So, I Have a Question
If I say the name Cleopatra, what picture shows up in your mind?
Maybe it's dramatic black eyeliner.
Maybe it's Elizabeth Taylor.
Maybe it's a woman wrapped in gold, reclining on a throne.
Maybe it's Julius Caesar.
Maybe it's Mark Antony.
Maybe it's the snake.
It's funny, isn't it?
Some people have ruled entire countries for decades and struggle to leave a mark on history.
Cleopatra has been dead for more than two thousand years, and somehow she still feels instantly recognizable.
Or at least...
I thought she did.
Because the more I sat with that certainty, the stranger it started to feel.
I could tell you she was beautiful.
I could tell you she had famous lovers.
I could tell you she died dramatically.
But if you had stopped me right there and asked,
"What kind of queen was she?"
I don't know that I could have answered.
And that bothered me.
Because it felt like knowing everything around someone without actually knowing them.
So I did what I always do.
I went down the rabbit hole.
I wasn't trying to prove that history had gotten Cleopatra wrong.
I just wanted to know when I had learned to think about her this way.
Who introduced me to Cleopatra?
Because whoever that was...
They seem to have skipped a pretty important part.
Before we talk about Rome...
Before Caesar...
Before Antony...
I'd like you to meet Cleopatra.
Okay...But Hear Me Out...
Here'I know you're probably waiting for Caesar to show up.
Or Mark Antony.
Or the snake.
We're getting there.
But if those are the first people we meet, then we're letting Rome introduce Cleopatra.
And I don't know about you, but I think everyone deserves the chance to introduce themselves before somebody else does it for them.
So let's rewind.
Picture an eighteen-year-old inheriting one of the wealthiest kingdoms in the ancient world.
Sounds pretty great, right?
Except...not really.
Because wealth doesn't automatically mean stability.
And old doesn't automatically mean secure.
By the time Cleopatra became queen, Egypt had centuries of history behind it—but the family sitting on the throne wasn't the family that had built the pyramids.
In fact, they weren't Egyptian at all.
The Ptolemies had ruled Egypt for generations, but they traced their family back to one of Alexander the Great's generals.
And let's just say...they were not exactly known for peaceful family reunions.
If your family tree includes siblings overthrowing siblings, relatives marrying relatives to keep power in the family, and a steady stream of palace intrigue...
...you're starting to get the picture.
So when Cleopatra became queen, she wasn't stepping into a fairy tale.
She was stepping into a political crisis.
And while all of that was happening...
Rome was getting bigger.
Stronger.
Hungrier.
See?
We're only a few minutes into this story, and already it feels different.
Not because we've learned some obscure historical fact.
But because we've changed where the story begins.
And as we learned with Leia, where you choose to begin a story changes the story you end up telling.
Most of us met Cleopatra when Rome walked into the room.
I'm starting to think we should have met her before they did.
Tamra Teaches
Okay.
Before we go any further, I want to show you something.
It's one of those things that, once you see it, you'll start noticing it everywhere.
It's called propaganda.
Now, don't let that word scare you off.
It sounds like something reserved for dictators, wartime posters, and dusty history textbooks.
But propaganda is actually much more ordinary than that.
At its simplest, propaganda is an attempt to influence how you think about a person, an idea, or an event.
And here's the important part.
It doesn't have to be completely false to be incredibly effective.
Imagine I introduce someone by saying,
"She's divorced."
That's true.
But I could also introduce that exact same person by saying,
"She's raising two amazing kids."
Also true.
Or...
"She's an instructional designer."
Still true.
Same person.
Three completely different first impressions.
None of them are lies.
But each one quietly nudges you toward a different story.
That's propaganda's quieter cousin.
It's called framing.
It's the art of deciding which truths get the spotlight...and which ones stay in the wings.
Once you start paying attention to framing, you realize it isn't just something governments do.
Advertisers do it.
News organizations do it.
Movie studios do it.
Social media does it.
And historians have to wrestle with it, too.
Because every time someone tells a story, they're making choices.
Where does the story begin?
What details make the final cut?
Who gets to be the hero?
Who becomes the villain?
And whose voice never makes it into the room at all?
That's why I wanted to pause here before we met Cleopatra.
Because I'm less interested in asking whether everything we've heard about her is true or false.
I'm interested in asking a different question.
Who framed the introduction?
Because once you know who opened the door...
You start understanding why everyone in the room saw Cleopatra the way they did.
That's Wild
So...
I went looking for Cleopatra.
And almost immediately, I got annoyed.
Not at Cleopatra.
At the sources.
Because I kept thinking,
"Can somebody please let this woman speak?"
Everywhere I looked...
Someone else was introducing her.
Roman politicians.
Roman historians.
Roman poets.
Roman biographers.
Everybody had something to say about Cleopatra.
Except...
Cleopatra.
Now, at first, I didn't think that was weird.
I mean...of course the Romans wrote about Cleopatra.
They fought her.
Negotiated with her.
Eventually defeated her.
Of course they wrote about her.
But then I had one of those "Wait..." moments.
Rome won.
...
Hold on.
If Rome won...
Who got to write the story?
And that's when I actually put my book down.
Because I realized I wasn't researching Cleopatra.
I was researching the version of Cleopatra that survived.
And those are not necessarily the same thing.
That is such a weird thing to realize.
For more than two thousand years, people—including me—have inherited an introduction written by the people who beat her.
Not necessarily because they lied.
Remember what we just talked about?
Framing.
You don't have to invent facts if you get to decide which facts everyone remembers.
And suddenly...
Everything clicked.
The beauty.
The seduction.
The scandal.
The drama.
None of those things are completely made up.
But what if they've been standing in the spotlight for so long...
...that they've blocked our view of everything else?
That's when my question changed.
I wasn't asking,
"Who was Cleopatra?"
anymore.
I was asking,
"Who needed me to remember her this way?"
And friends...
Those are two very different rabbit holes.
Wild Thoughts
I haven't been able to shake one question.
If someone else introduced you to the world...
Would they get you right?
Really think about that for a second.
Imagine the person who likes you the least.
Or the person who only knew you during the hardest year of your life.
Or the person who only ever met one version of you.
Now imagine that's the only version of you that survives.
That's the biography.
That's what everyone reads for the next two thousand years.
Would they know you?
Would they know what made you laugh?
What kept you awake at night?
What you were actually trying to build?
Or would they remember the version that made the better story?
Because I don't actually think Cleopatra is unusual.
I think she's just one of the most famous examples of something that happens all the time.
We reduce people.
We flatten them.
We remember the headline instead of the human.
And if we're honest...
We've probably all done it.
To historical figures.
To celebrities.
To coworkers.
To exes.
To family members.
Sometimes even to ourselves.
Maybe the real lesson isn't just to question the stories history hands us.
Maybe it's to become a little more curious before we decide we've got someone figured out.
Because every person you've ever met is living a story that's bigger than the introduction you were given.
And maybe...
That's the wildest thing Cleopatra taught me.
