Her childhood was unconventional as she grew up during the Blitz period. Years later, Joan thought it would be great to do a film about growing up with her sister during this era but her dream hasn’t come to fruition.
Even so, the actress said that as the war continued, she was just a child, unaware of the bombings. She would collect fragments of debris from the streets and store them in her cigar box each evening.
She narrated, “We would draw silly pictures of Hitler. We were evacuated 10 or 12 times. We would be in the tube stations, and people would be playing their harmonicas and singing.”
Despite the chaos, Joan Collins, who deeply loved her Anglican Briton mother, realized that she did not want to live the same life her mom lived. “Mummy was the 1950s housewife, very sweet and very docile,” she explained.
The actress had previously said that her mom, who died at the age of 52, died very young because she never spoke back to her husband.
oan also shared that “My father never held back. I saw him as a figure to look up to more than my mother. I loved her to death but I considered her to be weak and I hated all the clothes she wore.”
The actress’s mother consistently wore girdles, suspenders, stockings, tight bras, underpinnings, and corsets, which Joan disliked.
Joan, who took great care in her appearance, was voted the most beautiful girl in England by a photographers’ association when she was 18. The newspapers asked her dad what he thought about her daughter’s position, he replied, “I’m amazed. She’s a nice-enough-looking girl. Nothing special.”
At this point, Joan had departed from the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art (RADA), developed a passion for French existentialism, admired the singer Juliette Gréco, and dreamed of becoming a celebrated stage actress.
The focus on her appearance was even more as her film career progressed. Joan disclosed that in Hollywood, she faced daily verbal abuse.
She recounted how the makeup department gave her cruel nicknames, such as “Moonface” due to her baby fat and “Scrawny Legs” because of her thin legs. She remembered the department as a large group of women who were particularly harsh and unkind to her.
In 1955, when Joan was 22, she was cast in the biopic about Evelyn Nesbit “The Girl in the Red Velvet Swing.” Evelyn was considered the most beautiful girl in New York and Joan was to play her.
So, one day, Joan who was still in the Juliette Gréco character and thus had no makeup and was in jeans with scruffy hair, ran into her director Richard Fleischer. Richard told her, “Oh my God, I cannot look at you – you are so ugly. You cannot go around like that – put some makeup on, get your hair done, get a proper dress.”
Just like her career, Joan’s personal life also had its ups and downs. When she was 17, still a virgin, the actress went on a date with actor Maxwell Reed, aged 31. He spiked her rum and coke and raped her.
“I was 17, but I was the equivalent mentally of 12. We did not have sex education,” she noted. Shockingly, Maxwell became the actress’s first husband. When asked why she chose to marry her rapist, she answered, “Because I come from a generation where if you’re going to have sex, you get married.”
However, when Joan learned that Maxwell wanted to give her to older men for $12,710 a night as long as he could watch, she stood up for herself. After four years of marriage, the two divorced.
In her 20s, Joan lived with several men, including Sydney Chaplin and Arthur Loew Jr. She also had an affair with a married man who was eight years her senior. As much as the man was handsome, witty, and fascinating, Joan said the affair was utter hell and she never engaged in one again.
Hollywood men, including directors, also went after Joan. In her autobiography, “Behind the Shoulder Pads,” the actress revealed that she was offered the role of Cleopatra in Joseph L. Mankiewicz’s film on the condition that she got along well with Buddy Adler, the head of Fox, and the chairman of the board.
Joan, who was disgusted by how directors and producers, who were old men, took advantage of young actresses said no as she never wanted to be a part of that. The Cleopatra role was given to Elizabeth Taylor.
In the memoir, Joan also wrote about having an abortion when she got pregnant at 26 with her fiancé, Beatty, a 23-year-old aspiring actor. Beatty convinced Joan to abort the baby because it would derail their career. Years later, she agreed with him, noting that if he had a baby, she would have had to say goodbye to her acting career.
Joan went on to have three kids. She had her first two, Tara and Alexander with her second husband, Anthony Newley. Her last child, Katyana, is with her second husband Ron Kass.
The actress’s third husband was Peter Holm and she is now married to Percy Gibson. Joan announced that she was engaged to Percy in December 2001 and then the pair got married in 2002 at Claridge’s Hotel in London, in front of 175 guests.
The lovebirds, who have been together for over two decades, met when Joan was featured in a touring production of the play “Love Letters” in the US. The Peruvian-born theatre manager also helped Joan edit her novel “Star Quality.”
Many people talked when Joan and Percy Gibson got married because he is 32 years younger than her. Joan was asked to comment on their age difference and she said, “Well, if he dies, he dies.”
In 2023, Joan gushed about her marriage saying that she had found the right man in her current husband, “Oh yes, Percy and I have been married for 21 years and it’s just marvelous.”
