You’d think the Metropolitan Museum of Art started with a massive pile of gold or a dusty basement full of Renaissance masterpieces. It didn't. Honestly, the history of the Met is kind of hilarious when you look at how it actually began: a group of guys in Paris in 1866 decided New York needed a "national institution and gallery of art" despite the fact that they literally had zero paintings, zero statues, and nowhere to put them.
New York back then was a brawl of a city. It was loud, filthy, and growing way too fast. While European cities had the Louvre or the Uffizi, New York had... pig farms and muddy streets. John Jay—the grandson of the founding father—was the one who got the ball rolling during a Fourth of July dinner at the Bois de Boulogne. He convinced a bunch of wealthy businessmen and lawyers that without a museum, America was basically a cultural desert.
Fast forward to 1870, and the thing was officially incorporated. But they still had a problem. They didn't have a building. They started in the Douglas Mansion on West 14th Street. It was cramped. It was temporary. It was barely a museum.
From a Red Brick "Mistake" to the Beaux-Arts Icon
When people talk about the history of the Met, they usually picture the giant, grand limestone arches on 5th Avenue. But that wasn't the first version. The city eventually gave them a patch of land on the edge of Central Park—which at the time was considered "too far uptown" for most people to visit—and hired Calvert Vaux and Jacob Wrey Mould to build a red-brick, Gothic-style structure.
It was polarizing. Some people hated it. It looked like a factory or a strange schoolhouse.
If you go inside the Met today and walk into the Robert Lehman Wing, you can actually see the original red brick exterior of that 1880 building tucked inside the newer walls. It’s like a Russian nesting doll of architecture. The museum grew so fast that they had to keep wrapping new buildings around the old ones. The massive, iconic facade you see today? That didn't show up until 1902. Richard Morris Hunt designed those famous columns and the Great Hall, but he actually died before it was finished. His son had to take over.
🔗 Read more: God Willing and the Creek Don't Rise: The True Story Behind the Phrase Most People Get Wrong
There's this weird detail people miss: the piles of stone on top of the columns. If you look closely at the facade from the street, you’ll notice four massive blocks of rough-hewn limestone sitting on top of the columns. They were supposed to be carved into sculptures representing the four great eras of art (Egyptian, Greek, Renaissance, and Modern). But the money ran out. They just... stopped. So for over a hundred years, those raw blocks just sat there, becoming a permanent part of the building's "finished" look.
The Cesnola Scandal and the Birth of a Collection
Since the museum started with nothing, they had to buy collections fast. Luigi Palma di Cesnola is a name you need to know if you want the real story. He was a Civil War general and eventually the Met's first director. He brought in a massive collection of Cypriot antiquities—thousands of items.
It wasn't all smooth sailing.
Critics accused him of "restoring" objects by sticking pieces of different statues together to make them look complete. It was a huge scandal in the late 1800s. People were basically calling him a fraud in the newspapers. He fought back, sued for libel, and won, but it set the tone for the Met’s early years: a frantic, sometimes messy grab for anything that could fill the halls.
They weren't just looking for old stuff, though. They were surprisingly forward-thinking. In 1889, the Met acquired its first Manet. That might not sound like a big deal now, but at the time, Impressionism was considered "trash" by the traditional art world. The museum was taking risks early on, even if they were also making mistakes.
💡 You might also like: Kiko Japanese Restaurant Plantation: Why This Local Spot Still Wins the Sushi Game
The Tycoons and the Power of the "Gift"
The history of the Met is inseparable from the Gilded Age. You have names like J.P. Morgan, Rogers, and Rockefeller. Morgan, in particular, was a force of nature. He was the president of the museum for a while and donated thousands of objects. He didn't just buy art; he swallowed entire collections whole.
His influence is why the Met has such a bizarrely diverse range of stuff. It’s not just "Fine Art" in the sense of oil paintings. It’s armor. It’s musical instruments. It’s a whole freaking Egyptian temple.
Speaking of the Temple of Dendur—that arrived in the 1960s as a gift from Egypt to the U.S. for helping save monuments from flooding caused by the Aswan High Dam. They had to take it apart block by block, ship it across the ocean, and rebuild it inside a giant glass room. It’s easily one of the most Instagrammed spots in the world now, but it was a massive engineering headache. They had to make sure the humidity in the room wouldn't melt the ancient stone.
Changing the Rules: It’s Not Just for the Rich
For a long time, the Met was pretty elitist. In the early days, it wasn't even open on Sundays. That was a huge point of contention because Sunday was the only day working-class people actually had off. If you worked six days a week in a factory, you literally couldn't go to the museum.
It took years of protesting and public pressure to get the museum to open its doors on the weekends.
📖 Related: Green Emerald Day Massage: Why Your Body Actually Needs This Specific Therapy
Then there’s the whole "suggested admission" saga. For decades, it was pay-what-you-wish. You could walk in for a penny if you wanted to. That changed recently for out-of-state visitors, which caused a fair bit of drama. It’s part of the ongoing tension between being a public service and a massive, expensive-to-run institution.
The museum now holds over two million works. That’s an impossible number to wrap your head around. If you spent one minute looking at every single object in the Met, it would take you about four years of non-stop looking to see everything.
How to Actually See the Met Without Getting "Museum Brain"
Most people make the mistake of trying to "do" the Met in a day. Don't. You'll end up with "museum brain"—that heavy, exhausted feeling where even a masterpiece looks like a blurry rectangle.
If you're planning a visit to experience the history of the Met firsthand, here's the smart way to handle it:
- Skip the Great Hall entrance if it's crowded. There’s a ground-level entrance near 81st Street that is often way faster.
- Pick three specific wings. Just three. Maybe the Arms and Armor, the American Wing (for the Washington Crossing the Delaware painting), and the Medieval Art section.
- Find the "Quiet" spots. The Asian Art galleries on the second floor are usually much quieter than the Egyptian wing. It’s a good place to decompress.
- Look at the furniture. People walk past the period rooms, but they’re incredible. You can walk through an actual 18th-century French salon or a colonial American bedroom.
- The Rooftop. If it's between May and October, go to the roof. The view of Central Park against the skyline is better than any painting in the building.
The Met isn't just a building full of old stuff. It’s a record of what humans have valued, stolen, protected, and created over 5,000 years. It’s messy. Its history is full of corporate ego, architectural "oops" moments, and genuinely breathtaking beauty. Whether you like the art or not, the fact that this place exists in the middle of Manhattan is kind of a miracle.
To get the most out of your next visit, download the Met's digital map beforehand. Don't rely on the paper ones; they’re fine, but the building is a labyrinth and you will get lost. Getting lost is part of the fun, sure, but knowing where the nearest bathroom is when you’re three miles deep in the European Sculpture wing is a pro move. Check the current rotation for the Costume Institute too—they change those exhibits frequently and they are usually the most high-tech things in the building.