I convinced myself that I was going to love Sex and the City: The Movie when I first heard that it was in production. Absence of the series had made my heart grow fonder. Moving to New York had not unveiled my inner (and outer) Carrie Bradshaw so I absorbed the TBS syndication from my couch in Harlem every chance I could get.
By the time my girlfriends and I entered an Upper West Side movie theater on the opening weekend of the movie, I was so "Sex"-deprived, I was ready and willing to overlook any flaws that would taint my Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha moments. I imagine that - for me - viewing the film for the first time was like the taste of water after walking through the desert. It was going to be great even if there was a bug or two and a little bit of dust floating around.
I had suspended reality so much to enjoy this film, that it has been a little surprising to hear over the weeks since that not everyone adored the movie as much as I did. And then I recently read a review that really got me thinking about the message of the movie.
From Miss Model Behavior:
The moral of the film: get rich so you can afford to neglect any real responsibility and completely immerse yourself in the personal problems that consume your existence through every possible season (just long enough to view a complete wardrobe, the only saving grace of those two and a half hours). This might not have mattered if the movie had the funny sarcasm and witty repartee of the comedy series, but mostly it was just horribly, indulgently dramatic. However, my opinion seemed to be at odds with every other female that I talked to, who had consumed the motion picture like it was a pint of Ben and Jerry’s after a bad breakup.
After reading this blog post, I licked off the rest of my Ben and Jerry's spoon, put it down and did a little self-reflection. Maybe I wouldn't list Sex and the City: The Movie with all of my favorites on Facebook after all. Side thought: Because nothing is official until it is announced on Facebook - friendships, relationships, careers. I mean it. Don't mess around and claim that you are engaged on Facebook; you'll start receiving wedding gifts and then a lot of people will be mad when they learn you're not really getting married. I have referenced the HBO series multiple times throughout my blog, sometimes in sincerity, often in satire. I've analyzed the allure of Manhattan that the television show created. I've had my own couldn't help but wonder moments about whether or not I was just another Carrie Wannabe.
I've gotten through two years in New York knowing that those types of girls don't make it. They can't look far enough beyond the fantasy of Manhattan to see the gritty reality of New York City. Recently a good friend admitted to me that this city wasn't all she hoped it would be and that she can't afford to continue living here if she doesn't find a better job. This city is a hard place to survive, and the level of in-your-face luxury and materialism can make your biggest steps forward feel miniscule. Even conversations over brunch are more often about who received what from whom, who bought what from where, and who wore what when - rather than real world issues, like subsistence farming, the Middle East, poor education, natural disasters, the welfare system, affordable medical care. No one wants to be Debbie Downer on a beautiful New York day, but is marching down the street in Manolos and Jimmy Choos, linked arm in arm with our hottest friends, toting Louis Vuitton and Chanel all that we really hope for? Do we not get much deeper than that?
In a world of Darfurs, Iraqs and Tibets, it can't get any shallower. And in a post that began as self-reflection spurred by the analysis of a Hollywood film, I cannot get any more random.
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