A procession of blonde lookalikes in white dresses wound through the streets of Los Angeles on Tuesday to mark the 100th anniversary of Marilyn Monroe's birth. But across the Atlantic, a cohort of British cultural historians has used the moment to challenge the enduring romanticisation of the screen icon, arguing that her legacy is freighted with contradictions that have been smoothed over by decades of merchandising and selective memory.
The centenary events, centred on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and the forecourt of Grauman's Chinese Theatre, drew thousands of fans. Among them was a phalanx of impersonators, many in the signature halter neck from "The Seven Year Itch", posing for photographs beside the star bearing Monroe's name. The atmosphere was festive, curated, and conspicuously commercial.
Yet the academic reassessment unfolding in British universities offers a more austere portrait. Dr. Eleanor Fawcett of the University of Cambridge, whose recent monograph on mid-century celebrity notes that Monroe's status as a feminist icon sits uneasily alongside the systemic exploitation she endured at the hands of the studio system and powerful men. "She was a victim of the very apparatus that made her a star," Fawcett said. "To celebrate her without acknowledging that is to sanitise a deeply troubling narrative."
Professor James Hartley of King's College London argues that Monroe's image has been weaponised by successive cultural movements. "She has been claimed by progressives as a free spirit and by conservatives as an ideal of femininity," he said. "Neither captures the complexity of a woman who was both complicit in and crushed by her own mythology."
These critiques echo a broader institutional unease with the uncritical veneration of historical figures whose lives were marked by trauma. Monroe died at 36 from a barbiturate overdose, a death officially classified as probable suicide. Her struggles with mental health, addiction, and her treatment by male directors and executives have become a focal point for scholars intent on more honest historical appraisal.
Nonetheless, the popular memory of Monroe remains remarkably resilient. In London, the National Portrait Gallery reported a 40 per cent increase in attendance for its small photography exhibition dedicated to the star. The curators have included lesser-known images that show Monroe reading, off-camera, and visibly tired. The exhibition's caption notes that she "was often more intelligent than the roles she was given."
At the Los Angeles centenary, the emphasis was on celebration. The estate of Marilyn Monroe has partnered with a cosmetics brand to release a limited-edition fragrance called "Norma Jean" (her birth name), and a digitally remastered version of "Some Like It Hot" is being screened in select cinemas.
The tension between these two threads of commemoration surfaced at a panel discussion held at the University of Southern California. British historian Dr. Alice Thorpe argued that Monroe's legacy is not fixed but contested. "She is a Rorschach blot for American culture," Thorpe said. "What we see in her says more about us than about her."
On the streets of Los Angeles, the lookalikes held their poses as crowds snapped photographs. One impersonator, asked for her thoughts on the academic critiques, laughed. "I'm here to make people smile," she said. "That's what she would have wanted." The comment drew applause. The historians remained unconvinced.
As the centenary proceeds, the chasm between popular adoration and scholarly scrutiny shows no sign of narrowing. Monroe remains an asset, an icon, and a problem: a woman whose image is too valuable to bury and too painful to embrace unvarnished.
