Breakfast at Tiffany's: Perpetual Pop Culture

By Murphy C.

The first Sunday of every month I fluff my grandma’s couch pillows, grab the quilt from the hallway closet, and snuggle into the sofa that could literally swallow you whole all to watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s. My grandma and I sit together, usually holding hands, and stare at Audrey Hepburn on the twenty-three-year-old television screen. The visual of my grandma and me isn’t nearly as glamorous as the image of Holly Golightly smoking her cigarette in an LBD dress and kitten heels. But, that’s kind of the point.

The same poster that hangs on many of my friends’ bedroom walls is also the picture of my grandma and me relaxing on the most comfortable couch in the world. Only the infamously flawed and lovable Holly Golightly could bring these two different worlds into the same realm.

When I was younger, Holly was just a fun character that connected me to my grandma. She was witty, and I gasped at her effortless beauty. Even as an eight year old, I knew she was a big deal. People wanted to be like her. They talked about her. Still. The film wasn’t in black and white. But the pace was slow, so I figured the film was old.

It wasn’t exactly socially acceptable to be obsessed with old movies and hang out with your grandmother, so I kept my admiration of Holly Golightly secret. I internalized her prose and specific lines of dialogue. Ideas, like “the mean reds” or being a “wild thing”, seeped into the cracks of my mind and became apart of my natural process of thinking. In fact, it still kind of is.

But only now can I even begin to fully fathom the cult figure she really is. She’s the prototype for the modern woman. And in my generation she’s the perfect balance between the old ideas of sophistication and the new pride of independence—or rather the idea of being “indie”. Although Audrey Hepburn is a cinematic icon, I am almost positive that her starring role in Breakfast at Tiffany’s sealed the promise of that everlasting fame. When I think Audrey Hepburn, I think of that poster. The orange tabby cat on her shoulders. The mindful glance. The jewels. The high hair bun. The New York City skyline in the background.

^{Source: Chad Film Blog}

If there was a recipe for success in life, it was this movie. The aim was Holly Golightly. And when I decided to investigate further by reading Truman Capote’s book, the basis for the movie, I was excited. Within the pages of Capote’s eloquent writing, I discovered that the original version of Holly Golightly was nothing like Audrey Hepburn’s romanticized Holly Golightly on my grandma’s television screen. I loved the book, but the discrepancies between the film and the literature became so massive that Holly Golightly became two different people.

There was the Holly Golightly gently singing “Moon River” and strumming on an acoustic guitar on the fire escape of her chic building. Then, there was the Holly Golightly the literary call girl. One was the girl I manifested all of the beauty and savior faire that I one day wanted to exhibit. The other was the complicated mystery that I never wanted to be although subconsciously knew I was.

After talking about the movie with other teenage girls, listening to Deep Blue Something’s song, “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”, and even researching other opinions on the Internet, I realize that other people find that dilemma, too. So within this entire dreamy illusion of Holly Golightly, the character herself becomes like the rest of us torn between reality and appearances. These two different personas of a character weren’t a dichotomy but a skewed perspective, a relationship between ambiguity and interpretation. I didn’t have a favorite because I didn’t need one. This was simply another example of everything else in society, in life, heck, even in the world. The opposing perspectives didn’t change my love for the fifty-year-old pop culture icon. They only displayed yet another indelible connection that I had not drawn myself.

And as I head home this weekend, I know that I’ll be watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s with my grandma on her sofa. We’ll admire Holly Golightly as the modern woman, as an example of wit and style, and as the epitome of the battle between appearance and reality. She may have been processed through the Hollywood machine, and the whole character may have been converted into an idealistic archetype of strength in vulnerability. She may even be a big, fat lie, the cult figure, the brainwashing idea of feminism, or even the baffling persona Capote designed. But as I’m squishing into my spot on the world’s most comfortable couch and pulling the quilt across my lap, I’ll probably still be thinking, “Man has she got style…”