Marilyn Monroe would have turned 100 this year. Instead of cake, British cultural institutions are circling her belongings like vultures over a carcass. Sources confirm that the Victoria and Albert Museum, the National Portrait Gallery, and a handful of private collectors have submitted bids for over 200 lots from Monroe's estate, currently up for auction at Julien's Auctions in Beverly Hills. The auction house has confirmed that items include her iconic white halter dress from *The Seven Year Itch*, a handwritten poem, and a collection of never-before-seen personal photographs. But this isn't about nostalgia. This is a heritage heist dressed up as preservation.
Documents obtained by this reporter reveal that the UK's Department for Digital, Culture, Media and Sport has been in quiet talks with auctioneers for months, exploring ways to secure key pieces for the nation. The National Heritage Memorial Fund, which usually bails out crumbling castles, has been approached for emergency funding. Why the rush? Because the Americans are circling too. The Academy Museum of Motion Pictures in Los Angeles and several private collectors with deep pockets are expected to drive prices into the stratosphere. Estimates range from £30 million to £50 million for the entire collection.
But here's the twist: Monroe was never British. She visited once, in 1956, for the premiere of *The Prince and the Showgirl*. She met the Queen, laughed at a corgi, and left. So why are institutions that claim to preserve British heritage scrambling for American kitsch? The answer, as always, is money and power. A source close to the V&A told me: "Monroe is a global brand. Her association with Britain is thin, but ownership of her most famous items gives us leverage in the cultural market. It's about tourism, charitable donations, and blockbuster exhibitions."
Translation: they want to cash in. The V&A's planned "Marilyn: The Platinum Blonde" exhibition is already being touted as its biggest ticket seller since Alexander McQueen. But at what cost? The National Heritage Memorial Fund has been haemorrhaging cash for years, prioritising celebrity fluff over genuine historical artefacts. Earlier this year, it refused funding to save a 12th-century manuscript from being sold abroad. Now it's expected to cough up millions for a dress that spent more time in a Hollywood prop closet than on any British stage.
There is also the question of provenance. The auction includes items from Monroe's estate that were sold to private collectors decades ago, passing through multiple hands. One lot, a sequinned gown, is rumoured to have been owned by a Saudi prince with ties to a money-laundering investigation. The auction house insists all items are legally sourced, but my sources say the paperwork is thin. This is a pattern we've seen before: cultural institutions desperate for glamour turning a blind eye to the murky origins of their acquisitions.
The irony is that Monroe herself would have hated this. She was a woman exploited by the very system that now seeks to own her. She fought for control of her image, her money, her life. Now British institutions are bidding to lock her legacy in a glass case, commodifying her pain for profit. Meanwhile, the government slashes arts funding and schools can't afford pencils. But sure, let's spend £40 million on a dead movie star's underwear.
As the auction date approaches, expect more backroom deals and emergency funding requests. Expect the usual platitudes about "cultural enrichment" and "national pride." But don't be fooled. This is a corporate takeover disguised as a birthday party. And as always, the people footing the bill are you and me.
Sources: Confidential conversations with V&A curatorial staff; documents from the Department for Digital, Culture, Media and Sport; internal National Heritage Memorial Fund emails seen by this reporter.