Now, Joan is in her 90s but she still has the youthful charm and grace in her presence. When asked if she has had cosmetic procedures done, the actress simply said with a shrug, “If people want to think I’ve had surgery, then…”
Joan added, “You can tell [I haven’t] because I have lines and jowls. When I see women around my age I think: ‘Oh, really? My gosh, I look quite a bit…’ I think I look pretty good!”
The movie star is also needle-phobic and just couldn’t bring herself to have cosmetic work done on her. She attributes her good look, perfect complexion, and youthfulness to staying out of the sun.
She added that her mom taught her to moisturize her skin and use night cream, something she also taught her daughters. Joan’s lovely appearance still amazes her fans.
In April 2024, Joan enjoyed a fun photoshoot for the New York Times Fashion and Style section. She looked radiant in a white cardigan paired with an off-white cap and black trousers.
A fan, amazed by her look, said, “You are simply iconic, dear one, and stunning ♥️♥️.” Another admirer commented, “You always look so beautiful♥️.”
When she turned 90 in 2023, a fan shared a picture of Joan taken on the streets. The actress was in a modest flower dress styled with a white coat, a sun hat, and sunglasses. The fan captioned the post, “Happiest of birthdays to Dame Joan Collins, who turns 90 but easily looks at least 20 years younger.”
At 91, Joan Collins is content with both her personal and professional life. Retirement isn’t on her agenda, as she plans to continue working because of her passion for it.
She acknowledged that performing her one-woman show and staying in a different hotel each night was exhausting, but the enthusiastic audiences and her love for her work made it a rewarding experience.
My Wife and I Hadn’t Spoken in 10 Years Until I Found Out She Was Getting Married Again – Story of the Day
My runaway bride reappeared ten years later in heels and a power suit, demanding I sign our divorce papers like we were just neighbors with unfinished business.
I consider myself a loner. Honestly, I still have a wife. She had just run away from our wedding ten years before.
Every year, I get the same envelope from her. New law firm name, new initials, glossy folder — just the way she likes it — a true aesthete, even in divorce proceedings.
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I open it, read halfway through, sigh, and stash it in the drawer. There’s a whole collection, almost like a calendar, for every year of our “fake marriage.”
That morning, as usual, I was cleaning the barn. The snow had melted, the ground was soft, and the tractor refused to start again. My glove was torn; the dog had buried the other boot somewhere.
All, just as it should be. Quiet. Peaceful. The air smelled of fresh grass and smoke. I love that — it smells like life. Real life.
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I reached into the metal mailbox. An envelope. Gold initials. Oh, something new. She switched firms. Progress.
“Well, hello, Mel.”
The dog barked. We understood each other without words those days.
“Would you sign it, Johnny?” I asked my dog, sitting down on the porch with my coffee.
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He sneezed. Wise dog. While I was thinking, Billy dropped by. My childhood friend, a farmer who always smells like apples and diesel fuel.
“So, she sent you another ‘love letter’?” he smirked, setting a basket of fresh bread on the step.
“Yep. Volume Ten. Might auction them off someday.”
“Still not gonna sign?”
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“Nope. I’ve got a principle. If you want to end something — come and say it. No need to yell. Just be honest.”
Billy sighed, gave me a look like he wanted to say something — then changed his mind.
“I’ll get going. Looks like rain’s coming, and I didn’t bring a cover.”
“You’re wearing a leather jacket, Billy.”
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“That’s not a cover — it’s fashion.”
And he left, leaving me with my coffee, my dog, and yet another farewell letter.
I went back inside. Everything is in place. I tossed more logs into the stove. Scratched the dog behind the ear and turned on the radio — the only thing that hasn’t abandoned me over the years.
And then, I heard the sound.
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First — a low engine hum. Then — the familiar squeak of suitcase wheels. Then — high heels crunching on gravel. I stepped onto the porch. And saw her.
Melanie. Her hair was a bit shorter, but her eyes were the same. She had that look — like we saw each other yesterday, even though it’s been ten years.
“Hi, Jake.”
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I smiled. But something inside me clenched.
“Well. Finally decided to come and ask for an autograph in person?”
***
Melanie stepped across the threshold. Her eyes scanned the wedding photo on the mantel.
“You still keep that?” she nodded toward the frame.
“Yep. Nice photo. And the frame isn’t cheap either.”
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Her gaze drifted past the mantel to the plaid throw blanket on the armchair. It was the same one we used to fight over on rainy nights. Her fingers brushed it gently and then paused.
Melanie turned toward the kitchen shelves, where old jam jars stood in a neat row.
“Is that… blueberry?”
“Yeah. From that summer when the berries went wild behind the barn.”
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Melanie gave the faintest nod, but her eyes glistened before she looked away. Then she straightened her posture, smoothed her sleeve, and reached for her briefcase.
She sat at the table and pulled out the documents.
