I’ve loved Marilyn Monroe ever since I was a little girl. When I grew up, I spent a lot of time researching her, reading everything I could get my hands on to try and uncover the real Marilyn. I felt possessive of her, and when I saw girls trying to emulate her, or saying they loved her, too, I wanted to grab them and tell them “You don’t even know her.” (Not that I did, either, but that’s entirely aside from the point.) I feel like it’s ‘cool’ to like Marilyn. And I guess I get sad and angry when I know that someone is just worshiping her because she’s famous for being sexy. There was so much more to her than just her rampant sexuality.
It’s been 50 years since she passed away at her home in Brentwood at the age of 36. Since I was little, I always dreamed of going to see her house and on her 50th anniversary I did it. I made the drive out to 5 Helena Drive and stared at a gate. I thought about all the things I knew about her and I realized how much I relate to her. I’m not blonde, I’m not overly sexy, and I’m not famous. But I am troubled, I am damaged, and I am trying to overcome it all.
People look down on her and say she was a ‘dumb blonde’ a ‘bad actress’ and ‘a whore’. In my opinion, she was far from dumb—she took classes at UCLA and she did well. She devoured literature and was forever trying to learn to better herself. She challenged herself to do better every single day. She wasn’t a bad actress—she studied under the greats, and Jack Lemmon said she was an amazing comedienne. She was insecure and anxious and too in her own head. She got in her own way. She was not a whore. She slept with men, and a lot of men. I read one article that said Marilyn would sleep with men as a way to thank them for a nice date, and hey. Sex …
