The supposed last letter of Marilyn Monroe
Marilyn Monroe is one of those figures who, more than sixty years after her death, continues to inspire theories, speculation, and fantastical stories. One of the most recent examples is the so-called last letter she supposedly wrote, which surfaced in Spain in the hands of a private collector. According to the story that was circulated, the man had bought a second-hand Montblanc pen case and, hidden inside, discovered a typed letter dated September 25 in which Marilyn expressed fear, mentioned John F. Kennedy, and even referenced mobster Sam Giancana. The discovery, presented as a long-lost treasure, made headlines in some Spanish media outlets, which published it without delving too deeply into questions of authenticity.
As for the content, the letter portrays a frightened and distressed Marilyn, allegedly feeling threatened and watched. It depicts her as someone trapped in a web of power and secret plots, concerned about the Kennedys and shady mafia connections. The tone is intimate and dramatic, almost prophetic, making it ideal material for those who have spent decades promoting conspiracy theories surrounding her death. Everything about it is designed to evoke a sense of forbidden or suppressed truth.
However, once the story is examined with even a minimal amount of critical thinking, it quickly begins to fall apart. The first and most obvious issue is the supposed origin of the letter: a final message from Marilyn Monroe hidden inside a pen case and passed around unnoticed for decades. It strains credibility to imagine that a document of such historical importance could sit in drawers, cross borders, and end up sold casually in Spain without anyone recognizing it. The idea feels more like something from a novel than from a real historical discovery.
It is also difficult to accept the notion that Marilyn would have mailed a letter from Los Angeles to Spain. There is no known context, relationship, or reason that could justify such a destination. The explanation offered is vague and unconvincing, which raises even more doubts. On top of that, the letter is conveniently typed—a detail that makes forgery vastly easier. Marilyn typically wrote personal notes by hand, and her handwriting is well documented. Choosing a typewriter neatly avoids any possibility of reliable handwriting analysis.
Another major red flag is that the letter has not been authenticated by any official institution, U.S. archive, or expert in historical documents. No tests have been performed on the paper or ink, no comparison with verified documents, no independent evaluations. It has not been mentioned in reputable investigations, American archives, or international media. All its exposure comes exclusively from the Spanish press, which treated it more like a curiosity than a legitimate historical finding.
The content itself also raises suspicions. Its tone aligns perfectly with the conspiracy narratives that have surrounded Marilyn since the 1970s: Kennedys, mafia, threats, fear, surveillance. It even includes Sam Giancana, despite there being no evidence whatsoever that Marilyn had any contact with him. These elements seem pulled straight from popular conspiracy lore rather than from credible biographical research.
To make matters worse, the letter depicts Marilyn as frightened and paranoid, when actual documentation from her final days shows the opposite. Those who interacted with her stated she was calmer, more hopeful, and focused on rebuilding her career. She was discussing future projects and having positive conversations with friends, doctors, and colleagues. There is no trace of the terror the letter tries to convey.
As a Spaniard, I feel obliged to address the responsibility that the Spanish press carries for spreading this kind of unverified sensationalism. Unfortunately, I am all too familiar with this pattern: certain outlets frequently publish eye-catching stories without proper verification, prioritizing spectacle over accuracy. Instead of consulting experts, investigating thoroughly, or raising reasonable questions, they inflate narratives that only reinforce conspiracy myths and misinformation. This lack of rigor harms not only the historical memory of figures like Marilyn, but also the quality of journalism and the public’s understanding.
In the end, rather than a historical discovery, this “last letter” looks far more like a product of the modern mythology that surrounds Marilyn Monroe. A blend of fiction, conspiracy, and sensationalism taking advantage of her enduring mystique. Without independent evidence, professional authentication, or a coherent origin, the letter cannot be considered credible or historically meaningful. It is yet another example of how myth overshadows the real woman—and how, even decades later, people continue trying to put words in Marilyn’s mouth that she almost certainly never wrote.
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