On throwing a Holly fit

Written on August 11, 2013 – taken from my older blog

A Holly fit is what I call a hissy fit, but with great clothes on. Its namesake I derived from a Breakfast at Tiffany’s scene, when Holly Golightly (played by Audrey Hepburn) found out about her brother Fred’s death. Not heeding the fact that she’s in a carefully put-together look (a pink cocktail dress with matching pink tiara and earrings), Ms. Golightly went about crying uncontrollably, trashing her room, breaking everything in sight.

Now, before we proceed discussing the Holly fit, I would like to apologize for what appears to be my obsession for this old Hollywood movie. It’s hard not to be obsessed: it’s a movie about this woman who seems emotionally unstable, yet remains impeccably dressed all the time. (To illustrate this impeccability, I’d like to recall one scene: Inside a cab, Paul Varjak was about to give her a note containing yet another terrible news when Ms. Golightly stopped him, took out her lipstick, and said “A girl can’t read that sort of thing without her lipstick.”)

Now, for the Holly fit. The Holly fit usually comes days, or sometimes weeks, after you’ve had your mean reds (“The blues are because you’re getting fat, and maybe it’s been raining too long. You’re just sad, that’s all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you’re afraid, and you don’t know what you’re afraid of.” – Ms. Golightly). The Holly fit comes to you when that unnameable fear becomes apparent, it becomes all too real. It could be as devastating as hearing about the death of a loved one. It could also be after realizing that your possessive, controlling boyfriend has been fooling around all along. It could be deaths on a massive scale. It could be small, inner deaths. Whatever it is, its arrival should be sudden. Its suddenness should feel like a blow. It should have the power to rock you to your very core.

Throwing things, crying uncontrollably does not immediately qualify it as a Holly fit. A massive tantrum with just your regular clothes on is just a regular hissy fit. But a violent emotional breakdown when you happen to be in your best clothes, jewellery, and when you’re with full make-up on, THAT is a Holly fit.

Blinded by rage or grief or tears copiously pouring from your eyes (again, while you’re in your pretty dress), you become unaware of your surroundings. You reach out for anything that you think would probably draw out all those negative feelings from inside you, then you throw it as far as you can. Not a single thing will be spared: that porcelain lamp or vanity mirror; those pillows or stuffed toys; that bottle of bourbon or your cat.

And then, after the exhaustion in this devastation, after everything has been broken, you lie in the middle of this mess, and you weep quietly. Quietly and peacefully, in your pretty dress. Until you fall asleep.

(“From the archives” are curated blog entries from my old blog page that I’ve already set to private)

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