Somehow it’s the 25 Sex and the City
anniversary, which doesn’t make sense to me, Because it feels like yesterday I was watching the infamous Rabbit episode and my mind was blown, shall we say, loose oversight 11-Elderly. (Criticize my mom if you want, but at least I realized early on that sex should be pleasurable for women, which was an important lesson that I fully attribute to my off-screen tenure, middle school Member of the fifth SATC group enrolled.)
when I review25 years worth of universes, ridiculously expensive shoes, and terribly rambling column writing, I couldn’t escape the simple truth: I’m just not a Carrie fan. That’s partly because I’m a textbook Miranda (Stanford Bratch Rise, Harry Gordon Blutt Sun), but without repeating every sin the show’s central protagonist has ever committed, suffice it to say that I’m See yourself less in Carrie – except, of course, when she fails.
What kind of failure are you asking me to refer to? Well, there are plenty of options – one time she showed up hangover in a New York
magazine shoot, and ended up being photographed for posterity with the cynically titled “Single And great?” comes to mind – but Carrie Bradshaw’s failed ne plus ultra has to be her transformation into what Stanford calls a “fashion road killer” on the runway while walking (or trying to walk) in a Dolce & Gabbana show. Sure, Carrie played a quote-unquote real person (not a model) on the show, but it was heartbreaking to see her so excited for her runway debut only to completely eat it. Every time I watch this episode, I feel like a friend of Carrie’s in the crowd, anxiously waiting for her to correct herself.
Another major entry in the Carrie Bradshaw Flop file has to be when she gets thrown on a post-it. I’m on the record thinking it’s not actually the worst way to break up with someone (personally, I’d rather read a note than have someone see me crying ugly in my face), but she handles that The way misadventures – that is, being crazy as hell, talking shit about her ex to his friends, smoking weed on the street, getting a ticket from the cops, having an ice cream sundae with her pals to end this Night–was when Carrie was at her most gracious. It might be weird to say I love her, but I love her! The picture-perfect, style-icon version of Carrie on so many dorm posters doesn’t do me much good, but she’s endlessly charming in her chaos.