A London diary entry on queuing for the most anticipated exhibition of the year, Fridamania as a genuine cultural phenomenon, and what it means to finally see the real garments up close
I booked my ticket for Frida: The Making of an Icon at Tate Modern three full weeks in advance, congratulated myself on being so wonderfully organised, and then still turned up on the day to find a queue snaking round the building that made me genuinely doubt whether advance booking had done anything at all.
Why This Particular Exhibition Has Become Such A Genuine Cultural Event
More than thirty of Kahlo’s best-known works are on show, several rarely seen in the UK, alongside her actual garments, jewellery, and personal memorabilia, and standing in that queue I realised I wasn’t the only person who’d treated this booking with the same urgency usually reserved for gig tickets. There’s something quite moving about a nearly century-old artist still commanding this level of genuine, unironic public enthusiasm.
What Actually Struck Me Once I Finally Got Inside
It wasn’t the famous self-portraits, oddly, though they were extraordinary in person in a way reproductions never quite manage. It was the clothes. Standing in front of garments she actually wore, actual fabric that touched actual skin, did something the paintings alone couldn’t, made the whole show feel less like an art exhibition and more like being let into someone’s genuinely private, lived life.
How The Exhibition Handles The Strange Business Of “Fridamania” Itself
The show culminates in a section exploring the commercial explosion around Kahlo’s image, the tote bags and phone cases and everything else her face has been printed onto over the decades, and I found this section unexpectedly the most interesting part of the whole visit. It’s a rare exhibition willing to interrogate its own subject’s commodification rather than simply riding on it.
Why I Think The Queue Itself Was Actually Part Of The Experience
There’s a specific kind of collective anticipation that builds in a queue like that, strangers making small talk about which pieces they’re most looking forward to, and by the time I actually got through the doors I’d had three separate conversations with people I’ll never see again but briefly felt genuinely connected to over shared, slightly desperate excitement.
Whether I’d Recommend Braving The Crowds Yourself Before The Show Closes
Unreservedly, yes, though I’d book even further ahead than I did and brace yourself properly for the queue. Some exhibitions you can catch on a whim; this one, this August, has clearly become something closer to a genuine cultural moment, and it felt worth every minute of standing around waiting to get in.