I don’t think of myself as beautiful; I never have.
Elizabeth, circa 1950.
© Photofest
Elizabeth Taylor has been on both sides of beauty. She was revered for being one of the most gorgeous women in the world. At the same time, her looks were mocked by the tabloids, which over the years published unflattering photographs of her at her worst. She lost and gained weight; looked alternately frumpy and fabulous; was radiant and full of life, but also ravaged by undercurrents of depression, alcoholism, and prescription-pill abuse. But through all physical extremes, she maintained her sense of authenticity.
As her mother emphasized intellect and artistic talent over looks, Elizabeth grew up unaware of her physical beauty. Only when she arrived in Hollywood did she begin to have an inkling that her attributes were a precious commodity. As her film career grew, Elizabeth graduated from the roles that featured her as an adorable child alongside beloved pets in National Velvet and Lassie Come Home to a siren holding her own in love scenes with leading men. Her transition to womanhood was carefully guided and monitored by studio executives, who saw her voluptuous figure as an antidote to the waif-thin look that dominated the industry at the time. Here, finally, was a real beauty, a woman who could contend with men.
Elizabeth’s response to all the attention was to disassociate from it. As she saw it, her body, the source of her beauty, became Elizabeth Taylor, a product to sell when she needed to. But her physicality never defined her; in fact, her looks were sometimes more of a curse than a blessing. Mike Nichols, the director of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, once asked Elizabeth if she felt trapped by her beauty. Her response: “God, I can’t wait for it to go.” For Elizabeth, beauty was about having ownership of one’s own life, flaws and all. And if there’s one thing Elizabeth Taylor owned, it was herself.
She called herself Mother Courage—an apt description. Whatever physical ailments bedeviled her, Elizabeth soldiered on, confident that her inner strength would pull her through. What, then, did she fear of aging? Of death? The whole of Elizabeth’s life was based on passion, even pure abandon, of committing herself to the journey at hand, even when that path of self-discovery had been marred by ugly truths and possible destruction. Elizabeth was never in better form than when she’d lost herself and then, miraculously, found and built herself anew. Her warrior’s approach to aging was not a wholly graceful one, but it was honest, raw, and utterly admirable.
On Hollywood’s standards of beauty
Growing up in Hollywood never was the glamorous existence you read about in the magazines. Appearance meant everything.
On the industry’s waif-thin models
I wish I could be that size, but I can’t be. I enjoy food too much. I’m too hedonistic. I enjoy pleasures.
On her weight fluctuations
I’ll never try and tell you dieting is fun.
On who she dresses for
Men first. Myself. Then other women. ’Cause you can’t please women. They are horribly critical of each other. And more so if you’re famous. Meow.
On women she finds beautiful
I think Ava Gardner is truly beautiful; I think my daughter Liza is. I think Jacqueline Kennedy is a beautiful woman—tremendous dignity. I am pretty enough.
On vanity
Today all I see in the mirror every morning is a face that needs washing.
As far as beauty in a woman is concerned, the thing that can kill it is being too impeccable, too well-nurtured, too taken care of, so you can feel the vanity behind it.
Elizabeth in Ash Wednesday, 1973.
© 1978 Bob Willoughby/mptvimages.com
On self-image
In overcoming seemingly insurmountable obstacles, I learned that my oversized body wasn’t the biggest barrier to my self-esteem. To regain a healthy sense of self-worth I first had to break down old fears and doubts and anxieties. Only then was I able to reshape my image successfully.
If self-image is based on self and not tied to any role, there is always a sense of anticipation, of moving forward.
In the end, it really only matters what you think of yourself.
There is no greater boost to the self-esteem than to have others acknowledge that you are in control.
The kind of beauty where you’re afraid to smile too much is such a bore.
Every woman knows how mood can affect the way she thinks she looks.
Elizabeth in A Place in the Sun, 1951.
© Paramount Pictures
Why shouldn’t my outward appearance match all the good feelings inside?
You have to accept yourself for what you are. If what you are includes some gray hairs and a few wrinkles, so what! Remember, self-acceptance is essential to many things.
On keeping perspective
Try not to take yourself too seriously.
Elizabeth at a baby shower for first husband Nicky Hilton’s sister, Marilyn, 1950.
mptvimages.com
On turning forty
Forty isn’t the end of the world. It can be the beginning.
On turning fifty-three
I think I’m finally growing up—and about time.
On turning fifty-five
Fifty-five years! I’ve sure come a long way since Lassie.
On the importance of laughter
A belly laugh increases the ability of your immune system to fight infections.
Humor is the only way to stay alive.
On patience
It is strange that the years can teach us patience; that the shorter our time, the greater our capacity for waiting.
On aging gracefully
I never think about growing old; I barely think about growing up.
I am sincerely not worried about getting old. Practically all the women I know who were pretty young women became beautiful older women.
As you get older, what you are begins to affect your looks.
I think what age and living and experience do to one’s face is beautiful.
Elizabeth in The Sandpiper, 1965.
© 1978 Bernie Abramson/mptvimages.com
On her doctors’ prognoses
My body’s a real mess. The bone doctors just throw up their hands and say, “Sorry, there’s nothing we can do!” Which is so cheery.
On death
I’ve been too close to death to fear it anymore. I enjoy life far too much to want to die. But I’m certainly not afraid of it. I’ve been as close as you can get about four times.
I’m not worried about dying. I consult with God, my maker. And I don’t have a lot of problems to work out. I’m pretty squared away.
I don’t believe our spirits die. I think our spirits are out there, and other people’s souls intermingle with ours, and I don’t think there is such a thing, like in the movies, the end. I think something continues.
When people say, “She’s got everything,” I’ve got one answer—I haven’t got tomorrow.