I was four years old in 1959, when I first dressed up as Marilyn Monroe, and it would follow me to my freshman year at Syracuse University, where I regularly roamed the halls of my dorm, decked out as the blonde bombshell.

Not for a party. Not for an event.

For no other reason than it was what I always enjoyed doing.

I was just me being me.

Being Marilyn.

From the moment I saw an incandescent Marilyn Monroe on the big screen in Some Like it Hot at the tender age of 3 ½, my mother Betty, knew her little girl had a special affinity for Marilyn. One that would last a lifetime. Always keen to my interests, Mom was the first to purchase a platinum blonde wig for me, just as she would eagerly buy a brown mustache for my alter ego, Pierre, the Parisienne artist.

Pierre, it seems, liked to cross-dress.

As a pre-schooler, I could often be found sashaying around the house dressed up like the blonde bombshell. Donning a platinum blonde wig and clumsily applying my mother’s Revlon Cherries in the Snow red lipstick, I would stuff my stretchy Danskin tops with balled-up anklet socks to try to recreate the same sexy allure.

In a world without iPhones, few pictures exist to document this part of my life, yet it remains vivid forever.

In the winter of 1959, my parents took me to my first theatrical movie, Some Like It Hot. Seeing Marilyn Monroe, larger than life, a luminous creature undulating on the screen in the dark, was unlike anything I had ever seen.

Marilyn Monroe was the very first movie star I ever saw on the big screen, and her image has been imprinted in my heart and soul for 68 years.  The movie was filmed in black and white, though Marilyn made everything Technicolor.

I was not quite 4 years old, and I had never been to the movies before. A pioneering member of the TV generation, I was content to see my moving images on a small Philco TV set.

Why my parents chose to introduce their little girl to the wonders of cinema with a cross-dressing screwball adult comedy instead of Snow White, I’ll never know.

But I know I would be eternally grateful. I was hooked for life.  Even as a child, I was pulled in by the complexity of her glamour and profound vulnerability and frailty.

Sally Edelstein, L) a 70’s selfie in my bedroom with the walls covered with Marilyn pictures. (R) Jr High Marilyn

My fascination with Marilyn didn’t end in my early childhood.

The walls in my teenage suburban bedroom were filled not with posters of rock bands but with my own rock stars. Marilyn Monroe and Bobby Kennedy. As I struggled with my own emotional challenges and complexities, she became a symbol of resiliency.

Alone in my room, hours were spent playing her albums – yes, there were Marilyn Monroe Record Albums- filled with songs she sang in her films, practicing in front of the mirror until I got her pitch and cadence down perfectly. When friends came over in high school, I would slip on a Seven Year Itch style white halter dress and wig, put the album on the portable record player, and lip sync to perfection. My repertoire ran the gamut  from  “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend to “I’m Through With Love.”

A set up selfie looking in my Clairol Make Up Mirror 1971

I cared little for makeup on my own. In Junior High, you’d be hard-pressed to find a Yardley Slicker lipstick among my belongings. But I’d stare into my Clairol True to Light makeup mirror, attempting to get the Marilyn Maybeline eyeliner just right.

Marilyn Makes the Scene at Syracuse

Sally Edelstein at Syracuse University in 1973, with friend and makeup artist Peter Brown. The sight of me walking the dorm halls decked out as Marilyn became a common site.

Packing for college was a no-brainer. Along with my regulation polyester  Huckapoo shirts and Landlubber bell bottoms, I had packed several wigs and outfits, including a vintage gold lame dress and matching 1950s gold lame spike heels.

The first week of school at Syracuse University in 1973 was overwhelming.

Nerves and insecurities were kicking into high gear as we unpacked our familiar belongings in this new, unfamiliar place. As Pioneer stereo systems were being set up in dorm rooms, the recognizable sounds of “Smoke on the Water” and “Shambhala” could be heard blaring through the dorm halls day and night, bonding the students.

My new roommate poked through my meager record collection, disappointed at not finding at least one Allman Brothers album.

While other kids my age were unpacking their albums that invariably included Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon and Deep Purple’s Who Do We Think We Are, my collection of vinyl consisted of Judy Garland at Carnegie Hall, The Best of Barbara Streisand, and several Marilyn Monroe Albums, including the soundtrack to Some Like It Hot.

My roommate eyed me warily. Was she rooming with a gay man?

Yes, while others my age went to the dark side of the moon with Pink Floyd, I was happy to be sitting in the darkened room lit up with the light that was Marilyn Monroe. It wasn’t long before the sight of an 18-year-old girl from Long Island dressed as Marilyn became just another day in the 70s.

Post Script

Happy Heavenly Birthday, Marilyn, 100 years old!

Marilyn never got old. Or fat. Norma Jean Baker would never need Botox or suffer a bad facelift because she never got wrinkles.

As though encased in amber, Marilyn Monroe is eternally 36.

Forever perfect.