My Fair Audrey

I have a heterosexual girl crush on Audrey Hepburn. It's not much of a secret. There's something about her wide-eyed gamine, doll-like fragility and quiet spunk that resonates with me. I'm not sure why. And I love her style. If I had a 20-inch waist, I would dress just like her. But I think I would have to undergo a starvation-and-scalpel process to get that kind of a measurement. And then you would all send me for medical and psychiatric help. So I'll just stick with admiration and the odd scarf and pair of capris as an homage.

I'm probably more of a Roman Holiday Audrey than a My Fair Lady Audrey. I'd rather chop off my hair and explore Rome with Gregory Peck than endure diction lessons with Rex Harrison. That said, I'm still pretty attached to her Eliza Doolittle and grimace at the idea of a remake.

But my grimacing cannot stop the Hollywood machine. Check out my MovieZen entry on the rumored casting of Keira Knightley as the next Audrey. Sniffle.

Now, I know it's not the first adaptation. In fact, the Pygmalion story from which My Fair Lady comes is ridiculously common in modern storytelling. Because people love makeovers, of both the external and internal kinds. And since I'm learning to have no shame in the blogging world, I will confess that I rather enjoyed She's All That when I was in high school. It was My Fair Lady for the teen set, an art-geek-turned-prom-goddess story that gave nerds like me a sliver of hope that someone way cooler than I would one day fall for the prettiest version of the real me. (And that someone would show up at my house with a really great dress. Because I hate shopping.) In fact, my prom after-after-party (busy evening) consisted of a viewing of said film. Because at a certain point my best friend and I ditched our friends (and her date. Poor guy) for a girlie sleepover of chips and rom-coms. And Freddie Prinze Jr. really was all that. Pun slightly intended.
With the passing of time, high-school romances can't hold up to classics. Because I no longer see life through the eyes of a 17-year-old. I'm still probably more hopeless romantic than I let on, but slow-dancing in my parents' backyard with the prom king isn't really all that aspirational anymore. Not even slightly.

Although "Kiss Me" still makes me smile. Every time.