What would Audrey Hepburn do?

By Kathryn Knight

A new book on Audrey Hepburn says we have much to learn from the Hollywood star's manners and maxims. But can we still live our lives her way in the modern world?

For most of my adult life, I've tried, in troubled times, to ask myself the question: 'What would Madonna do?'

The idea, of course, is that when confronted with life's little difficulties, I would be able to invoke some of the singer's fierce 'My way or the highway' mojo to sort them out.

Alas, I've never really been able to pull it off: Madonna's mores have not translated well to my modest life in South-West London.

As a result, there has been a vacancy for the role of celebrity lifestyle guru, particularly given the woeful shortfall of plausible contemporary icons. A vacancy, that is, until a new book fell into my lap.

Called What Would Audrey Do?, its premise is simple: that our lives would be vastly improved were we to follow the elegant lifestyle example set by Audrey Hepburn.

Written by U.S.-based author and consummate Audrey fan Pamela Keogh, it is part manual, part memoir, and aims to sprinkle a little Holly Golightly fairy dust on our humdrum lives.

The notion is an intriguing one - after all, it may be over half a century since the gamine star came to our attention in Roman Holiday, but her influence is potent to this day, even though she died more than 15 years ago.

When, as Keogh points out, you see someone wearing oversized sunglasses with an evening gown, that's Audrey.

Ballet flats are Audrey, as is a crisp white shirt and the fashion editor uniform of black sweater and fitted black trousers.

Ask most designers to draw up a list of 20th-century style icons and chances are her name will be near the top of the list.

Whether we can actually live like her, however, is quite another matter: aside from the mesmerising God-given bone structure she was born with, Audrey played out her life on the sort of glamorous international stage most of us can only fantasise about as we carry out the weekly shop.

Nonetheless, Keogh argues, you can still capture some of her spirit by absorbing some of her simple life lessons.

Could it be true? Could Audrey be my new Madonna? To test it out, I resolve to try to live my life according to 'Audrey rules' for a week.

I will eat like her, shop like her, walk like her, heck even talk like her, and see where it gets me.

It doesn't start auspiciously. For a start, I realise I own precisely none of the Audrey wardrobe basics: the ever-reliable white shirt, slim-line black trousers and sweater.

I also learn that Audrey would never 'rush' shop - buying something for the sake of it, or a dash to Primark to buy four tops for under a tenner - so I make an executive decision to overlook this sartorial malfunction and concentrate instead on the style lessons I can absorb.

They are surprisingly basic: Audrey's grooming regime was straightforward. A devoted ironer who did all her own laundry, she never left home with creases in her outfit. Nor would she exit her apartment without checking her rear view in a mirror to remove any unsightly ripples or VPL. She also stood up straight, and sat elegantly, bolt upright, legs elegantly aligned. Oh, and she always wore mascara.

Some of this sounds like common sense - but it is common sense that has been eroded by our quickfire, dash-to-Starbucks, hunched-at-our-desks office culture.

Taking a step back and redrawing the rules is, I find, no bad thing (particularly when a rear-view-mirror check reveals a tear in my trousers).

Thoughts of Audrey also force me to correct my frankly shocking posture: more than once, finding myself sprawled over my seat on the bus, I gather myself and sit up straight, back against the seat. By the end of the week, I am starting to do this without thinking (almost).

It was not just her posture that Audrey monitored. Naturally in possession of a low octave voice, she was careful, Keogh tells us, never to dissolve into shrillness.

'Lower your voice,' Keogh instructs, informing us that it is one Audrey-inspired move guaranteed to give you a more exotic allure (as opposed to a Paris Hilton-style 'Nothing to listen to here' squeak).

I am worried that if I lower my voice too much I will sound like Dolph Lundgren, but the advice acts as a useful soundcheck against the ghastly girly shrieking most women are capable of. My husband rather likes it when I answer the phone with an Audresque 'Hull-OH'.

Audrey, of course, could not have been brash if she tried: she had an impish sense of fun, but always remained controlled. I learn that while she liked a glass of good wine, she was more of an 'occasional scotch' person than a regular drinker. When I try to replicate this approach on a night out with a friend, he asks if I'm feeling poorly.

Despite this sort of challenge, I rather like Audrey's thinking on this one. Waking up with a clear head after a night out with friends is infinitely more pleasant than crawling out of bed feeling like death warmed up. And for once I've got a clear conscience as I flick through the news stories about drinking women and their negative impact on the social order.

