), the sitter wears a dark dress and a gossamer veil. She is not, however, in mourning. At the turn of the 16th century, fashionable women wore dark colors as a display of luxury, showing off their affluence through expensive, richly saturated dyes.
Sunlight kisses the neckline of her dress, where braided spirals resemble the curls Leonardo doodled in his scientific notebooks. Beneath this decorative trim, the fabric cascades over her body like a waterfall.
Breaking with long-standing tradition, Lisa sits in an open-air room called a loggia, an unusual setting for a female portrait at the time. Her loose, flowing (brunette) hair also represents a radical departure for a married mother of five children.
Above all, she makes eye contact with the viewer, even male viewers, with a poise and presence never before seen in female portraits.
Why did Leonardo keep the portrait?
It remains a mystery why Leonardo held onto this painting until his death in 1519. Did Lisa’s husband, the prosperous silk merchant Francesco del Giocondo, refuse to pay the commission? Did their friends think the portrait made her look (shall we say) available?
In the end, the mystery matters far less than the revolutionary result. During the Renaissance, women were usually portrayed as unattainable ideals or allegorical figures. Leonardo leaned into something far more intimate: a portrait that sought to reveal a woman’s authentic self.
How can you not love that?
Postscript: If you happen to be in London…
Don’t miss “Van Eyck: The Portraits” at The National Gallery in London from November 21, 2026 thru April 11, 2027. In a historic first, a museum has assembled all nine of the Northern Renaissance painter’s known portraits, representing fifty percent of his surviving works worldwide.