I love this statue and what she represents. I only wish she was able to stay, that she could defiantly stand forever in the face of fear, adversity, anger, sexism, and show women for generations that we can take a stand, that we should fight for what we want and for what we deserve, and that we can achieve anything and everything. We should. We can. We do. We will.
After a disappointing erotic romance and a 520-page French classic, this light-hearted memoir of a charmed summer in 1945 New York was exactly what I needed.
The first women to ever be employed as pages at Tiffany’s, Marjorie and Marty spent four short months living the dream (on a strict budget of $20 a week, of course). Clubbing with moguls, gadding about with dashing midshipmen, modelling jewellery for eligible bachelors, nonchalantly stargazing from their station as famous faces breezed through the front doors (Judy Garland! Marlene Dietrich!), and standing in Times Square on VJ Day at the exact moment two million Americans learned that the war was finally over—no wonder the tagline reads: “Do you remember the best summer of your life?”
No. 3 on my challenge. Unlike most of the memoirs I tend to read, Summer at Tiffany is neither riveting nor profound. But it’s charming, it gives a bit of insight as to how young women lived and worked (and scrapped and saved) through the war years, and it’s a delightful way to spend a few hours.
I had very high hopes for this movie. I have long been a fan of Saoirse Ronan—she’s such a chameleon—and I’m a sucker for period dramas and love stories and anything to do with Ireland and travel and new beginnings. So you can imagine my relief when I loved it. Absolutely. The story was authentic, the cinematography was beautiful, and the many comedic interjections were both unexpected and refreshing. Go see it with your girlfriend(s).
Brilliant. Disgusting and astonishing that it’s based on historical facts.