What was audrey hepburn eating in breakfast at tiffanys

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Iceland takes a swipe at Zuckerberg's 'Meta' announcement in new viral tourism video. Monica Buchanan Pitrelli. Travel writers name 7 places that are better in person than in pictures. But Breakfast at Tiffany's really is a variation on the Cinderella theme, the tale of a young girl who escapes a dangerous adolescence and transforms herself through aspiration — a sheer act of will — but who may not live happily ever after.

Like Cinderella , it is a story about struggling to escape. And it is a story about self-fashioning. Breakfast at Tiffany's suggests to every woman — and many of the men — in the audience that they could reinvent themselves, liberate the golden girl hidden beneath ordinary, even debased, trappings.

Much of the writing about the film of Breakfast at Tiffany's acknowledges that when Hollywood bought the rights to the story, Capote wanted Marilyn Monroe to play Holly Golightly. Most accounts treat this as yet another of Capote's many idiosyncracies, if they consider it at all — who could imagine Monroe instead of Audrey Hepburn in one of her most iconic roles? But for anyone familiar with either Monroe or the novella, it's not really that much of a stretch. In fact, as many of the film's first critics observed, Hepburn is entirely wrong for Holly, a character who turns out to be a vagrant from west Texas whose real name is Lulamae Barnes.

It is difficult to conceive of a woman less likely ever to have been called Lulamae, let alone "a hillbilly or an Okie or what" as Holly's agent OJ Berman refers to Lulamae than Audrey Hepburn.

But a redneck? A hick from a Texas dirt-farm? Every inch of Audrey Hepburn exudes aristocratic chic. Monroe, by contrast, whom Capote knew well, though raised in California rather than Texas, was originally named Norma Jeane with an E, like Lulamae , and her parallels with Capote's Holly do not end there. She was a depression-era orphan who was both exploited and saved by older men. As an adult she would allude to childhood molestations when reckoning how many lovers she's had, Capote's Holly dismisses "anything that happened before I was 13, because, after all, that just doesn't count".

She has an upturned nose, tousled, "somewhat self-induced" short, blonde hair "strands of albino-blonde and yellow" and "large eyes, a little blue, a little green". She is befriended by an extremely short, powerful Hollywood agent who recognises her potential and helps her reinvent herself, renaming her and providing her with access to education and a more sophisticated veneer.

She runs away to New York just as success in Hollywood seems assured — although Holly, unlike Monroe, knows she doesn't have it in her to be a star, because she lacks the drive that precisely characterised Monroe as Capote understood. Like Monroe, Holly is in it for the "self-improvement", as she tells the narrator. She's been around the block, for which she never apologises, and she ends as an icon, a fertility symbol the narrator sees a picture of Holly carved as an African fetish.

Most of all, Monroe, like Capote's Holly, "is a phony. But on the other hand. The novella's Holly, her agent knows, is "strictly a girl you'll read where she ends up at the bottom of a bottle of Seconals". Mind you, the novella was published in four years before Monroe ended up at the bottom of a bottle of Nembutals. Blake Edwards's film adaptation was released in , a little less than a year before Monroe died.

And much to her disappointment, she didn't win the part that had been written for, and about, her. Holly could have been the performance of a lifetime — as it would have been the performance of her lifetime. Approaching the store requires maneuvering, at any hour, around large, ugly plastic barriers, and, for a certain kind of person, thinking about the state of the nation. Standing on the opposite side of the street, waiting to cross, just after ten, I squinted and looked for a line, outside of either the Fifth Avenue entrance or the Fifty-seventh Street one, but I saw no one.

He suggested returning around three-thirty. Upstairs, at the host stand, the prognosis was even worse. Two men of incredible poise, both in suits and one with a posh British accent, told me calmly what they must have told dozens of hopefuls before me: in fact, people had begun to line up at midnight , and coming back at three-thirty was a long shot, but I could try again tomorrow.

I asked to see a menu.