Madame Tussauds Stole Marilyn Monroe’s Soul
It’s true. Monroe’s delicate soul has been stolen.
Wax replicas of her persona were built to house her soul. A soul seared and split into pieces more numerous than Osiris’s body.
You can gawk at her no matter which continent you’re on. From Berlin to Hong Kong to Hollywood — Madame Tussauds follows you wherever you go.
Unlike Monroe’s waxy gaze, which remains forever without a twinkle.
And Madame Tussauds sell this person-cum-public-property with a landing page filled with language as telling — as damaging — as the spotlight.
I’m gonna break it down. I might as well put my web copy analysis skills to good use.
// Quick Rant and Disclaimer: Whilst a lot of what I write below is said with a jest-filled tone, that doesn’t mean what it says isn’t valid. It may seem like an over-the-top analysis — which it is — but it only appears over-the-top as we’ve grown used to a celebrity-obsessed culture that normalizes language that loves and hates in the same coffee-stained breath.
The Main Web Copy:
// “The mysterious life” — Yet, they decide to create a wax figure of a figure they know nothing about.
// “considered a sex symbol of the 50s thanks to her curvy figure and platinum blonde hair.” — Jesus Christ, here we have the cement beneath “the famous subway scene” encasing Monroe from the grave.
She, the one born without a say in the matter, caused her sex symbol status, according to Madame Tussauds.
The word thanks just adds that viper-like sting to it all. As if we should be thankful for her biology. As if she should be thankful for her biology, which made her who she is — a sex symbol. Don’t you hate it when you’re born and the doctor labels you not just as a boy or a girl, but a goddam sex symbol?
// “only dyed” — such an unnecessary ‘only’. Yet, it speaks volumes more than the “only dyed” hair drooping from Monroe’s multi-crowned scalp. She’s “only” this.
Madam Tussauds builds her up, literally, physically, and language-ly. “Only” to shoot her down.
Narcissists use similar tactics. So do sleaze-dripping men in bars, nursing the need for reducing self-esteem with speed. Let us “only” quote a domestic abuse charity, that label this gaslighting behavior under the heading, Love and Flattery (I’m sure movie producers are now scrambling to get that name trademarked):
“A gaslighter will tear a person down, build them back up and tear them right down again. This abusive pattern becomes reality for the victim and the praise associated with the building back up convinces them to think the abuser isn’t all bad.”
The Header:
The header spreads Marilyn’s lightless — soulless — soul, across my browser. Even Chrome - weeps a little as it lags upon my scroll.
// “the ultimate” — she’s compared to every blonde that is brought near her rays. She’s the epitome. Can’t get any better. Unconditionally the best in the waxy corpse. Conditionally haunted throughout her life.
// “blonde bombshell” — it’s the 50s, in America, and everyone loves a good war story. The dribbling alliteration of b’s is glorious to lisp. She was the homewrecking blitz, the zeppelin assault that finally fell on shores close to home.
//“take a Selfie” — c’mon, take a stolen selfie - Monroe’s been through worse, what’s one more picture really gonna do? If you’re still worried, we added the word “together” afterward to give the illusion of consent.
// “the wax figure” — check your articles, Madame Tussauds. Not ‘a’, not indicating plural — just a simple ‘the’, indicating singularity. This is the wax figure. None other shall ever exist like the one your air-conditioned arm drapes across as you blow a kiss next to a woman whose actual name has never graced your lips.
The Location:
// She’s located in a place for “Remarkable Women” — she’s situated. She can’t move. Not content in her coffin, she finds a permanent residence in a museum — without permission, of course. Even if she agreed to such a thing in a hidden will or signed statement — she has, and always will be, public property. No one asks. She is Marilyn. She is our Marilyn.
As we laugh beside her stapled face, cold to the touch, we hear her whisper: “flip your Zippo and burn me up.”
The Banner Bar:
Ah, how educational! We can arrange for children of all ages to be inducted into the hall of forever-framed faces.
I’m not typically a snob about school trips, but this seems to be stretching the word ‘museum’ to its extremes.
// The shopping trolley icon: the quickest way to load up on discounts for Monroe’s soul.
It’s a surprisingly heavy soul, nothing like that 21 Grams movie makes out.
It’s not light as air, floating majestically in the streets, a billowing bag of American Beauty.
Loaded. That’s what it is. We’ve got loaded words, but Madame Tussauds has made it a loaded soul. With extra cheese.
// The search icon: it symbolizes three things:
That’s not what you’re looking for — Monroe, despite her trapped being before you — isn’t enough. You don’t desire her. And with one click, she’s erased.
You want to know about something else — Monroe has stimulated something within you that you now want to look for. She was a link. A chain. A stepping-stone in the leap-frog of your attention span. And with one click, she’s erased.
That you want to go deeper — Monroe’s landing page isn’t enough for you, and your appetite that just-won’t-quit. More articles. More mentions. More, more Marilyn.
I’m sorry, Norma Jeane.
I’m sorry for writing about you without your permission. I hope you and your pearly whites forgive me when I, too, ascend to the pearly gates.
Don’t you worry, there’s plenty more where this came from.
Want to sneak a peek?
Well, let’s just say I ain’t done with Madame Tussauds yet.
Just take a look at their beautifully crass juxtaposition on their Hong Kong site:
(The star bullet-point is a nice touch).
