It’s time for a sequel intervention, to save something very special.
I’m going to start crowd-funding for something very important. Because surely I can pay SOMEONE to stop this car-crash from happening?
Who needs to be convinced that this is one Very Bad Idea? What strange deal with the devil do we need to make sure that schedules stay tangled, salary disputes are never resolved and personal differences remain angst-filled?
Because there can never be another Sex And The City movie. Never. Ever. Ever.
Sarah Jessica Parker posted this photo today, accompanied by the text:
“Well. I guess the cat’s out of the (little brown) bag. As usual, we will keep you posted on every detail as we are able. I’m under strict gag order until then. Xx, Sj.”
The result was that she sent the Internet into a frenzy of speculation that Sex And The City 3 is in the works. And I simultaneously sent up a tiny prayer to the Movie Gods – ‘Please, let SJP be talking about her shoe collection. PLEASE.’
You see, once upon a time (as Carrie might write), Sex And The City was my all.
It’s hard to overstate how much, for women of a certain type, and a certain age, that television show Changed Everything. How we worshipped at its (yes, well-shod) shoes. How precious and holy it was to us.
Carrie. And yes, clothes. Post continues after this collection of truly epic outfits.
It’s difficult to express, in a world where Girls jostles with Amy Schumer and Broad City, how fricking delighted women of the 90s and noughties were to have those four fictional female characters, Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda, saying those words from those extraordinary scripts on our televisions every week.
Oh, how we loved those women.
Women who dated, and fucked, and drank, and swore.
Women who had interesting jobs, and lived alone, who cheated and got cheated on, who broke hearts and had theirs broken.
Women who didn’t have children. Or had them alone. Women who had miscarriages, and abortions.
Women who married and divorced and got sick and got better and who lived full lives, not just fragments of a life seen through the filter of a man.
Women who were not girls.
WATCH: The bit where Carrie realises there are simple girls, and c-c-curly girls.
Like most of my contemporaries, I owned every season of that gloriously ground-breaking television show and I would binge-watch them before that was even A Thing.
I have memories of spending days in a post-breakup funk, working my way through box set after box-set in my share-house bedroom, hoping that by some strange miracle, I would find an episode I had never seen before. It never happened. I kept watching.
The men of Sex And The City were always bit-players to the women. Post continues after this very pleasing gallery:
There were lessons I learned from Sex And The City that I find myself teaching the Young People. Or at least I would, if they hadn’t already watched them all, too: