more.than.just.a.pretty.face

"I'm trying to find myself as a person, sometime's that's not easy to do. Millions of people live their entire lives without finding themselves. But it is something I must do" - Marilyn Monroe

Some people may look at the life and legacy of Marilyn Monroe, one of my favorite women in history, and think 'sex icon', or that she was too controversial to be a role-model, or she was responsible for the doom of the perfect American political family. To myself, she is someone who shaped history. She allowed us to be 'wild at heart'. She was a 'black sheep' in a white dress; and she was good at making trouble.

Marilyn Monroe was more than a pin-up, flirt, and blonde bombshell. She lived her life in search of finding herself. Born with the name Norma Jeane Mortenson, she was baptized with the name Norma Jeane Baker, and when America fell in love with her as an actress, her name was Marilyn Monore. To girls like me who still admire her legacy, decades after her 1962 death, she is simply 'Marilyn'.

She was American. She was divine. Her pin-ups were all over Army, Marine, and Air Force bases during the second World War. She was beautiful; round; real.

As a model, people couldn't get enough of her. People wanted more, and this hunger for more of this scandalous and sexy star propelled her acting career. She taught us 'How to Marry a Millionaire' and that 'Some Like it Hot'. Her popularity is one that is hard to match. Her glamour is timeless.

Most people know that my favorite cultural decade in American history is the bohemian, hippie culture. The free-spirited, wandering, experimental, and ruthless women who changed women across the nation from 'idealist' to to 'realist'. Where did this fear-less attitude come from? Sure, marijuana-filled joints and the infamous Acid Kool-Aid Tests. But, not all bohemians, feminist, and realist were part of the drug induced crowd. Some were mothers, some were Preacher's daughters, and some were sister's, girlfriends, and wives of a man in Army green. My respect for Marilyn Monroe is born amidst the recognition that she changed the face of the ideal American woman. Marilyn taught us that a woman in the 1950's didn't have to adorn aprons and 'ooh and ahh' over microwaves, Chevrolets, and 'Honey, I'm home' type husbands. She showed the nation and the world that a 1950's woman could bare her skin and that people could 'ooh and ahh' over her beauty or gasp at their own jealousy of such a trend-setter. She curled her hair, painted her lips, took risks in her fashion, and although she gave birth to the 'dumb blonde' persona, she was a genius in the mind of girls who were born to stand out. She set an example for all the women who wanted to be different, always looking for that 'Marilyn' attitude in order to not blend with the crowd.

But do most people know the story of such a timeless icon? She was more than just a pretty face, like most glamorous people are. She was a foster child; her mother being too mentally unstable to care for her. She was passed around from one family friend to the next, never really knowing who she was or given a chance to foresee what might she be like when she grew up. At age 16, she was to marry a man in order to avoid another foster family or orphanage.

The nation wept at the thought of Michael Jackson being robbed of a childhood. "That's what made him so damn weird," some would say. Just like we've witnessed with the recent loss of pop music's "King", Marilyn's post-humous reputation would be loved and admired or hated and wanted to be forgotten. However, you can't just forget a woman like Marilyn. She wasn't the Audrey Hepburn or Jackie O type. She was the mistress, not the wife. She was the pin-up, not the Sunday School teacher. Simply, Marilyn, was who she was.

Norma Jeane was a wife before some of us could master the skill of driving our first car. Yet she used her past to create her future, in which she wasn't weird or creepy, she was beautifully artistic and deviously loved.

She taught us that 'Gentlemen Prefer Blondes' and lived like a real-life Barbie. Her rendition of 'Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend' was associated with her. She married, separated, and divorced Joe DiMaggio then showed us all 'How To Be Very, Very Popular'.

Marilyn Monroe was what Elton John refers to as 'A Candle In The Wind' and the only other rendition to this song was an exchange in the lyrics appropriate for the death and funeral of Princess Diana. Marilyn was royalty in lingerie. She was a life in the spotlight. She herself changed the tune of the widely known 'Happy Birthday' song that every three-year old to 90 year-old knows by heart. We know when to sing it in normal tune, and how to sing it when a tool for seduction. She could make the President blush; she could make a white halter-top dress a must-have for four decades of young women; and she made wind blowing your hair and skirt up sexy rather than embarrassing.

