Tuesday, June 1st, 2010
I went to see Sex & The City 2. God help me. This video explains my thoughts.
Wednesday, January 6th, 2010
Warning: This post may make you want to punch babies, computer screens or indeed, me. Lest we get ourselves into a situation a la the Great Madonna Debacle of ’09, I thought I should give that warning up front. I am about to say some unsavory things about Sex and The City. Please take a moment to check your blood pressure, align your chakras and get Deepak Chopra on the line to counsel you through this.
I loved the Sex and The City TV series. I thought it was witty, stylish and even revolutionary in its content. But when, just before Christmas, the trailer for the Sex & The City 2 movie came out and hysteria spread around the internet faster than Paris Hilton’s STDs, I got confused.
And here’s why: The first Sex & The City movie was trash.
There, I said it.
I went to see it in a movie theatre packed to the rafters with dizzy bitches in cocktail dresses and their gay best friends. (I won’t touch on why everyone got dressed up like they were going to prom and some of the boys were wearing tiaras, suffice to say, you can take a thing too far. It’s not that serious.) At the end of the movie, as the girls sniffled into their hankies and the boys applauded like they were at a Ricky Martin concert, I figured I must have been watching something altogether different.
Let’s break down what actually happened in that cinematic flop:
Carrie, who spent how many years going through the ringer with Mr Big, decides she’ll marry him. Clearly the woman has never read a self help book in her life. All signs point to WRONG. She rolls up to the wedding with some hideous feather in her head, only to be stood up by Mr Big. After buggering off to Mexico and weeping for days on end, it’s decided it’s all one big misunderstanding and she marries him anyway. Cold feet be damned! Whichever way they tried to dress it up, the underlying message was that Carrie is over 40 and frankly, it’s never gonna get better than this rich fella who treats her like crap. Being with him is better than being a spinster. Quick, pass the ring!
Then there was Miranda. Her husband Steve cheated on her for the lamest of reasons. Now, while I do believe, in a marriage, you should always try to work it out, in this case, it was completely out of character for Miranda to tolerate such nonsense. But, she takes him back anyway. Why? Because she’s over 40, with a child. It may never get better than Steve, who cheats. Better to be with a cheater than be a spinster.
On to Charlotte, whose infertility was one of her main story lines on the show. So she adopts a baby from China (why not a poor American kid? I never got that). Ahh happy endings. But wait, all of a sudden, in the movie, Charlotte gets pregnant! It’s a miracle! Yes, yes, I get that it can happen, but I found it hugely offensive and insensitive to women who struggle with infertility to make it seem as if it was that simple.
The only one who kept it real was Samantha. She stayed true to who she was and wasn’t afraid to leave her toyboy when it wasn’t working out.
But aside from Samantha, the overall message was that you should settle. Because you’re old. Once you get to a certain age, demanding certain things like oh, I don’t know, not being stood up on your wedding day, is just ridiculous. You shouldn’t be picky. Just settle. And wear nice clothes while you do it.
Will I see Sex and The City 2? Of course I will, because it looks ridiculous and I’m a sucker for good wardrobe styling, but all this hysteria and people acting like the first movie was actually good? Yeah, I think you need to reassess.
Sunday, August 24th, 2008
I donned my glad rags (a very cute shirt dress with a belt and super sexy black stilettos with a whole lot of toe cleavage) and set out to walk the one block to my friend’s house. As I approached the corner, I saw a crowd of people. One woman from the crowd broke off and started walking in my direction, smiling at me. For a moment, I was panic stricken, thinking I was supposed to know her, but there wasn’t an ounce of recognition. As she got closer, I realised, dear God, she was actually going to talk to me.
“Hi. I’m Wendy,” she said. I gave her a smile and nod. “I’m a sex worker and I’m just out here making sure all you girls are being safe tonight.”
I took a moment to scream ‘what…the…fuck!!!’ in my head and then gathered myself.
“That’s great Wendy,” I said. “I am not a prostitute, but keep up the good work. I’m just a girl with good legs, who likes to show them off. I only have about 2 more years left to do that before it’s socially unacceptable for me to do so. But rock on with your mission. Kudos to you.”
Wendy looked a little stunned. “Oh. OK,” was all she managed to blurt out. Either she was embarrassed about her huge error, or she thought I was in denial.
I kept walking, shaking my head in disgust at what had just happened. But then, in the space of one block, I was propositioned three times. To make matters worse, when I got to my friend’s place, he wasn’t ready, so I had to wait outside for him…on the corner. Not a good look.
Though, I guess it could be reassuring to know that if things ever take a downward turn for me, I could really make a lot of money out here on these streets.
I’m thinking about possibly retiring that outfit, but my friends all insist they love it. It’s very Carrie Bradshaw, they tell me. Wendy the sex worker, must be the last remaining human to not have seen Sex and the City (how ironic, given her job title). But as my friend kindly pointed out: “Carrie Bradshaw don’t got your legs, honey.”
So in case you were wondering what takes an outfit from Sex and the City chic to Prostitute garb, the answer, apparently, is about seven inches of leg.