Another Random Day in the Life of a Marilyn-Obsessed Girl

Filed under Life & Legacy • Behind the Scenes

Alright, so listen. It’s 8:27 AM and I’m standing in front of the mirror with half an eyeliner wing done, holding a coffee mug that says “Some Like It Hot.” My hair’s doing something weird. My cat’s staring like I’ve lost my mind again. I sigh. Out loud. Dramatically. “It’s another Marilyn day, isn’t it?”

I say that like it’s unusual. It’s not. This is like the fourth Marilyn-themed day this week. I swear I don’t plan them. They just... happen.

Step One: Existential Crisis and Red Lipstick

By 9 AM, I’ve convinced myself today is the day I will finally master that red lip Marilyn wore in Niagara (). I pull out three shades, draw five uneven lines, wipe everything off with a makeup wipe that burns slightly, and end up using my fingers like a savage. It sort of works. In a "don't look too closely" way.

Meanwhile, I'm watching a YouTube breakdown of her scene from Bus Stop, and some film critic says: "She wasn't playing dumb. She was playing a girl who learned that being soft gets you noticed." And my brain just goes: 🧠💥.

So naturally, I spiral. “Have I been soft enough lately? Or too soft?” I text my ex. He leaves me on read. I throw on sunglasses and pretend I'm walking down Fifth Avenue in 1955.

Step Two: Thrift Store Therapy (Again)

It’s 11:30 AM and I’m at the local vintage shop—again. The girl at the counter doesn’t even ask if I need help anymore. I head straight to the silk scarves. Marilyn had a scarf thing. She wore them like mystery and glamour wrapped in fabric.

I find this pale peach one that smells faintly of rose perfume and old hope. I don’t even check the price. Into my bag it goes. I'm in too deep now. I try on a white halter dress that doesn’t zip. I laugh in the fitting room, stuck halfway through, arms up like I’m surrendering to the fabric gods.

I buy earrings shaped like lips. "They remind me of her smile," I tell the cashier. She nods like I say that kind of thing a lot. (I do.)

Step Three: Coffee Shop Breakdown

By 1:00 PM, I’m back at my usual café. There’s lipstick on my mask. My eyeliner’s migrated to my cheekbone. I order something fancy with oat milk and sit in the corner where the lighting feels dramatic and introspective. I pull out my journal and write in all caps: "WHY DO I RELATE TO A WOMAN BORN IN 1926??"

Then I write this line: "Because she was soft, but she wasn’t weak."

Someone walks in wearing Chanel No. 5 and I nearly cry. Not because it’s sad. Just because it smells like her and I’m tired and caffeinated and everything is a little too much today.

Step Four: Internal Monologue, Like a 50s Film Noir

I walk home narrating my life like I’m in a black-and-white movie: “She was just another girl with a scarf, a secret, and smeared lipstick. But she had fire in her soul. And a bag full of vintage earrings.”

A guy on a scooter honks at me. I flip him off in slow motion and mutter, “Gentlemen do NOT prefer rude.” I crack myself up. A true icon-in-the-making moment.

Step Five: Deep Dive at 4:00 PM

I get home and fall into a Classic Movie Hub rabbit hole. I find a quote from Arthur Miller: “She had the instinct of the poet and the resilience of the boxer.”

God, she was everything. But also just… someone trying. Trying to be loved. To be understood. To belong. Just like me. I feel like I need to hug the ghost of her or send her a meme. (Neither is possible. Both feel necessary.)

Step Six: Movie and Meltdown

By 6 PM I’m curled up on the couch watching *The Misfits*. I swear, every time I see that last scene, I lose it. She looks so real. So done. But still glowing. Like she was held together by hope and mascara.

I text my best friend: “I think I need to write a book about this.” She replies: “You say that every week.” “Yeah but this time I mean it.” “That’s also what you said last week.” Touché.

Step Seven: Midnight Nostalgia + Blog Drafts

It's midnight. I'm writing this on my laptop surrounded by lipstick swatches, coffee mugs, and the scarf I didn't take off. There’s a Marilyn poster above me, and I swear she’s smirking. Like she knows. Like she gets it. Like she’s proud of the chaos.

Before I sleep, I open Life & Legacy on the site and reread the post about her handwritten letters. I also link to the Behind the Scenes page where we talk about her acting methods.

✨ If you ever wonder what it’s like to be a little obsessed with someone who died decades before you were born—don’t. It’s messy, emotional, hilarious. And kind of magical.

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