She is more than just a sex icon, let me remind you. Sure, she could make a grown man's jaw drop or be responsible for a twelve-year old's first experience of puberty. But she is an Oscar and Golden Globe winner. She is a comparison for the other blondes who follow. And, she is inspiration for the women like me in search of themselves.

She is Los Angeles. Born in LA, died in LA. She set the mold for the California-girl. Her life can be told in the historic theatres that are still used in the West coast's favorite city.

Her ashes are laid to rest in The Corridor of Memories in Westwood Village Memorial Park Cemetary and the corridor to her left is owned by Hugh Hefner, where he will be laid to rest when the life of another sex icon, genius, and scandalous figure comes to an end. Talk about appropriate.

A woman who shaped history, defined beauty, and lives on nearly fifty years after her 'death by conspiracy'. She reminds me each time I read one of her flirtacious and ruthless quotes or see one of her iconic images that it's okay to not know who you are. If you were one of those girls who never settles for anything less than exciting or can't put a "type" to your look, personality, or attitude, then you're not a failure. She was a success. She made housewives envious. She was the lady in red, not the girl next door. She constantly changed her mind or made a frenzy wherever she went.

She was Norma Jeane to the traditional girl, but Marilyn Monroe - glitz and glam, sugar and spice - to the innovative girl that believes in finding yourself but having fun while you do it.

As I venture out into the wide-unknown each day, I take a little bit of the women who shaped history for me. The ones I know, the ones I only know of reading about. I know I haven't 'found myself' but I'll be damned if I'm one of the millions who never do. So, in my opinion, learning a few lessons from the words a girl like Marilyn left behind, I do believe I'll find myself one day - and I'll give credit to the people who helped.

"I don't want to make money, I just want to be wonderful."

"I don't mind living in a man's world, as long as I can be a woman in it."

"If I'd observed all the rules, I'd never gotten anywhere."

"I am trying to prove to myself that I am a person."

"It's better to be happy alone than unhappy with someone."

"It's better for the whole world to know you, even as a sex star, than to never be known at all."

"If you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best."

Red Lipstick

Just the other day, my mother made a comment to me about her feelings of disappointment upon looking at my “List of Things I Love” that is posted on my personal blog-site. Two words were missing, “Red Lipstick”. I made a mental note to myself to add it to the list the next time I wrote a blog and then went about my normal day in my beloved college town.

It wasn’t even two hours later that a former sorority sister made the comment that something about me was different. In my head I thought, she must notice my recent weight loss or my new highlights in my hair. The dear, bubbly Tri-Delta sister shocked me with the eerily similar comment I had just talked with Mother about earlier.

“You haven’t been wearing your red lipstick! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without some shade of red lipstick on! That’s like your thing!” she said.

For twenty-two years I’ve heard that I was ‘my mother’s clone’. No matter if I was in a bikini in Myrtle Beach, a prom dress in my small, Florida home-town, or at a college cocktail party in Alabama, pictures proved this to be true – I looked a lot like that woman.

It didn’t take me long to figure out that this similar ‘look’ that my mother and I shared might have something to do with our full and painted lips. Not all of it had to do with our love for shades of crimson, red, and coral to outline our smiles. We both have that bold, ‘maybe she’s born with it’, brown-eyed girl, type of attitude that goes hand in hand with the devil-red pout.

This new kind of ‘Southern Girl’ that my mother and I depict is that of Scarlett O’hara, and even when red lips weren’t on the covers of Cosmopolitan, Vogue, and Glamour magazine we wore it and frankly, my dear, we didn’t give a damn.

My blog is titled “The Other Sister” for no other reason than the undeniable fact that I am my sister’s opposite. However, like all girls who were raised south of the Mason-Dixon Line, we shared memories far more intimate than of you and your best friend. From barefoot children catching fire-flies in the Carolinas, to holding one another’s hand in The First Baptist Church’s baptismal pool, and fighting like the devil to be the strong one so the other could have a couple of minutes to cry when we waited for Daddy’s test results at the cancer center in Houston, we taught each other about life, love, and friendship in the way only sisters can do.

