How Paris Almost Got a Giant Guillotine Instead of the Eiffel Tower

Can you imagine what the Paris skyline would look like without the Eiffel Tower? It’s hard to imagine, isn’t it? The Iron Lady is synonymous with Paris and pops into our minds whenever we dream of being in the City of Light.

But what you might not know is how close France came to having a giant guillotine instead of the Eiffel Tower. Quite a frightening thought in more ways than one. Our romantic image of Paris shattered completely and replaced with a darker and sinister vibe.  

So what happened? How did the city escape the clutches of an oversized guillotine as its main attraction? You’re about to find out as we take a step back in time to 1889 and the Exposition Universelle.

The 1889 Exposition Universelle: A Showcase of Progress

By 1889, France was in a bit of a bind. The country was preparing to host a World’s Fair to mark the 100th anniversary of the French Revolution, a century since the storming of the Bastille. But the mood was complicated. 

The Revolution had given France a new identity, but it also left scars. Heads had rolled—literally. While the world had moved on, France was still figuring out how to celebrate a past that was equal parts pride and bloodshed.

The Exposition Universelle was meant to show that France had come out stronger. This was a chance to prove the country wasn’t just living off the fumes of its revolutionary history, but standing tall in the modern industrial world. Paris would become a global stage, packed with inventions, innovations, and national displays from across the globe. Over thirty countries signed up to exhibit. Nearly thirty-two million people would eventually pass through the gates.

France wanted to impress, and there was growing competition from Germany, Britain, and the United States. The Industrial Revolution had changed everything. Steam power, electricity, and mass production were redefining what it meant to be a superpower. 

So when the planning committee got to work on the fair, they wanted a centerpiece that screamed confidence. Something that said, “We’re still here, and we’ve got something to say.” It had to be monumental and able to stand toe-to-toe with the Statue of Liberty, which France had gifted to the United States just a few years earlier. 

And that’s where the wild proposals started rolling in.

The Design Competition: A Flood of Proposals

Once the call went out for a showstopping centerpiece, the ideas started pouring in. Architects, engineers, dreamers, and eccentrics all threw their hats in the ring. Over one hundred designs were submitted. Some were visionary, others borderline ridiculous. 

Keep in mind that this was a moment when imagination was running wild. Electricity was lighting up homes, trains were crossing continents, and the future felt close enough to touch. So it’s no surprise that the proposals reflected that mix of optimism, ego, and just a touch of madness.

But not every submission was lighthearted. Some were darker. More symbolic. That’s where the guillotine came in. As absurd as it sounds now, it wasn’t entirely out of left field then. The guillotine had been part of France’s revolutionary identity. To some, it was the ultimate representation of justice and equality. To others, it was a bloody reminder of chaos and terror. Proposing it as a monument to the Revolution might have seemed bold, or grotesque, depending on who you asked.

Most of these designs never made it past the first review round, but the sheer variety paints a vivid picture of what was at stake. This wasn’t just a design competition. It was a national referendum on how France wanted to be seen by the world.

The Macabre Proposal: A 1,000-Foot Guillotine

Among the many ideas submitted for the 1889 exposition was a proposal for a 1,000-foot-tall guillotine. Yes, really. A towering metal monument to the same device that had executed over 16,000 people during the Reign of Terror.

Whoever submitted it likely saw it as a bold tribute to the Revolution, a way to honor the radical break from monarchy and the people’s fight for liberty. The guillotine had been a central figure in that history, and some saw it as the great equalizer. Cold, efficient, and decisive. 

But let’s not kid ourselves. A guillotine the size of a skyscraper towering over Paris would have sent a very different message. Visitors arriving for the exposition would have been greeted by a grim and unsettling image. Instead of progress and innovation, they’d have seen blood-soaked nostalgia. It would have turned the fair into something closer to a national wake than a celebration of industry and modernity.

There’s little surviving documentation about the exact specs or the person behind the guillotine proposal. It didn’t make the shortlist. It was probably never seriously considered by the committee. But the fact that it even showed up in the pile tells you something about where France stood in 1889. 

Other Noteworthy Proposals

The guillotine wasn’t the only eyebrow-raiser. One involved a colossal sprinkler system spraying water across Paris to cool the city and wash the streets. It was pitched as practical and progressive, but the logistics were baffling. Another idea was a sun-shaped tower powered by mirrors, aiming to harness solar energy. Futuristic, yes. Feasible? Not even close in 1889.

