Audrey Hepburn or Holly Golightly walked down 5th avenue in a black dress. Coffee and pastry in hand. Breakfast At Tiffany’s. I was 14.
I didn’t love Audrey until the scene when she’s in her pink party dress. She’s laughing and flirting with her date, a handsome Brazilian. She’s wearing a tiara. She is a princess. But–then she gets the news (I won’t spoil the movie) and she is so distraught.
She starts tearing up her room, throwing things, her pillows rip and feathers come flying out. All the while, the Brazilian is scared so he calls her best friend Fred. Fred comes in and sees her–this broken, sobbing mess. This beautiful pink dressed girl in torment. He helps her settle down, and then leaves her on her bed, sobbing.
I don’t know how to explain it.
I felt like that sometimes. Distraught and lost, like I wanted to tear up my room. I wanted to cry. She calls them, ‘the mean reds.’
A lot of girls love Audrey for her sense of fashion. For her one liners. For her romantic ways. But–I love her because I feel a connection every time I watch her movies.
In fact, one of the things I do when angry or sad, is turn on her movies. It’s as if she tells me everything will be fine, if I just keep going. Her movies have devastating endings and happy endings–just like life.
She put her soul into every single one of her characters.
She reminds me of myself. Crazy. Happy. Yet also sad.
That is why I love her.