Frida The Fair Lady

In July, Frida had been in Malmö for almost a year and had already performed in three plays at the Nöjesteatern. By autumn, she was scheduled for a fourth. It was also seventy years since she had left Earth to journey to her star. The thirteenth of July held no special reason for her to celebrate. Time-travelers rarely have cause to commemorate their death dates, as they dislike speaking about death. Moreover, most perceive eternity as infinitely preferable to their time on Earth. Behind them, they leave pain and illness, and in eternity, they can live at any age of their choosing, free from the fear of death or other anxieties.

However, Frida chose to honour her short life on Earth—only forty-seven years—because of a celebrated event in the art world: the Frida Kahlo Retrospective. This retrospective, celebrating women's strength and resilience, uplifted and empowered all who experienced it. Frida's version of Klimt's ‘Woman with Fan’ was one of many important paintings.

It brought together all the paintings Frida had created after she had laid down her brush for the last time. Her life had been marked by severe health issues, and from 1953, she was bedridden following an amputation. However, this did not deter her from her passion for painting or even participating in political events; her bed was carried wherever she wished to go, a testament to her unwavering determination and courage. Her resilience in the face of adversity is a source of inspiration for all.

Frida embarked on an ambitious project that set her apart from other artists in eternity. She encountered creators from all eras and decided to paint extraordinary women from history with whom she identified. This unique project, with its fresh and innovative interpretations of historical art, was a testament to her creativity and the power of art to transcend time and space, sparking intrigue and appreciation among audiences. It remained unknown until the paintings were discovered recently—not by chance, but carefully orchestrated by Frida herself.

Thus, the paintings at Malmö’s Moderna Museet, including canvases and statues featuring Frida, reimagine well-known motifs but now incorporate her face and body. The entire collection was discovered in a hidden room behind a wall at Casa Azul, her home in the Coyoacán neighbourhood of Mexico City. Three dozen previously unknown paintings caused a global sensation and sparked intense debate, as their style did not match her known works. The international attention these paintings received underscored the exhibition's significance, making it a cultural event of global importance. The world was particularly captivated by Frida’s interpretation of Gustav Klimt’s Woman with a Fan.

Frida Kahlo shared with me her personal and spiritual reflection on this piece. I cannot recount the entire story except as part of a whimsical exhibition presentation. However, art experts summoned to study the collection were supported by notes Frida had left alongside the paintings. The handwriting was unmistakably hers, and the commentary was essential for understanding the purpose of the works and why she had hidden them. Simply put, the world of the 1950s was not ready for such messages—they had to wait for their time, and that time is now. I quote Frida’s own words:

This brings us to the next painting, where Frida shares her interpretation of Eliza Doolittle—perhaps the most serenaded muse ever to grace the stage.

Frida smiled enigmatically at the viewer on a relatively more minor canvas left of the huge Lisa. The original image isn’t housed in a museum but comes from the movie My Fair Lady, which originates from the stage and ultimately from the play Pygmalion by George Bernard Shaw. “Talk about a class journey,” Frida said, sparking my curiosity as I hadn’t immediately recognised the person Frida had depicted. She chose to call her painting, ‘Frida The Fair Lady’, a title that references the source material and hints at the transformation and empowerment Eliza undergoes in the story.

Frida told me about the flower girl, Eliza Doolittle, whose rough Cockney accent had condemned her to remain in the gutter literally. She was discovered by Professor Henry Higgins, a scholar of phonetics, who was convinced that one’s accent determines a person’s prospects in society. In short, Professor Higgins accepts a challenge from a friend to prove that it’s possible to transform the life of someone so lowly simply by changing her speech. Thus, Eliza begins her lessons with the professor.

Eliza's father, Alfred P. Doolittle, a dustman, learns of his daughter's new residence ("With a Little Bit of Luck"). He shows up at Higgins’s house three days later, ostensibly to protect his daughter's virtue but in reality to extract some money from Higgins, and is bought off with £5, a considerable sum at the time. Higgins is impressed by the man’s honesty, natural gift for language, and especially his brazen lack of morals. Higgins recommends Alfred to a wealthy American who is interested in morality.