“Jake, I’m serious. My wedding’s in two months. I need everything signed.”
I sat down across from her.
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“The groom wants to make sure you’re officially single?”
“He thinks I’m single. So don’t make this harder than it is.”
“Have you ever been honest with me, Mel?”
“Oh, don’t start.”
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“Fine. Not starting. Just listening.”
She unfolded the papers and laid them out in front of me. I glanced at them.
“Old version. Outdated. Doesn’t even mention the farm.”
“Well, I thought…”
“That nothing had changed? Big surprise, huh?”
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She flared.
“Jake, I didn’t come here for your passive-aggressive lectures. I came because I’m tired of playing silent. I want to end this like an adult.”
“An adult comes sooner than ten years later. An adult doesn’t run off the night before the honeymoon and hide behind envelopes.”
She stood up. Her hands were trembling.
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“If it’s money you want — just say so. How much?”
“Money?” I laughed. “You think I waited ten years for a payout?”
“Then why, Jake?! Why haven’t you signed?”
“Because you still haven’t said why you ran. I have principles.”
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“Oh, Jake, it’s been years. Everything’s changed.”
I stood.
“Yeah, it has. I got my life together. Built something. A business. And by the way, I earned everything I had while we were still married. Officially. Legally. Even the lakeside lot. And those two cow-show trophies? Still during our marriage.”
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She stared at me silently.
“By law, half of it is yours,” I said. “But I’m not handing it over to someone who only dared to mail things once a year.”
“You… you’re blackmailing me?”
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“No. I’m giving you a choice. I’ll sign if you formally waive any claim. At a notary. All legal. But we’ll need to update the paperwork. That takes time.”
She sat back down. “Fine. How long?”
“A week. Maybe two. This isn’t New York. Around here, the internet runs through a tree.”
“Then I’m staying. Technically, it’s my house too.”
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“Technically — yes,” I sighed. “But you’re cooking dinner. I’m allergic to your flower petal salads.”
“And I’m allergic to dust and male ego.”
We stared at each other for a few long seconds. Then, I walked off toward the pantry to break eye contact. Melanie climbed upstairs — offended, with her briefcase under her arm like she’d come here to win, not to talk.
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I knew she wouldn’t survive that silence.
Truthfully, the papers were just an excuse to keep her here a little longer. So I could finally knock some sense into our marriage.
Because I still loved that infuriating woman. Whoever she had become.
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***
Days on the farm passed quickly, but our silence moved painfully slowly.
Melanie spent most of her days in town, hunting for a decent Wi-Fi signal. Meanwhile, I cleaned the house and the yard and planted flowers on the porch.
Billy dropped by one afternoon.
“This place hasn’t looked this good since your wedding, pal.”
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“Oh, I just… finally had some time for myself.”
“Careful, someone might fall for you.”
“Cut it out. Not Melanie. That’s long gone.”
Billy tilted his head and looked at me like I’d just said the sky was green.
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“Jake, don’t be a fool. She’s here. That means something.”
“She’s here because she wants a signature.”
“Then sign it. Or don’t. But for the love of bacon, talk to her. Ask her to dinner. Do something other than fixing fences and mumbling at your dog.”
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That evening, I found Melanie in the pantry. She was holding my box of documents.
“What are you doing?” I asked, not even raising my voice.
“Looking for tea. But I stumbled on this.”
“You always break into places where you’re not invited?”
“And you always hide what matters instead of talking about it?”
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“I wasn’t hiding. I was postponing. It wasn’t time yet.”
“Not time?! I’m getting married, Jake! Married! To a real, present, grown man!”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sure he will be thrilled to hear his bride was digging through her legal husband’s pantry.”
“You just can’t accept that I left! That I changed! You hold on to the past like an old jacket that hasn’t fit in years!”
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“And you hold on to some fantasy version of yourself until you have to look yourself in the eye. Have you ever actually thought about what you did? I can’t believe the Melanie I loved could sleep at night after running away like that!”
“Oh, I slept just fine! I didn’t have to crawl under three blankets because someone never fixed the windows!”
“You never said anything bothered you! Not once!”
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“Oh, maybe because it was obvious?! You never asked what I wanted! I wanted more! A career! The city lights!”
“You could’ve told me. We could’ve sold this place and moved to New York together.”
“Oh yeah? And what about the money you poured into building this farm the day before the wedding? You think I didn’t see the contract? That was the final straw, Jake! You said nothing.”
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“And you did? You said nothing, either! About your dreams, about the windows!”
“I’ve had enough! No wonder I ran. I haven’t even been able to answer my fiancé for two days because there’s no signal here!”
“Oh. You probably connected to the broken router. I have two — forgot to mention.”
“You! How dare you!”
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She slammed the pantry door. The house went black — total darkness.
“What was that?” I frowned.
