Just like every girl, I crave to possess natural beauty. I have always been envious of those gloriously beautiful girls – a side-effect from my (healthy) addiction to fashion magazines – now, I fear, my envy of roll-out-of-bed-photo-ready-beautiful women is soon developing into full-fledged, desperate jealousy.
The parade of beautiful women whom I have come to admire, and perhaps even idolise is endless, and forever changing. This week, Marilyn Monroe has claimed a front row seat. Her iconic image in that incorrigible white halter-dress is unforgettable, even after fifty years, but what enchanted me most was Marilyn, sans sexy.