Why We Still Whisper Her Name: A Letter to Marilyn Monroe

 

Why We Still Whisper Her Name: A Letter to Marilyn Monroe

Dear Marilyn

You don’t know me. And I’ve never met you—not even in the faint, far-away way people feel they “meet” someone through a screen. I was born decades after you were gone.

But I still hear your name. I still see your face—on tote bags, TikToks, candle-lit murals. And I wonder, often: why do we still whisper your name like a prayer no one dares to speak too loudly?

What is it about you that never left?

You weren’t the myth we made of you. You were softer than that.

We tell stories about your lips, your laugh, that white dress. But rarely do we speak about how you trembled before each scene. How you wrote in journals—long, aching thoughts that never made it into the headlines.

You weren’t a storm. You were the air before it—quiet, charged, waiting.

People called you dumb. But your notes spoke of Freud, Rilke, and loneliness like it was an old friend.

You were never dumb. You were overwhelmed. You were tired. You were trying.

We still see ourselves in your contradictions.

You were worshipped and ignored. Powerful and fragile. Famous and misunderstood. Isn’t that what so many women still fight?

Even now, influencers preach confidence while battling burnout. We all want to be seen, but not devoured.

Maybe that’s why your story still echoes. You weren’t just famous—you were familiar. You were all the things we still haven’t figured out how to be.

You made mistakes. And somehow, that made you immortal.

The world wants its stars to shine cleanly. But you shimmered unevenly—and maybe that’s what felt honest.

You were late to sets. You cried in dressing rooms. You broke hearts, including your own.

You kept going.

You fought for better roles. You started your own company. You demanded to be taken seriously in a system that wanted you silent.

And now, every time someone breaks a mold, your shadow is behind them—quiet, watching.

They still don’t know where to place you.

Was Marilyn a tragedy? A cautionary tale? A feminist before the word felt safe to say?

Maybe you were all of that—and none of it. Maybe you weren’t trying to be a symbol. You were just trying to be seen.

You still are.

And here’s the strangest part: you’re more real now than ever.

Not in glossy photos, but in grainy footage. In handwritten notes. In recordings of your voice where you sound unsure, a little sad, almost too human for Hollywood.

We crave that now. In a world of AI models and perfect filters, we long for something flawed. Something tender.

That’s you.

So yes, Marilyn—

We still whisper your name. Not because you were perfect, but because you weren’t.

Because you remind us that being seen and being loved aren’t the same.

Because somewhere inside all of us, there’s a Norma Jeane—still dreaming, still doubting, still waiting to be known.

Sincerely,

One of the many who still sees you

Legacy of Marilyn Monroe

Marilyn Monroe and modern societyFeminist icons in historyMental health and fame