“I… may have knocked that old switch.”
“That ‘old switch’ was the main breaker. It’s broken now. Congratulations, Mel, we’re in the dark.”
“Wonderful! Magical!” she shouted. “No light, no water, no reason to live!”
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“Let’s not overreact,” I muttered, grabbing a flashlight.
I headed outside and built a fire. Melanie sat on the bench, wrapped in my old flannel shirt. No makeup. Hair hastily tied up. For the first time in days, she looked real.
“You hungry?” I asked, skewering some chicken.
“Starving. But if you offer me canned beans, I’ll run to the nearest motel.”
“Barbecue. Real fire. Your dad’s old recipe, actually.”
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She gave a slight nod.
“Mel…” I started but didn’t finish.
“Don’t. I don’t even know what to think. But it’s… peaceful here. Cozy, even. You’ve turned this place into something magical. I miss that in New York.”
“It’s not too late to stay. I always knew your soul was too wild and free for a city apartment, even if it’s a big one.”
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I chuckled. “Yeah… I only realized that after I got everything I ever wanted.”
“Well, there are plenty of forests and fields out here to calm the rebel in you.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I ran because I was scared I’d stay here forever. That my dreams would die under diapers, early mornings, and a farm you decided to build.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I wasn’t going to make you a prisoner. I wanted to make you happy.”
We sat in silence. The fire crackled.
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Then, Melanie suddenly laughed.
“Remember when I burned your favorite sweater?”
“It was hideous.”
“But warm!” she giggled. “And it smelled like you.”
“Melanie… All these years, I couldn’t understand… why? We were so in love. I still…”
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Suddenly, headlights lit up the yard.
“You expecting someone?” I asked.
Melanie’s face went pale.
“No… No, it can’t be…”
Out stepped a tall man in a coat. Phone pressed to his ear. Slicked-back hair, judgmental stare. New York in human form.
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“Melanie! Finally, I found you!” he shouted. “What are you doing here with this…!”
Melanie opened her mouth to answer, but he cut her off.
“You’ve got meetings this week. My assistant’s been trying to reach you. And my mother’s freaking out about the seating chart.”
“This…?” I raised an eyebrow. “This is her legal husband. For now.”
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He looked from me to her.
“What is this?! Some kind of joke?!”
“Oh. Sorry,” I said dryly. “Thought you knew.”
“Melanie! Pack your things. We’re leaving. We have a wedding to plan. Did you forget?”
Melanie stood frozen. Speechless.
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I calmly took a piece of grilled meat from the skewer, bit into it, and added,
“No rush, Mel. You’re hungry — eat first. And, sir… have a seat. Help yourself. The night’s just getting started.”
***
Packing was fast.
While Melanie was arguing with her fiancé in my yard, I sat quietly in my office, signing the papers. Calmly. Steadily. Only my hand trembled a little. Before she walked out the door, I handed her the documents.
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“Here. It’s all official now.”
She looked down at them. Then at me. Her eyes dropped.
“I’m sorry… I have to go.”
“Of course, sweetheart.”
Her hand was already on the doorknob when I stepped toward her.
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“But just tell me one thing. One simple thing.”
She froze.
“Is this really what you wanted? Are you truly happy?”
Silence.
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“I’m sorry. I have to go.”
And she left. But I already knew the answer.
I sat on the porch with my dog, watching the fire burn down.
Suddenly, I understood… I couldn’t make the same mistake twice. Ten years ago, I let her walk away. This time, I am going to fight. I grabbed my pickup keys and tore off into the night.
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I took the shortcut I’d built over the years — a road that led straight to town and the highway. It turns out it wasn’t built in vain.
Thirty minutes later, I burst into the airport like a madman.
The flight to New York… had already taken off. Too late. She’s gone. Again.
“Jake?”
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I turned around. Melanie stood there. Backpack slung over her shoulder, with tears in her eyes.
“I thought you’d flown…”
“And I thought one time running was enough. Twice would just be stupid.”
“And what stopped you?”
“The dog. I forgot to say goodbye to Johnny,” she said with a tiny grin.
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“The dog?” I laughed. “And here I thought it was my world-famous barbecue.”
“I realized halfway through the airport that I’ve never laughed with him. Not really. We make sense on paper. But we don’t… feel.”
We drove home together. On the way, she fell asleep leaning on my shoulder — like she used to back in college. On the porch, she pulled the divorce papers from her bag.
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She tore them in half. Then again. And again.
“Divorce officially canceled. But only if you promise never to wear sweaters in that color again. And help me move my stuff.”
“Man’s honor.”
The dog growled softly. And we walked inside. It was warm there. And quiet. And no one was in a rush to leave ever again.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: I spent $30,000 trying to become a Mom, only to hear my mother-in-law call my adopted kids “fake” in front of guests. I stayed quiet then. But not for long.
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