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ON THIS DAY IN 1911, the Mona Lisa vanished from the Louvre. Stolen by an Italian handyman and hidden for more than two years, the disappearance transformed Leonardo’s portrait from a respected Renaissance painting into the most famous artwork on the planet. Ever since, the Mona Lisa has lived a double life: masterpiece and media sensation, her image constantly recycled, debated, and occasionally attacked.
And while the theft was her first headline-grabbing scandal, it was far from the last. In the 21st century, she has faced a series of bizarre encounters with food — from a hurled teacup to a smeared slice of cake to a splash of pumpkin soup. Each incident has left her untouched behind bulletproof glass, but together they show how strongly the world’s most recognisable face attracts both devotion and disruption.
The Teacup Incident (2009)
In August 2009, a visitor from Russia, reportedly upset over being denied French citizenship, took aim with a terracotta teacup bought in the museum gift shop. The cup shattered against the protective glass, leaving only scratches. Though the Mona Lisa herself was unmarked, the episode highlighted the delicate balance the Louvre maintains between keeping art accessible and keeping it safe.
The Cake Attack (2022)
In May 2022, the painting became the centre of a surreal protest. A man disguised as an elderly woman in a wheelchair suddenly leapt up, revealing a piece of cream cake. He smeared it across the glass and scattered roses, shouting messages about protecting the planet. Videos quickly went viral. While the Mona Lisa was never in danger — the glass barrier held firm — the spectacle underscored how food, in this case a celebratory pastry, can be transformed into a political symbol.
The Soup Splash (2024)
The most recent act came in January 2024. Two activists with the French group Riposte Alimentaire (“Food Response”) flung pumpkin soup at the painting. Their demand: stronger action on food insecurity and sustainable agriculture. Security guards immediately drew a black curtain across the gallery, and police removed the pair. Again, the glass meant Leonardo’s work was not harmed. But the incident triggered international debate — were such stunts trivialising serious issues, or drawing essential attention to them?
Why Food? Why the Mona Lisa?
Food is everyday, familiar, and symbolic. A teacup evokes domestic comfort; cake suggests indulgence and celebration; soup signals nourishment. Turned into protest tools, they become dissonant and impossible to ignore. For activists, they also carry practical advantages: food is easily available, non-lethal, and visually dramatic when thrown or smeared.
And then there is the Mona Lisa. Ever since her 1911 theft, she has embodied both cultural value and vulnerability. To stage a protest in front of her is to guarantee attention: photographs, headlines, outrage, and conversation.
The Bigger Picture
In each case, the Mona Lisa was never physically threatened. Since the 1950s, layers of protective glass have ensured her safety. But the repeated choice of food as the weapon of protest reveals how deeply meals, drinks, and kitchen staples are tied to culture, politics, and identity. They can nourish, comfort, or celebrate — and, in the hands of protestors, disrupt.
Final Course
More than a century after her most famous disappearance, the Mona Lisa is still at the centre of drama. Only now, instead of vanishing, she’s enduring a string of food-based “performances” in the name of protest. Teacup, cake, soup: each splattered act leaves her smile untouched but her status reinforced. The world’s most watched painting is also, it seems, the world’s most targeted dining companion.
