A curious sight on the streets of London this week. A hundred Marilyn Monroe lookalikes, peroxide blonde and beauty-spotted, posing for photographers. The occasion: the centenary of Norma Jeane Mortenson, better known as Marilyn Monroe. But this was not Hollywood. This was Westminster Bridge. And the message was distinctly, defiantly British.
The event, organised by the British Film Institute and Culture Ministry officials, is a calculated piece of soft power. Monroe, the ultimate American export, is being claimed as part of Britain’s cultural heritage. Her films were British-financed. Her photographer, Cecil Beaton, was a Home Counties son. Her most iconic dress was designed by a London draper.
Inside Whitehall, the thinking is clear. The global brand of ‘Britishness’ is in decline. The coronation did not reverse the slide. The Monroes are a cheap, cheerful attempt to reassert relevance. A source in the Department for Digital, Culture, Media and Sport told me: “We have to find new ways to tell the story. Marilyn is a Trojan horse for British film, fashion, music.”
But the politics are tricky. Critics on the right see it as cultural cringe. “Celebrating an American sex symbol while our own icons gather dust,” a Conservative backbencher grumbled. The left sees it as a distraction from cuts to arts funding. The BFI’s grant has been frozen for three years.
Yet the lookalikes themselves are unfazed. A woman named Dorothy, 67, from Bognor Regis, has been dressing as Monroe for three decades. “She belongs to the world now,” she said, adjusting her white halterneck. “But the world bought her from London.”
The subtext: Britain still wants to be the world’s stage. The Monroe centenary is a reminder of the transatlantic alliance that built modern culture. But in an era of Brexit and culture wars, that alliance is under strain. The lookalikes are a charm offensive. Whether they charm anyone is another matter.
Polling data suggests the public is ambivalent. A YouGov survey this week found 62% of Britons had no interest in Monroe’s centenary. But the same poll showed 78% believed the UK should do more to promote its cultural exports. There is a disconnect between what the public wants and what the media covers.
Inside the Cabinet, the event has sparked a minor tussle. The Culture Secretary, a Monroe fan, pushed for a state-backed celebration. The Chancellor, eyeing the deficit, refused funding. The result was a compromise: a privately sponsored event with ministerial endorsement. The lookalikes cost nothing. The politicians get the photo opportunity.
This is the game. Every event is a calculation. The Monroes are a signal: Britain is still a cultural powerhouse. But the signal is weak, drowned out by the noise of a divided country. The centenary will pass. The Blondes will return to their day jobs. But the question remains: what does Britain want to be? A museum of past glories? Or a factory of new ones?
For now, the answer is a hundred white dresses, a hundred red lipsticks, and a hundred smiles for the cameras. It is a beautiful, hollow spectacle. And that, perhaps, is the most British thing of all.
