Give Me My Makeup: The Labor Strike at Deir el-Medina

Three thousand years ago, workers building royal tombs in ancient Egypt did something almost unthinkable – they went on strike. While history records their demands as delayed wages, and popular culture thinks it was all about depriving them of makeup, the full story reveals a deeper fight for dignity, identity, and the essentials of daily life. This episode explores the world’s first recorded labor strike and the surprising human details behind it. Then we yap yap with Shadowbox Live’s Jimmy Mak!

If you’ve ever worked a job where something small felt disproportionately important, you already understand the psychology behind today’s story. Maybe it was the breakroom coffee. Maybe it was a chair that didn’t destroy your spine. Maybe it was something as simple as being allowed to wear headphones while you worked. On paper, those things can seem trivial. In reality, they become symbols – of respect, of comfort, of being treated like a human being instead of a cog.

Throughout history, labor disputes have often hinged on things that outsiders might dismiss as minor. In medieval Europe, bakers rioted over bread prices, not just because of hunger but because bread was tied to survival and dignity. In 19th-century factories, workers protested not only wages but also things like window access, ventilation, and even the right to sit down during long shifts. When you remove small comforts, you’re not just removing convenience – you’re removing a piece of someone’s identity.

And that brings us back much further, to ancient Egypt. Specifically, to a place called Deir el-Medina, a workers’ village on the west bank of the Nile near what we now call the Valley of the Kings. This wasn’t just any group of laborers. These were skilled artisans – stonecutters, painters, sculptors – the people responsible for constructing and decorating the royal tombs of pharaohs during the New Kingdom period, around the 12th century BCE.

These workers were not slaves, which is a common misconception. They were state employees. They were paid in rations – grain, beer, sometimes fish or vegetables – and they lived in a fairly organized community. Archaeologists have found records of their lives that are unusually detailed for the ancient world. We know their names, their schedules, their disputes, even their excuses for missing work. Some of those excuses include things like “brewing beer,” “arguing with wife,” or simply “feeling unwell,” which makes them feel surprisingly relatable.

Now, one of the most fascinating things about Deir el-Medina is that it gives us what is widely considered the first recorded labor strike in history. This took place during the reign of Pharaoh Ramesses III, around 1150 BCE. And while the headline reason for the strike was delayed payment of rations, the details reveal something more nuanced about what these workers valued.

Their wages, remember, were not coins or currency. They were supplies. Grain was the big one. Grain meant food. It meant beer, which was a staple drink. When those rations didn’t arrive on time, the workers couldn’t just dip into savings or go to a store. Their entire livelihood was disrupted.

According to surviving papyrus records – specifically the Turin Strike Papyrus – the workers eventually decided they had had enough. They stopped working. They walked off the job and sat down in protest, refusing to continue until their grievances were addressed. This alone is remarkable. Organized labor action, documented in writing, over a thousand years before the Roman Empire even peaked.

But here’s where things get more interesting, and where the internet tends to latch onto a particular detail.

Among the items that were part of their regular provisions were things like oils, fats, and other materials that could be used not just for practical purposes but also for personal grooming. In ancient Egypt, cosmetics were not a luxury reserved for the elite. Both men and women used makeup, particularly eye makeup like kohl, which served both aesthetic and practical purposes. It reduced glare from the sun, helped prevent eye infections, and was culturally tied to ideas of health and protection.

So when workers complained about shortages or delays, they weren’t just talking about food. They were talking about a whole package of provisions that supported their daily lives – including their ability to maintain personal hygiene and appearance.

Now, to be clear, the primary documented reason for the strike was the delay in grain rations. That is explicitly stated in the historical record. However, when you look at the broader context of what those rations included, and the cultural importance of grooming in ancient Egypt, it becomes easier to understand how something like access to materials used for cosmetics could become part of a larger sense of grievance.

These were people who took pride in their work. They were building tombs meant to last for eternity. They were artists, in a sense, even if their medium was stone and pigment instead of canvas. And like artists in any era, they cared about presentation – both in their work and in themselves.

