If you've seen "Breakfast at Tiffany's" you know the scene. (And if you haven't seen it, for the love of god why are you reading this and not renting it from Netflix right now?) Audrey is gazing at the windows of the famous jewelry store while nibbling on a danish and sipping take-out coffee from a paper cup. Her hair, with its bold streaks of blonde highlights, is smoothly and perfectly swept into an improbably high up-do, and her elbow-length black gloves don't even show a trace of crumbs. Her dress--and oh, what a dress it is--is a sleek black sheath with cut-outs in the back that emphasize her tiny wing-like shoulder blades. This is Audrey at her most Hepburn-esque, and I will never ever be like that.
Audrey was clothed primarily by Givenchy. My wardrobe is primarily from the House du REI, a healthy dose of Mountain Hardware with a bit of North Face and Prana thrown in for good measure. Audrey was always fresh and well pressed. I always look like my clothes just came out of a panier bag on the back of my bike, mostly because, well, they just came out of a panier bag on the back of my bike.
Audrey Hepburn had flawless hair, no matter if it was her Holly Golightly up-do or her impetuous kicky short coiffure as Anya Smith (the princess on the lamb in "Roman Holiday"). Even after a long night of cocktail drinking or a spin on a Vespa, the girl's hair looked good. My hair, by contrast, always looks like it's about four weeks beyond the date when I needed a haircut, even as I walk out of the salon having just gotten a haircut. The movie star I seem to resemble most is Benji the Dog, with hair in my eyes and weird bits sticking out in the wrong places.
We won't even mention her make-up, since I refuse to wear anything but a tinted sunscreen. (Especially not those perfectly lined doe eyes with the long curvy eyelashes; how the hell did she do that?!?!) If I do actually try to wear lipstick, I always eat about half of it off within minutes leaving me looking like your crazy Aunt Lettie. I think we can simply note that my toe-nails are painted lime green and move on, shall we?
After years of wishing I were more like Audrey, I am starting to think I may just need to accept that I am the kind of girl with scrapes on her knees, bike grease on her shins and garden dirt under her fingernails. For me, "dressed up" will forever mean wearing shoes that are not suitable for kayaking. Unlike la Audrey, I don't move like a dancer; unless by "dancer" you mean somebody who hits her head a lot and gets a new bruise every time she takes the Metro (stupid armrests).
OK, so I'm never going to be Audrey Hepburn. I'm not even Kate, though at least she wore pants a lot and you can imagine her swearing up a storm in private. I'm messy and clumsy and perpetually covered in dog hair. But we do have one thing in common: neither Audrey Hepburn nor I can sing for shit. So, there's that.