My relationship with SATC has been a lot like dating: It started out with a crush and ended with an eye-roll.
Let’s talk about sex — Sex and the City, that is. (Wink wink, groan groan.)
Who among us does not know all about Charlotte, Miranda, Samantha, and Carrie? Who among us has not, at one point, coveted an outfit or a one-liner from an episode? Who among us does not throw up in their mouth just a little bit at the thought of a show about rich ladies kvetching about men over cocktails?
My relationship with SATC has been a lot like dating: It started out with a crush and ended with an eye-roll. Call me shallow, but the glamour got me at first — the same way that Val Kilmer’s intense blue eyes made my heart go pitter-patter as a tween. When the first Sex and the City film came out, I went to see it with my mum and best friend for a girls’ night…even though I had never seen the show and couldn’t understand (or care) why Carrie and Mr. Big could not get their shit together. My mum, similarly, fell asleep 10 minutes in — but we still ended the night talking about boys over cosmos in a Mexican restaurant (because that’s what human women do in groups, right?).
It was a decent enough first date to warrant a second. Plus, my cool big brother said it was a good show.
I was shy to commit to binge-watching six seasons of girly sitcom, so it took me a long time (eight years?) to finally make a date with my roommate’s DVD collection. Once I did, Sex and the City and I seemed to hit it off. We had some laughs. I even cried when Mr. Big and Carrie broke up the first time (YES it DID remind of MY LIFE, OK?!), and in a moment of weakness I decided which “one I would be” (probably Samantha, if I didn’t know too much about STDs and have a fragile little heart from my time as a Christian teen in an abstinence club).