There’s also evidence from ostraca – pottery shards used as notepads – that workers kept detailed accounts of supplies and shortages. These records show a community that was very aware of what they were owed and what they were missing. When those shortages piled up, frustration grew.

Eventually, the workers staged what we would recognize today as a sit-in. They marched past the guards and occupied nearby temples, refusing to return to work. They made their case to officials, essentially saying, “We are hungry, and we have not been given what was promised.”

This was not a chaotic riot. It was organized. It was deliberate. It was, in many ways, modern.

And it worked.

But what makes this story even more fascinating isn’t just that the workers went on strike. It’s how the Egyptian government responded – and what this moment reveals about power, labor, and human dignity in one of the most iconic civilizations in history.

When the workers of Deir el-Medina refused to return to their jobs, the Egyptian authorities found themselves in a difficult position. These were not easily replaceable laborers. The skills required to carve and decorate royal tombs were specialized, and training new workers would have taken years. More importantly, the construction of tombs was tied directly to religious beliefs about the afterlife. Delays were not just inconvenient – they were spiritually significant.

The officials attempted to resolve the situation by distributing whatever rations they could gather quickly. In some cases, they borrowed supplies from temple stores or redirected resources from other areas. The records show a kind of bureaucratic scrambling, where different officials tried to piece together enough goods to satisfy the workers and get them back on the job.

What’s striking is how the workers maintained their position. They didn’t immediately give in at the first sign of partial payment. They continued to press their case, making it clear that they expected consistent, reliable provision – not just temporary fixes.

At one point, they reportedly said, “We have come here because of hunger and thirst.” That line has survived for over three millennia, and it still feels immediate. It still feels human.

The strike eventually led to the delivery of overdue rations, and the workers returned to their duties. But the event didn’t just resolve a short-term problem. It set a precedent. It demonstrated that even in a highly hierarchical society like ancient Egypt, collective action could influence outcomes.

It’s also worth noting that this period in Egyptian history was one of economic strain. The late New Kingdom saw issues like inflation, corruption, and resource shortages. The fact that even state-supported workers were experiencing delays in payment suggests a broader systemic problem.

So where does the idea of a “makeup strike” come from?

Like many historical stories that circulate online, it’s a simplification – or maybe an exaggeration – of a more complex reality. The workers didn’t explicitly say, “We refuse to work unless we get makeup.” What they did say, through their actions and records, was that they were not receiving the full range of provisions they were owed. Those provisions included materials that contributed to their daily lives in ways that went beyond mere survival.

In a culture where personal grooming was tied to health, identity, and even spirituality, the absence of those materials could feel like a serious loss. So while makeup itself was not the headline issue in the ancient documents, it was part of the broader picture of what these workers considered essential.

And that’s what makes the story resonate today.

Because if you strip away the ancient setting, the hieroglyphs, the temples, and the pharaohs, what you’re left with is a group of people saying, “We deserve to be treated with respect. We deserve to receive what we were promised. We deserve to maintain our dignity.”

That message has echoed through centuries of labor movements, from guilds in medieval cities to unions in industrial revolutions to modern workplace negotiations. The specifics change. The core idea doesn’t.

There’s also something quietly powerful about the fact that we know this story at all. Ancient history often feels distant and abstract, filled with kings and battles and monuments. But here we have a glimpse into the lives of ordinary people – their frustrations, their decisions, their willingness to stand together.

We know that one worker named Amennakht kept records. We know that officials like the vizier had to respond. We know that the strike was documented not as a myth or a legend but as an administrative event.

And that makes it real.

It also reminds us that history is not just shaped by the powerful. It’s shaped by the people who push back, who demand better, who decide that enough is enough.

Even if, sometimes, what they’re fighting for seems small from the outside.

Because it’s rarely just about the thing itself. It’s about what the thing represents.

In this case, a missed ration wasn’t just a missed meal. It was a broken promise. A lack of cosmetics wasn’t just an inconvenience. It was a disruption of identity and daily life in a culture where appearance mattered deeply.

And when enough of those disruptions pile up, people act.

Three thousand years ago, in a desert village near the Valley of the Kings, a group of workers proved that point in a way that still echoes today.

The internet says it’s true.

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