Mature Woman in Green Dress Being Auction for Sex
T he famous Jean Louis dress that Marilyn Monroe wore to sing "Happy birthday, Mr President" to John F Kennedy at New York's Madison Square Garden has been sold for $4.8m at auction in Los Angeles. The dress was bought by the museum chain Ripley's Believe It or Not and surpasses the last most expensive dress sold at auction – Monroe's white costume from The Seven Year Itch ($4.6m).
So, more than half a century after she died (mere weeks after JFK's birthday), the Monroe death industry keeps turning (and collecting money), though this truly is a fabulous dress that led to an unforgettable image – Monroe, shimmering in the spotlight, singing to her married lover. The woman, the man, the dress, the moment, the approaching shadows mistaken for ordinary darkness – a scene that is universally recognised and viewed as representative of a bygone 1960s era. Rightly so, but for women, maybe the dress represents more than just a high-end piece of pop culture.
Here's the thing – I hate that creepy dress and what it symbolises. At least the white dress from The Seven Year Itch was naughty – sure, it sexualised Monroe as it famously blew up from the wind in the subway grate, but there was mischief in that image, an energy and insolence.
The sparkly gown has none of this brio. Monroe could barely walk in it – it was so tight she had to be sewn into it. Combined with the shoes, she was forced painfully on to her tippy-toes. (Never trust clothes designed to restrict your chances of escaping.) Then there's the flesh-coloured fabric, which, when the lights shone on it, made Marilyn seem quasi-nude. That's nice for a reportedly shy, fragile woman – appearing to stand naked on stage in front of thousands of strangers.
That's just what's there. What's missing is worse, namely, any sense of Marilyn's own agency. This doesn't come across as her own cute idea – there's the sense of a valuable doll being positioned by powerful men, who just want her to tell the world about another powerful man. They pull the cord on her back and make her do "her thing". They don't go so far as to make her jump out of a cake, smeared with buttercream, but they might as well have done. When Monroe opens her mouth to sing, it's in her signature breathless little-girl voice that says in an unspoken way: "Please don't hurt me, but I know you will", and the crowd go wild.
This is what I see when I watch that 1962 footage. A bundle of shivering nerve endings in human form – almost too painful to behold. The exploitation of a hyper-vulnerable woman with crippling mental health problems by the rich and powerful, who, according to Monroe, passed her around "like meat". The realisation that even one of the most celebrated women in the world could not protect herself. The sickening lack of surprise that Monroe was dead so soon afterwards.
There's also a sense that this wasn't just "the times". Still today, there are echoes and lessons for women in the fate of Marilyn Monroe. She is still held up as some aspirational manifestation of womanly appeal, in a way that goes beyond her physical beauty, and even her vulnerability, into the realms of an almost childlike helplessness. Perhaps it's this very belief – that a "real" woman must be vulnerable in some way – that at least contributed to someone such as Hillary Clinton not winning the presidency. Too bossy, too strident, too powerful – and too unapologetic about the first three.
Certainly, had Clinton become president it would have been unthinkable to see Bill, or any other man, singing happy birthday to her in such a meek, subservient, "begging" kind of way. Perhaps therein lies not only the problem, but also the problem that's never gone away.
Let's hear it for our heroes in ermine
While plans for reform have been shelved, the House of Lords could still be threatened with having some powers taken away if it insists on carrying on rebelling against the government, blocking proposals and making moves against Brexit.
The last two Tory administrations have been finding the Lords (including, of course, the Ladies) very irritating. Which directly contradicts my view, which is that, suddenly, in a shock turnaround, the House of Lords is a revelation.
In fact, I almost feel as though I owe the place an apology. All this time, I've been thinking that peers are just a bunch of over-entitled horrors, sitting around, stinking of cognac and cigars, waffling about passing the port and grouse shooting or some other outdated nonsense. I've pictured them clutching their pathetic status – inherited, bought or grovelled for? – close to them like so much soulless stained ermine. And I'm sure that still holds true in many cases.
However, then there's the other frisky side to their lordships. Quite a few of them, particularly among the Liberal Democrat and Labour peers, are turning out to be a fairly lively and useful bunch, refusing to approve vile legislation, standing up to pressure, and, where Brexit is concerned, let's be frank, doing the opposition's job for them.
Of course, there are the trifling matters of feudalism, cronyism, ingrained privilege and so on. In many ways, it still seems equal parts amusing, surreal and enraging that such an institution exists. However, right now, there's much to be grateful for. Certainly, it's been an eye-opener for people like me who previously may not have thought much about the Lords except to brand it elitist and redundant. Elitist it may be. Redundant – perhaps not so much.
Sex and laundry? She should get a badge for that
Former Blue Peter presenter Janet Ellis has been shortlisted for the Literary Review's 2016 bad sex in fiction award for her novel, The Butcher's Hook.
She is facing stiff (I do apologise) competition from the likes of Tom Connolly for Men Like Air ("He watched her passport rise gradually out of the back pocket of her jeans in time with the rhythmic bobbing") and Robert Seethaler for The Tobacconist ("He closed his eyes and heard himself make a gurgling sound"). But Ellis's is the best ("I am pinned like wet washing by his peg"). Erotica via the medium of laundry – where has this been all my life?
It is reported that Ellis is delighted by the nomination, which would seem to be the whole point of the award. The objective, of course, is to smoke out those who would take deep umbrage at mockery, while celebrating the good sports.
If I were Ellis, I'd go along to the award ceremony with a basketful of clothes pegs and a jumbo bottle of Febreze. After all, this isn't just an award about bad sex writing, it's a very British one for Good Sense of Humour and who wouldn't want to win that?
Source: https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2016/nov/20/marilyn-monroe-dress-happy-birthday-mr-president
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