Frida: “In a way, Eliza is her father’s daughter. Despite enduring Higgins’s demanding teaching methods and harsh treatment, Eliza never gives up. His servants grow annoyed by the noise and pity Eliza, but she remains steadfast. She makes no progress, but just as she, Higgins, and his friend Pickering are about to give up, Eliza finally 'gets it.' She instantly begins to speak with an impeccable upper-class accent and is overjoyed at Higgins dancing with her. This moment of triumph is a testament to her resilience. Slowly but surely, Eliza grows as a person. Her fundamentally good qualities, coupled with her polished speech, allow her to enter upper society. Professor Higgins falls in love with his pupil, but the love is unrequited, and she goes her way.

Before starting to paint, I thought about Miss Doolittle for more than a year—or perhaps more about all the women she represents. She is a girl from humble beginnings who, through her strength and determination, not only transformed her exterior but also took control of her inner self. I saw her not just as a character in a book or musical but as a symbol for all women who grow despite the world’s attempts to keep them small.

When I painted her, I began by imagining her as a flower girl on the streets of London. I painted her with hands that bore the weight of labour and the hope for a better future. I placed roses in her arms—not for her to sell, but to represent the beauty she carried within, which had not yet had the chance to bloom.

But Eliza grows. She doesn’t just become part of society; she reshapes it. So, I painted her in an elegant dress and a grand, stylish hat but added a detail that would always remind us of her background—perhaps a flower tucked into her hair, maybe the worn shoes she refused to throw away. She carries her journey with her, as all women do.

And her gaze—oh, that was the hardest part. How do you paint a gaze that says: “I know where I come from, and I know what I deserve”? I painted her with her head held high but with a gaze that still saw the world with empathy despite everything it had done to her.

Eliza is not just a character—she is a revolution. She is a yes to growth and a no to letting anyone else determine her worth. When she rejects her teacher’s proposal in the book, she does something so many women before her never had the opportunity to do—she chooses herself. She says, 'I am not your creation. I am my own.' This act of self-empowerment is a powerful message to all women, inspiring them to take control of their own lives and choices.

And think of all the women who were her predecessors, even if their names were never recorded. Women who worked in fields, in factories, and on the streets. Women who silently bore the weight of the world but still found time to dream. It’s their voice we hear in Eliza, their strength we see in her journey. Eliza's journey is her own and reflects all women's collective strength and resilience.

When I finished my painting, I realised she wasn’t just Miss Eliza Doolittle. She was also me, and she was many women. She was everyone who has ever risen and said, “I can do more. I deserve more. And I choose myself.”

And perhaps that is the very heart of feminism—to give every woman the right to be herself, no matter where she comes from, and to stand firm in the world, just like Eliza did.”

Me: “Frida, tell me about Eliza Doolittle. What makes her one of Shaw’s most celebrated characters?”

Frida: “Ah, Eliza! She stands alongside Candida, Raina, and Ann Whitefield as one of Shaw’s finest creations. She’s the lead in Pygmalion, a play that captures her transformation from a street-smart flower girl into someone who could easily pass for a member of high society. Shaw loved writing about strong, multidimensional women; Eliza is no exception. He paints her as ambitious, emotional, hardworking, and courageous—a woman facing challenges head-on.”

Me: “What’s she like when we first meet her?”

Frida: “At the start, Eliza is rough around the edges—a working-class flower girl selling blooms near Covent Garden. She’s poor, dirty, and unremarkable by societal standards. Shaw describes her in almost brutal detail: a dusty sailor’s hat, worn-out boots, mousy hair needing washing, and a Cockney dialect that grates on the ears. She’s not attractive, but she’s practical and clean to the extent she can afford to be.

"Her first appearance is during a downpour at St. Paul’s Church, where she collides with Freddy—a clumsy young man who knocks over her basket of flowers. She scolds him sharply in her thick accent, a moment that immediately establishes her no-nonsense attitude. Shaw calls her ‘the real image of poor people.’”

Me: “Not exactly the picture of a leading lady. But she must have been more than that.”