Just keep in mind she doesn’t own a single tube of red lipstick. We’re close; but still opposite.

Starting in my early toddler years, my mother had to hide her lipsticks from me because I would take it upon myself to exhibit my sneakiness and get into a mess of fire-engine red and deep crimson smears all over my hand-smocked dresses and then-innocent little face. I couldn’t wait until I was allowed to wear lipstick, seriously, to sport my inner-attitude rather than as a play prop for playing dress-up or when I was on stage for a dance recital. Once adolescence hit and my mother gave me the ‘go’ for permission to make myself up on my own – it was game over: Operation Red Lipstick was on.

My sister, as everyone speculated from the start and now knows for a fact, is my opposite. So, the majority of our petty arguments during those teenage years were about me ‘bossing her around’ to put some color on those bare lips or ‘her not trusting me’ that I knew what I was talking about.

Countless times I can remember rushing out the door and into the car to church when Mom, in the backseat, yells “Darling, let me have some of that lipstick you have on!” Like a routine, my sister and I would dig in my duffel-size purse (just like my mothers, of course) to each pull out a handful of lipsticks of all shapes, sizes, and colors. We’d knowingly hand her the ‘red-est’ shade, she’d slap some on and then demand that my sister do the same. (I had already spent most the morning perfecting my Sunday appropriate shade of red to match whatever sundress I was wearing). My sister’s refusal to do so was like a broken record. This was a regular for us; a petty conversation between mother and daughters that happened over and over again – a Sunday morning ritual almost as routine as singing ‘Amazing Grace’ and long naps after lunch.

Maybe a little bit about the person we really are can be described in the color we prefer on our lips. My sister, content with a tube of chap-stick or a neutral colored gloss, is just that. If her lips are chapped, well, she’d put chaptick on. If there’s a big enough reason for anything else, a little gloss will do. She is beautifully plain-Jane. She’s a hint of bronzer, a touch of mascara, and one of those naturally pretty girls. She’s subtle, patient, compassionate, quiet, and no need for any added bedazzling. If she were a dress then she would be comfortable, linen, flowing in a summer breeze, and looking best when paired with husband and barefoot kids on a Carolina shore. If she were a drink, she’d be hand-squeezed lemonade or sweet tea from a Mason jar in the summer or a comforting cup of hot-chocolate in the winter. If she were anything other than hospitable, easy-going, and laid-back, then she wouldn’t be my sister.

I, on the other hand, complete my pouty-lipped look with lip liner, lipstick (crème, matte, glossy, always red) and a lip-plumper on top to keep them guessing if I’ve had them painfully stuck with a needle or if twenty-two years of playing with every lipstick from the drugstore to Bloomingdales has made me quite the expert. I’m the bronzing, rouge-wearing, curl my lashes before my two types of mascara go on, colored eye-liner type. There’s the day-time me, and the night-time me. Every picture I’m in I look strangely different – always portraying the mood I’m in at the time. If I were a dress, it’d be red or black, satin, horribly uncomfortable, but too stubborn to admit it. I’d have to be altered, taken in, seams realigned – always picky, never perfect, and hardly content. If I were a drink I’d be a martini with the flavor depending on my attitude or mood. As my sister would be the Charleston type, I’d be the New Orleans, Dallas, or Atlanta type. Somewhere hot-tempered and spicy, with enough to do to avoid the slightest feeling of boredom. If I were anything other than complicated, hard to please, and constantly changing my mind, I wouldn’t be me.

I guess just like the red lipstick I carry with me, is the bold, brutally honest, ‘hey there, look at me!’ attitude I’ve carried with me my whole life.

Some days I wake up and am jealous of the girl who doesn’t need it. Then, with the blot of a handkerchief before walking out the door in my red lipstick, I remember just how fun it is to make a mess with make-up. I smile giving a silent ‘Thank Ya!’ to the bold, Southern woman that raised me; and with a tube of lipstick prove that growing up doesn’t change everything…

Some things you are just born with!