Instead of getting into their limo, I said I’d follow in my own car. That would be better, because I’d be able to leave when i wanted to. “Okay see you!” Marilyn squealed, and the limo took off, leaving me behind to run as fast as I could to the parking lot.
They were not waiting for me, and the fact was that I didn’t know where Mullholland Drive Brando lived. By the time I reached my car, my energy was gone and i got upset with myself. I should have gotten into the limo, i was thinking.
- Photographer Lawrence Schiller on his missed opportunity of visiting Marlon Brando’s home with Wally Cox and Marilyn Monroe.
Marilyn Monroe’s Two Secrets-
What I learned about the icon by folding her capri pants.
“Upon her death, Marilyn’s personal effects had been boxed up and placed in storage, and there they had remained for 37 years. I was present in the Christie’s offices the day they were unpacked.
Unpacking Marilyn’s possessions was a surreal and extraordinary experience. I touched her Pucci blouses. I folded her black capri pants. I found myself holding crackly, dried-up old shopping bags—JAX of Beverly Hills—filled with stockings, slips, and brassieres. I touched hairbrushes with blonde hairs in them. I sniffed the Mexican wrap sweater she wore in the famous beach photo shoot, and detected a whiff of perfume.
The process of cataloguing and displaying Marilyn’s bits took months. During this time I learned some crazily illuminating stuff about the breathy blond bombshell. Brace yourself for some next-level revelations.
Right away, I discovered that Marilyn was shockingly and unimaginably slender. She was sort of like Kate Moss but fleshier on top. Didn’t see that coming, did you?
When it came to finding mannequins to fit her dresses, I simply couldn’t. M.M.’s drag was too small for the average window dummy. Smaller “petite” mannequins existed, but I could not bring myself to place Marilyn’s iconic garments on these perky fiberglass dollies. The frocks seemed too important and historic. For the public installation I decided to give them the Shroud of Turin treatment.
I laid the dresses in rows on top of angled panels—sort of like bodies after a plane crash—and accompanied them with a photo of M.M. herself in each frock. It worked. There was the black strappy gown she wore in Korea. And there, in the adjacent photo, was M.M. strutting about in front of the troops.
The only exception was the sparkly Jean Louis number Marilyn wore for the Kennedy happy-birthday chanson. For this dress, a custom Lucite mannequin was made.”
“And for my second Marilyn bet-you-didn’t-see-that-coming revelation …
Marilyn Monroe was a huge movie star, but she owned diddly-squat. She was not materialistic!
Marilyn’s estate was a bunch of poignant schlock. The auction raised more than $13 million, but not because of any intrinsic value in the numbered lots. There were no Renoirs or Picassos. Her knickknacks were pedestrian. Her cookware was greasy. Her spatulas were bent. Even her Golden Globe was broken.
The majority of her clothing showed surprising wear and tear. She had worn it all repeatedly and there just wasn’t that much of it.
Her jewelry? With the exception of her DiMaggio wedding ring it was a bunch of paste danglers and costume crap.
Shoes? Yes, there were several pairs of black suede Ferragamo stilettos with worn heels. But Marilyn—brace yourself for another shocker—was more into books than shoes. Her poignant desire to cultivate her mind and give herself an education resulted in an extensive library of first editions. Take that, Carrie Bradshaw!
This stunning lack of materialism made me love and respect her more. What do you need in life other than a good book, a few capri pants, and a cotton sundress or two?
Yes, there were a few fur coats. But compared to the gimme-gimme-gimme stars of today whose hangar-size closets are bursting with freebies, she was a total bread-and-water-eating, hair-shirt-wearing, self-denying nun.”
i love photos of vintage actresses, because there’s no image correction.
You look at a photo of Marilyn Monroe, and you see the awkward shadow of armpit fat, the broad expanse of her upper arm at an odd angle, the bumpiness of her thighs. You’d never see that in today’s photos - it’d all be smoothed away, clinical and perfect.
But Marylin has armpit fat. She has full arms and fuller thighs. She has bits of muffin top, a crease in her elbow, her breast actually sag under gravity.
And you think, that’s beautiful. The smoothlessness of reality is beautiful. She’s beautiful.