The Meaning of Marylin

True story: Eons ago I had a roommate who decked our whole apartment living area in Marylin Monroe garb --- framed photos, decorative boxes, throw pillows and blankets --- and yet, when you asked her what her favorite Marylin movie* was, she'd draw a blank, blinking stare. Clueless, not conflicted: she had never seen a Marylin Monroe film. In fact, she didn't know much about Marylin beyond the superficial (pretty, white, blonde, and famous). This surface level adulation, the association with my roommate (who was terribleawful in other ways) and her decorative tackiness, along with the onslaught of Marylin's legendary image as THE pinnacle of glamour above all led to me being turned off by the idolization of Marylin Monroe, and even Marylin: The Person to some extent. 

Yeah, I know, Kim there's people that are dying...

For someone who believes variety is the spice of life, the imagery of Marylin while dazzling and iconic, did seem somewhat...typical and too white beauty-centric for me to immerse in --- this knowing she wasn't the only vibrant, glamorous and talented personality to come out of the golden ages of Hollywood history. As a Black woman, I looked to a different, often ignored spectrum as I preferred to celebrate Lena Horne, Diahann Carroll, Diana Sands, Marpessa Dawn, and Dorothy Dandridge (whose life and death have eerie similarities to Marylin...). Women who did the most with the slither of spotlight they were warranted. Women who were also beautiful and talented, and bonus, 'looked' more like me --- their representation mattered more, honestly.

So why did I read a book about Marylin after all this judgement and pettiness? Well, because a) I love diving into a good Hollywood biography/memoir, b) Quarantine binge watching led me to view Lifetime's mini-series The Secret Life of Marylin Monroe, and I felt a lot was missing and wildly fictionalized (I mean, it was on Lifetime...), and c) I wanted to give Marylin --- the woman and the enigma --- a chance to re-introduce herself. 

Let me clarify: I don't dislike Marylin Monroe. Even with the oversaturation of her image, it is without fallacy. She was a beautiful, captivating icon for the ages. Her cotton candied blonde bombshell image, white skirt blown up by hot subway air still haunts and arouses 58 years after her death, remaining a constant in replication, whether to push many a product, personify Hollywood hierarchy or is emulated to imitation from fashion editorials to drag shows. We feel that with Marylin's image around --- if we can slip into it someway --- we're closer to the star spangled fantasy of fame. That if a simple girl named Norma Jean Mortensen could make it, we can too if we just pout our lips, thrust out our busts, and talk breathlessly. Still, nobody has come close to replicating her aura, try as many have. 

Her and James Dean share a similar mythos for their image and tragic short lives, and how they represented this sort of Americana image of youthful success and sexiness, and the tragic pitfalls of it. Unfortunately, Marylin being a woman is scrutinized to a greater degree than James Dean, whose rebellious persona is lauded as ideal masculinity, whilst Marylin is subjected to this "beautiful bimbo blonde" sex object stereotype. It's also why Marylin's misunderstandings are what intrigue me as well, considering how I had my own. 

Marylin was more than just beauty marks, diamonds, mental illness, and the Kennedys, and I wanted to know more beyond the superficial and speculative. I wanted someone to really show me a side to Marylin that I might have overlooked, and misogynistically misunderstood. 

Well, as with a legendary icon, there are lots of sides out there to explore. Zillions upon zillions of books about Marylin exist. Zillions upon zillions of stories, conspiracies and contradictions, observations and opinions about who and what she was also exist. It was difficult to weed through the inaccurate, exploitive, conspiracy riddled, fictitious, and outdated texts to find a book that eschewed such star biography hallmarks, but luckily for me, Charles Casillo's Marylin Monroe: The Private Life of a Public Icon won out as while being a fan, he doesn't stan to where he's skimping on facts and flaws. He offers several viewpoints, none not too flattering or too scathing, making for an informative balance. 

Casillo also avoids framing Marylin's life as "Wikipedia page as a book", where even as linear it is, it's a surprisingly fresh take at her life. The writing is also vibrant and lyrical, never tedious, this even when Casillo is attempting to "armchair analyze" Marylin's thought processes, and give through behind-the-scenes accounts of Marylin's filmography. He places you into the spin of 1950s and 1960s Hollywood and its politics, its dazzle and its difficulties, and how Marylin navigates it to success and tragedy...and it's pretty riveting, thought-provoking stuff. 

Catwalking With The Muses

Walking With The Muses is a literal escapade into the intoxicating swirl of the 1970s fashion world, as told by a true BAP (Black American Princess).

The title is perfect as supermodel Pat Cleveland truly walks (or more so) struts and twirls side-by-side with her "muses" which are a colorful cavalry of creatives from the 1960s and 1970s. Halston, Karl Lagerfeld, Andy Warhol, Antonio Lopez, Stephen Burrows, Yves Saint Laurent, Diana Vreeland (and an extremely weird) Guy Bourdin are all ruminated on, as are legends and icons like Marian Anderson, Nina Simone, Salvador Dali, Diana Ross, and Liza Minelli. Also a peppering of paramours such as Muhammad Ali, Mick Jagger, and Warren Beatty (who's kinda an ass) are kissed, and lead to some juicy tells. And to round out the glittering world of Pat Cleveland, along for the ride are a who's who of top models of the time like Donna Jordan, Sterling St. James, Naomi Sims, Marisa Berenson, Grace Jones and Jerry Hall.

Oh yeah, this book is deliciously gossipy and drops names like cookie dough batter on a baking tray, with Pat being that personable and glamorous griot, delivering a vibrant oral history that is nothing short of fun.

As a fan of this era, and the 1970s fashion culture in general, I was enthralled reading about Pat's adventures in couture paradise. From spiritual awakenings during her flower child days, sojourns in Europe and Africa, pre-gentrified New York City in all of its 1970s era grit and artistic gusto, near-death experiences (Pat clearly has nine lives...), to even an UFO sighting (!), Pat pours an effervescent cocktail of stories and keeps the libations flowing. Still her grandest adventure is being the daughter of artist Ladybird Cleveland, and their relationship, while marred by the exit of her musician father and Pat being passed off to some less than supportive relatives for a short spell, is a beautiful meditation on the mother-daughter bond, and the intimacy that it so entails.