In the early 1600s, tulips became one of the most sought-after possessions in the Netherlands.
They had only recently arrived from the Ottoman Empire and already they felt rare. Their forms were unlike the flowers people were used to — clean, structured, and almost architectural. It was the more unusual varieties that held the most attention; those flowers whose petals were streaked with flame-like patterns, colors breaking unexpectedly into one another, no two blooms exactly the same.
These “broken” tulips, as they came to be known, carried an added sense of mystery. No one could reliably reproduce them. They appeared unpredictably, and because of that, they were prized.
Marrel, J. (German, 1635-45.) Four Tulips: Boter man (Butter Man), Joncker (Nobleman), Grote geplumaceerde (The Great Plumed One), and Voorwint (With the Wind). Met Museum. https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/337769
At first, they were collected quietly. Gardeners and enthusiasts traded bulbs among themselves and cultivated them with care, but over time something shifted.
The demand for tulips grew and the prices quickly followed.
A single bulb could be exchanged for land, for livestock, even for a year’s income. Contracts were written, sometimes for bulbs that hadn't even been lifted from the ground yet. The value extended so far beyond the flower itself and into the anticipation of what it might become.
Then, as quickly as it rose, it fell. The market collapsed, leaving behind a story that’s often told as a warning. It was a moment of excess and a reminder of how easily value can become untethered.
However, when appreciating the beauty of tulips in today’s world, it feels more complicated than that.
There’s something about them that draws you in, even without the history. The way they continue to move after they’ve been cut — stems bending toward the light and petals slowly opening wider each day — they never feel entirely still.
You can watch them change in real time, almost without noticing at first.
Maybe that was part of it… the feeling of being close to something alive, something shifting, and something that wouldn’t stay for long.
Vosmaer, J. (Dutch, 1613) A Vase with Flowers. Met Museum. https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/437920
This time of year, they begin to arrive again. Buckets at the shop filled with tight buds, filled with vibrant or subtle tones. A few days later, they’re open and expressive, each one taking its own shape.
They don’t last forever and aren’t meant to. And with that, it becomes a little easier to understand how, for a brief moment in history, a flower could feel like the most valuable thing in the world.