I'm not quite sure whether the hard-drinking violent gangs of girls could be persuaded by Audrey's more restrained approach to booze, but I'm starting to see the virtues of a more sober lifestyle.

The Audrey diet, however, proves to be the hardest part of the week. Long before the Green warriors wag their admonishing fingers over our weekly shopping baskets, Audrey was extolling the virtue of organic homemade produce.

She didn't eat junk food, preferring instead a simple diet rich in fruit and vegetables, with an occasional plate of pasta. Her 'treat' was a single square of dark baking chocolate in the afternoon, making the Malteser multipack in my desk drawer redundant.

Thankfully, there is one habit I share with Audrey. Despite her enviable gamine figure, she never exercised, preferring to factor it into her everyday life by walking wherever she could. This is something I already do (though only to the shop for the Maltesers).

I am also buoyed to learn that she was a great fan of the afternoon nap. I can't do this every day (I do, after all, have a job, and not one in which I can haughtily declare to my editors that I am taking a siesta), but I do embrace it at the weekend.

If you can pull it off, it is, I discover, a splendid thing. It's a way of putting the day on 'pause'. I now realise why Audrey had such luminous eyes: she slept quite a lot.

Perhaps her sleeping was a way of avoiding shopping, which she didn't go in for in a big way. Instead, she bought clothes sparingly and well, avoiding the sugar rush of High Street dashes.

As someone who can buy a handful of cheap tops while on a quick milk-and-bread errand to the local supermarket, this was always going to be difficult - though this more austere shopping model does force me to rethink my wardrobe.

I calculate there are hundreds of pounds worth of purchases crammed into my closet that were bought in the blink of an eye and worn only once.

It is sobering, and I vow to ask myself 'Would Audrey feel the need for another ?9.99 smock top?' before future purchases.

The point is that Audrey did little unthinkingly and was known for her thoughtfulness.

Discoveries such as the one that Audrey hand-painted a card painstakingly for her godchild are a painful reminder of my own shortcomings in that department.

She was also a great letter writer, sending thoughtful missives on beautiful, crisp, personalised stationery. With a flush of shame, I remember that I have yet to send thank-you notes for two weddings I have just attended, and am jolted into putting pen to paper. It is tedious, but also rewarding.

And, if recent research is anything to go by, we could all do with a dose of Audrey's beautiful manners. One survey suggested that a third of under-35s have never written a thank-you letter in their lives.

They might argue that a phone call does the job just as well, but, frankly, dashing off a hurried text or an email in the middle of a busy day hardly shows the same effort as going to the trouble of finding writing paper, envelope, stamp and pen, not to mention the time required to sit down and write the thing - and post it.

But thank-you letters are just the tip of what appears to be a swiftly sinking manners iceberg.

Another survey carried out on behalf of ITV revealed that more than half of us think poor manners are the biggest problem facing society and a major cause of anti-social behaviour.

Could Audrey's approach to life be a blueprint that could save our floundering society?

What of men? As a newlywed, I only leaf through the section on dating, although I note with interest that Audrey's approach to the mating game can be summed up as: aim high, flirt like hell and don't give up your apartment until you get married.

However, I am intrigued to learn that once married, Audrey was a traditionalist. While she may have been Audrey Hepburn in her film credits, she was - following both her marriages, first to actor and director Mel Ferrer, second to Italian psychiatrist Dr Andrea Dotti - proudly Audrey Hepburn Ferrer and then Audrey Hepburn Dotti in her personal life (until the divorce).

This is a step too far: I have steadfastly clung on to my maiden name in all quarters ever since my wedding nine months ago, robustly refusing to take my husband's name. Not even Audrey can make me budge on this.

Of course, as much as Keogh invokes us to 'Be a movie star in your own life', it is quite difficult when being bashed in the ankle by a supermarket trolley.

The fact remains, too, that no matter how hard you try, you are unlikely to pull off ballet flats, capri pants and big sunglasses in quite the charmingly insouciant way that Audrey could.

Nonetheless, as my week of living by Audrey's rules draws to a close, I conclude that they are a useful touchstone in this chaotic day and age.

Asking myself what Audrey would do has made my posture better, improved my diet and forced me to be slightly more dignified than I am used to.

It seems I may have found my celebrity lifestyle guru after all. Even if she won't stop me from buying too many tops.

What Would Audrey Do? by Pamela Keogh (Aurum Press, ?12.99).