Then there was the plan for a lighthouse that would shine a beam of light visible for miles. Symbolically, it made sense, showcasing France as a beacon of hope and progress. But practically, it didn’t offer anything new. Lighthouses already existed. Paris didn’t need another one.

Several entries leaned on statues, some gigantic, others mechanical. A few tried to outdo the Statue of Liberty in size or symbolism, but none felt fresh enough to capture the moment. The committee wanted more than a monument. They were looking for a message, something forward-looking, industrial, and undeniably French.

Gustave Eiffel’s Vision: Engineering Meets Aesthetics

While the guillotine and giant sprinklers were grabbing attention for all the wrong reasons, Gustave Eiffel had his own idea. Eiffel was already a well-known figure. He’d built bridges across France and abroad, using iron in ways no one else dared. Where others saw limits, he saw opportunity. 

He proposed something no one had seen before, a 300-meter tower made entirely of iron, standing taller than anything else on Earth. At first, it didn’t go over well. The artistic elite of Paris hated it. Writers, architects, painters, some of the biggest names of the time, signed a petition calling it a monstrosity. They thought it would ruin the skyline, overshadowing the city’s classical beauty. One critic even compared it to a factory chimney.

Eiffel didn’t flinch. He called it modern. Mathematical. Efficient. The tower, he said, would represent the genius of French engineering. It would be used to study wind, weather, and even radio transmissions. 

Behind the scenes, Eiffel worked hard to get the project approved. He used his own money and took on the financial risk. He believed in the tower so much that he was willing to stake his career on it. And somehow, he pulled it off. Against the odds, his design was selected. Construction began in 1887.

The Eiffel Tower: From Controversy to Icon

When construction kicked off in 1887, the backlash didn’t stop. Critics kept piling on. Newspapers called it an iron disgrace. Parisians mocked it. The nickname “The Tragic Lamp Post” started making the rounds. 

The tower came together faster than anyone expected. A team of just over 300 workers hoisted over 18,000 individual iron parts into place. Every piece was measured, cut, pre-assembled off-site, then bolted together on the Champ de Mars. It was an industrial puzzle, and Eiffel ensured it ran like clockwork. No workers died during construction, which was rare for a project of that scale in the 19th century.

By the time it was finished in March 1889, the mood had started to shift. Visitors who’d scoffed at the idea were now lining up to climb it. Over two million people made the trip up during the exposition. It was like nothing they’d ever seen. Views stretched across the city. The iron frame cast wild shadows at sunset. It hit the mark for a country trying to prove it still had teeth in a rapidly changing world.

Still, the tower wasn’t meant to last. It was built with a 20-year permit. The plan was to dismantle it in 1909. But Eiffel had other ideas. He lobbied hard to keep it standing. By then, the tower had started proving useful for scientific experiments. Eventually, it was used for radio transmissions. That saved it. It became functional, not just decorative.

Over time, public opinion shifted completely. The same people who’d wanted it torn down began to claim it as a symbol. Tourists came in droves. Artists began sketching it. Films used it. And somehow, the so-called “metal asparagus” became the face of Paris.

The Tower’s Role at the 1889 Exposition

The Eiffel Tower was the gateway to the exposition. Visitors passed through its iron legs to enter the fairgrounds, which stretched across the Champ de Mars. It stood at the entrance like a giant metal welcome sign, impossible to ignore.

You could climb it, too, but not all the way unless you were willing to tackle the stairs. The elevators were still unreliable during the early weeks, and people waited hours just to get a partial view from one of the platforms. Still, it was worth it. The higher you went, the more of Paris you saw, and the more modern the city felt.

At night, the tower lit up with gas lamps and spotlights, something most people had never seen before. For a country hoping to show off its technical might, the Eiffel Tower pulled it off. It was part sculpture, part machine, and completely unforgettable.

And then there was Eiffel’s own private apartment at the top. Tucked away above the third platform, it was small but fully furnished, complete with a piano and lab equipment. He used it to host scientists and dignitaries, and occasionally just to escape the noise of the fair below. Almost no one got to go inside, and that only made it more fascinating.

Good Thing They Said No to That Guillotine

It’s easy to take the Eiffel Tower for granted now. It’s in every photo, postcard, and just about every movie set in Paris. But it very nearly didn’t happen. If the competition had gone a different way, the skyline might have ended up with something far more grim than graceful.

A 1,000-foot guillotine hanging over the city would have sent a completely different message to the world. That’s the thing about history. It’s full of close calls. The kind that makes you stop and think about how different things could’ve been. Paris could’ve leaned into the darkness of its past. Instead, it reached higher.