I love Katharine Hepburn. Like really, really love her. As in worship. Idolize. Adore. In fact, I’ll just say it… I wish I could have been her. Just for a day, even. She was so smooth and sophisticated and… masculine. But she was still all woman. That’s a feat.

I’ve often found myself thinking, “What would Kate the Great do in this situation?”

Well, now I have a manual of sorts to help me figure it all out.

The book is something that I cannot put down. Of course, as her Number One Fan of All Time, I devour any and everything on her. Even some of those really, truly God-awful films she made. And believe me when I say that some of them? Bad. A badness you’ve never known. But this little book? For me? A complete gem.

She was brash. That’s a tenet of the book. And I like brash. I appreciate brash. I get brash. She’s also referred to as a rabble-rouser. Geez, I just love the sound of that word. And she made no apologies for who she was. She wore pants. She smoked cigarettes. She skinny-dipped in the Long Island Sound. Every day. Even in January. She routinely bought herself out of contracts when things didn’t go her way. Even if it put her back at a big, fat zero. She spoke up, she ruffled feathers and she did whatever she wanted to do. And she managed to pull it all off with a certain style that I still envy and try to emulate to this day. In fact, when my mother nags me about “would it kill you to put on a skirt and dress like a girl?” I retort, “trousers worked for Kate the Great, and they work for me, too.” Because my mother and I? We are on opposing Hepburn teams. She’s all about Audrey. Sweet, demure, delicate and swan-like. Not me. Give me a good pair of tailored pants, a crisp white button-down shirt, a bun and a Scotch on the rocks and I’ll call it a day…