Frida: “Absolutely. Beneath her rough exterior, Eliza is full of ambition and intelligence. She dreams of escaping her life on the streets and finding work in a florist’s shop. But she knows that to do that, she must learn to speak correctly—like a lady. She’s bold enough to take a taxi to Professor Higgins’ house, offering him a shilling an hour to teach her phonetics.

"Her determination is striking. She tells Higgins, ‘I sold flowers, I didn’t sell myself,’ making it clear that she’s ready to work hard for her goals. She’s a poor girl, but her ambition and resilience set her apart.”

Me: “So she’s not just a student in this story—she’s a fighter.”

Frida: “Exactly. Shaw portrays her as a woman who labours tirelessly to transform herself. Under Higgins’ guidance, she quickly masters the nuances of language and pronunciation. She’s a fast learner with a sharp ear. Her journey is compelling because her transformation isn’t just external. It’s not just about speaking properly or wearing fine clothes—it’s about discovering her strength and independence.”

Me: “But surely, her relationship with Higgins complicates things?”

Frida: “Oh, immensely. Higgins sees Eliza as an experiment, not as a person. He’s arrogant and self-absorbed, constantly congratulating himself on ‘creating’ her new identity while ignoring her efforts and emotions. This, of course, infuriates her. There’s a moment when she throws her slipper at him in a rage! Yet, their relationship is layered—there’s respect, conflict, and even affection, though not of a romantic nature.”

Me: “And what about Colonel Pickering?”

Frida: “Ah, now Pickering is different. He treats Eliza with kindness and respect from the very beginning. Pickering calls her ‘Miss Doolittle,’ sparking her sense of self-worth. She credits him for teaching her to value herself. Unlike Higgins, who is dismissive and condescending, Pickering represents the kind of mentor Eliza truly deserves. This duality—her relationship with Higgins and her bond with Pickering—shapes much of her emotional journey.”

Me: “Did Eliza ever regret her transformation?”

Frida: “Yes and no. There’s a poignant moment when Eliza reflects on how her new identity has left her stuck between two worlds. She tells Higgins, ‘Now you’ve made a lady of me. I’m not fit to sell anything else. I wish you’d left me where you found me.’ It’s a powerful admission. She doesn’t want to return to selling flowers but also resents being reduced to an ‘experiment’ without a clear path forward.”

Me: “That sounds heartbreaking. How does she find her independence?”

Frida: “By reclaiming her agency. Ultimately, Eliza refuses to be defined by Higgins or anyone else. She chooses her path, showing that transformation isn’t just about outward appearances but self-discovery and self-respect. Shaw brilliantly avoids the trap of a romantic resolution between Eliza and Higgins. Instead, he lets Eliza stand alone, symbolising resilience and determination.”

Me: “Eliza’s story seems timeless—a woman navigating societal expectations and finding her place.”

Frida: “Exactly. She’s more than a character; she’s a statement. Shaw used Eliza to challenge ideas about class, gender, and identity. She’s a reminder that strength often lies in the people society overlooks. Her journey resonates because it’s not just about becoming someone else—it’s about finding the courage to be yourself.”

Me: “Frida, if Shaw were alive today and writing Pygmalion in our time, how would the story unfold? How would Eliza’s transformation be portrayed?”

Frida: “That’s a fascinating question. In today’s world, Eliza’s story might not centre on learning to speak ‘proper English’ to ascend socially—those barriers have shifted. Instead, it could explore themes like digital identity, education, and gender roles. Perhaps Eliza would be a working-class woman striving to break into a highly competitive industry, like tech or media, where ‘rebranding’ oneself is a form of survival. The experiment could focus on how we curate ourselves online and adapt our personas to fit societal expectations in this era of social media and relentless visibility.

"But one thing wouldn’t change: Eliza would still be ambitious, determined, and courageous. Her struggle would still highlight the inequalities in power dynamics—how those who hold influence, like Higgins, often fail to recognise the humanity of those they try to ‘shape.’ The story would remain a critique of class and privilege but with modern complexities. After all, society still loves to tell women who they should be, doesn’t it?”

Me: “Absolutely. Perhaps it’s not just about breaking into a different class but reclaiming the power to define yourself in a world that keeps trying to label you.”

