Marilyn Monroe
Duffy shifts to exploring Marilyn Monroe, another woman defined by her appearance but ultimately destroyed by fame. The poem describes how Monroe was manufactured by Hollywood: "They filmed her harder, harder, till her hair was platinum, her teeth gems, her eyes sapphires pressed by a banker's thumb."
Monroe is portrayed as a commodity created for male pleasure: "The camera loved her, close-up, back-lit, adored the waxy pouting of her mouth." This manufactured image gradually consumes her actual identity, leaving her dependent on "coffee, pills, booze." Her famous performance singing "Happy Birthday, Mr President" is reimagined as a desperate performance for "Somebody big."
The poem grows increasingly dark, showing how Monroe became trapped in her image even after death: "couldn't die when she died, couldn't get older, ill." Her exploitation continues posthumously, as even "the smoking cop" who handles her body "noticed the strong resemblance to herself, the dark roots of her pubic hair," violating her privacy even in death.
A harsh reality: The poem ends with the brutal contrast between the public's adoration ("how they loved her") and the media's cruelty ("Give us a smile, cunt"), showing how beauty can lead to dehumanization rather than respect.