Masks in Venice weren’t just for fun. Sure, they added flair to the Carnival, but their widespread use had deeper roots. The ability to remain completely anonymous gave idle Venetians—especially those addicted to gambling—a way to hide their identity at the famous Ridotto gaming hall. Gambling was so ingrained in Venetian culture that even a 1774 decree from the Maggior Consiglio ordering the Ridotto’s closure couldn’t stamp it out. Players simply moved to taverns and coffee houses. In places like the Salvadego tavern, women wore black velvet masks called visiera de veludo to conceal their faces. But masks weren’t just for games—they were also used by spies, informers, and hired assassins.
The Bàuta (or Bautta). This was the most iconic and widely worn Venetian mask. It came with a black cloak, a mask, and a tricorn hat. The cloak helped hide clothing, the lace under the mask added mystery, and the hat concealed the face. The Bàuta offered total anonymity—you couldn’t tell if the person underneath was male or female, rich or poor. It symbolized complete freedom of expression, which is why people would bow respectfully when encountering one in the narrow streets. The origin of the word is debated: some link it to the German behuten (to protect), others to Italian words like bacucco, baucco, or even bau, a sound meant to scare children. Some suggest it comes from Venetian bava (like a gag), or the Piedmontese bavèra, meaning face mask.
The Larva or Volto. This white mask was often paired with the Bàuta. There was a black version too, but it was rarely used. The name larva comes from Latin, referring to ghosts or spectral masks. It was worn by both men and women and had a practical design that allowed the wearer to eat, drink, and breathe easily while staying incognito.
The Moreta or Moretta. A black mask worn by women, held in place by a button clenched between the lips. Men found it alluring because it added a mysterious silence to the female figure.
The Mattaccino. A kind of jester dressed in a short, light costume—either white or multicolored—with a feathered hat. Mattaccini were famous for throwing ovi profumai (scented eggs) using slingshots. The tradition was so popular that it sparked a whole market: street vendors sold hundreds of these fragrant eggs, which were tossed toward balconies occupied by friends, acquaintances, or love interests. The first law regulating masks, dated 1268, tried to ban this egg-throwing game. It was so widespread that the government eventually had to hang nets along the Procuratie to protect ladies’ expensive dresses from getting stained.
The Gnaga. Carnival was also a time for people to reveal their true selves. Many young men were reported to the State Inquisitors for their effeminate behavior or openly expressed homosexuality. But there were also pranksters who simply enjoyed dressing as women. The gnaghe were a mix of both, often with a vulgar twist. Some say the name comes from gnau, the sound a cat makes. In Venetian dialect, the phrase "aver una ose da gnaga" described a shrill or scratchy voice—like a cat or a crow. Gnaghe were often accompanied by friends dressed as tati or tate (babies), who wandered the city making silly noises and teasing passersby.
The Domino. An elegant alternative to the Bàuta, this cloak-like costume became popular in the late 16th century. The French were the first to name it after the hood worn by monks, which fashion later transformed into a common outfit. Some say the name Domino comes from the Latin ecclesiastical phrase benedicamus Domino (“let us bless the Lord”), while others see it as a cheeky jab at the Catholic Church by the English during religious tensions.
The Plague Doctor. Before it became a Carnival costume, this eerie outfit was a medical necessity. Designed by French physician Charles de Lorme in the 16th century, it was meant to protect doctors during plague outbreaks—a recurring nightmare in Venice. The outfit included a waxed linen tunic to prevent infected air from clinging to the fabric, a cane to lift sheets without touching them, a hat, goggles, and the iconic beaked mask filled with medicinal herbs and disinfectants. The look resembled a grim bird, like a shaman warding off evil. Though not originally festive, the Carnival adopted it as a way to laugh in the face of death and cope with a painful reality.
The Chioggia Fisherman. Playwright Carlo Goldoni made the fiery temperament of Chioggia’s locals famous in his comedy Le baruffe chiozzotte. Though the play was a hit, it earned him the eternal curse of the Chioggians, who felt mocked. Goldoni defended himself, saying he simply portrayed the truth: “These quarrels are common among the lower classes and more frequent in Chioggia than elsewhere.” In 1791, decades after the play’s debut, a group of Chioggians dressed as fishermen sailed into Venice and reenacted the famous quarrel near the Ponte della Paglia—perhaps a tribute to Goldoni, or just a playful embrace of their spirited nature.
Bernardon. One of the most controversial masks. Bernardon was a filthy old man covered in rags, exposing fake sores and boils caused by youthful excess and syphilis. His head was wrapped in a blood-stained cloth, he had a wooden leg, and leaned on sticks to walk. He roamed the city singing crude songs and begging in cafés—though many of these “beggars” were actually well-off individuals in disguise. The mask was eventually banned during Austrian rule.
Wigs in Venice. The first Venetian noble to introduce the French fashion of wearing wigs was Count Scipione Vinciguerra Collalto, back in 1668. From that moment on, the lagoon city was swept up in a wig craze—so much so that the authorities grew concerned. On May 29 of that same year, the Council of Ten tried to rein in the trend with a decree. Citing moral laxity, the law stated that: “It is expressly forbidden for any noble, citizen, or subject of ours—regardless of rank or status, with no exceptions—to wear wigs or false hair. Anyone who dares to violate this decree after one month shall be subject to the censure of the State Inquisitors.” But the backlash wasn’t just legal—it sparked a full-on cultural clash between conservatives and radicals. The innovators quickly won out. Realizing it couldn’t stop the trend, the government tried to profit from it by imposing a tax of two and a half ducats per wig. Instead of fading, wig shops flourished. Venetians weren’t intimidated by laws, decrees, or taxes. It’s worth noting that as early as 1435, wigmakers had split from barbers and formed their own guild, headquartered at what is now civic number 4361 in Calle dietro San Giovanni Nuovo. Naturally, the male obsession with wigs spilled over into women’s fashion. Hairpieces became the norm, and conzateste—professional hairdressers—made a lucrative living sculpting towering hairdos that resembled architectural masterpieces. Styles varied widely, and The Encyclopedia of Hairdressing, published in Venice in 1769, listed no fewer than 45 different types of wigs. They were made from real human hair, often cut from living donors—though gossip claimed some came from the heads of the dead. But hygiene was a major issue. The wigs were heavily powdered with Cyprus powder, which irritated the skin and encouraged lice infestations.
Makeup as Masking. Without masks or costumes, people had no choice but to show their true selves—beautiful or ugly, young or old, exposed in every public and private setting. That’s where makeup came in: an ancient practice used by both men and women to enhance their appearance. Makeup, in this sense, becomes part of the broader tradition of masking and disguise. After all, presenting oneself as someone “different” is a way of deceiving both others and oneself—offering a fictional image that temporarily suspends responsibility and genuine communication. To illustrate this idea, we can look at three examples: The courtesan; The 18th-century noblewoman; The cicisbeo (a male companion or suitor). Each represents a different social role and human condition, helping paint a clearer picture of how appearance and identity were shaped—and often manipulated—through fashion and cosmetics.
"Bibliography: Le Maschere Veneziane, Reato, Danilo; Venice: Arsenale Editrice, 1998"