Frida: “Precisely. And just like in Shaw’s original, the story's heart would still belong to Eliza—a bold, independent woman who refuses to be reduced to an experiment or an object. She would rise above, again proving that true transformation comes from within.”

Me: "So you see her as part of the tech industry?"

Frida: "It’s entirely possible. Imagine Eliza as a young woman working gig jobs—maybe as a coder, a game developer, or even an aspiring influencer. Instead of selling flowers on the street, she’s fighting her way into a world where networking, image, and self-marketing are everything. Instead of learning ‘genteel English,’ perhaps she’s learning the latest programming language or perfecting a pitch to convince investors. In such a world, Higgins could be an arrogant tech guru, perhaps an AI researcher, who sees Eliza as an ‘experiment’ to test a new algorithm or self-improvement platform.”

Me: "And Pickering? What would he represent?"

Frida: "Pickering could be a mentor figure who represents soft values—someone who emphasises empathy and intrinsic worth rather than results and performance. He’d be the one reminding Eliza that she’s already valuable as she is, while Higgins tries to mould her into something that fits his idea of success.”

Me: "And the theme? What do you think Shaw would want to say in our time?"

Frida: "The theme would still revolve around power and self-definition. How much should we adapt ourselves to fit in? How far are we willing to go to meet others’ expectations? But Shaw would also likely tackle new questions for our time: How much of ourselves do we lose when we filter and reshape ourselves to fit into a digital world? And is that transformation truly freedom, or just a new form of oppression?"

Me: "So, in the 21st century, Eliza might struggle with her digital identity rather than her dialect?"

Frida: "Exactly. But one thing is certain: regardless of the era, Eliza would still be just as smart, just as determined, and just as brave. That’s what makes her timeless."

Me: "I think, as you suggested, she would emerge as an influencer and quickly become successful, amassing millions of followers and immense wealth. She would probably leave Higgins far behind in terms of popularity and power."

Frida: "Yes, that would suit Eliza perfectly. She already has the driven character and willpower to succeed. Imagine her starting small—perhaps vlogging about her life, background, and struggle to transform herself. She would be brutally honest and unfiltered; people would love that on social media. She could build a brand around authenticity, which would be genuine because of everything she’s endured.”

Me: "And Higgins? How would he react to his ‘experiment’ surpassing him?"

Frida: "He’d be furious, of course! In a modern retelling, he might be a tech expert who thought he ‘created’ her, only to realise that he merely gave her tools—it was Eliza herself who did all the real work. He’d probably go public and try to take credit for her success. But that would only strengthen her position as an independent woman who refuses to be defined by any man, least of all Higgins.”

Me: "And what about Pickering? What would happen to him?"

Frida: "Pickering would probably be one of the few in her inner circle—someone she could trust. He might serve as an advisor in the background, reminding her not to forget her roots and to use her power and influence to help others. He could encourage her to build a platform that uplifts other women striving to make their way in life."

Me: "What do you think Eliza would do with her wealth and power?"

Frida: "She would become an advocate for change, I’m sure of it. Eliza would understand what it’s like to struggle, to be overlooked and underestimated. So, she would use her success to create opportunities for others—perhaps launching scholarships for women from underprivileged backgrounds or starting an initiative to teach young women digital skills.

"She wouldn’t just be an influencer in the traditional sense—she would become a voice for those who aren’t always heard. At the same time, she would retain her sharpness and humour. You know, Eliza wouldn’t be someone who poses for pictures. She would say exactly what she thinks, even if it makes people uncomfortable.”

Me: "So in the modern version of Pygmalion, it’s not Eliza whom Higgins transforms but the world that Eliza transforms?"

Frida: "Exactly! And that’s what makes Eliza Doolittle so timeless. Whether selling flowers in Covent Garden or building a social media empire, she’s always defining herself, refusing to be shaped by anyone else. Her strength lies in never forgetting where she comes from, but never letting it limit where she can go."

Me: “A girl like that—I’d propose to her any day of the week. If I were a decade or so younger.”

Frida: “Wait until you get to eternity. There, age is relative and doesn’t matter anymore. Take your chances!” Frida said, laughing softly.