In my review of the "six-episode bonus season" of Sex and the City – which really isn’t a bonus since last season was six episodes shy of the series’ original season – I’ve decided not to write a traditional review.
I mean, we all know exactly what the bonus episodes will offer: Carrie will continue to prance around Manhattan in getups no sober thirtysomething single woman seeking sex would ever even consider sporting; Samantha will continue to celebrate sex while showcasing her breasts to anyone who will stop and stare; Charlotte will pine for a baby while playing the perfect housewife; and Miranda, well I’m not exactly sure how they’ll deal with her pregnancy, but, thanks to Patricia Field, she’ll look good while they’re doing it. No, rather than write about the HBO hit that will continue to remain a hit as long as the world thinks there are sexy single women living in Manhattan who crave couture clothes and quaff Cosmopolitans, I thought I would discuss what sex and the city are really like.
Like Carrie Bradshaw, I am a single thirty-something, I live in Manhattan and I have a weakness for designer shoes. And like Carrie Bradshaw, I write for a newspaper, I eat brunch with friends, and I have an unhealthy propensity to spend more money than I earn. Unlike Carrie Bradshaw, however, I can not drink Cosmopolitans five nights a week and still meet my deadline. I can not shop on upper Fifth Avenue and still pay my rent. And I can not leave my apartment wearing running shorts and high heeled pumps and still take myself seriously.
I realize few would tune in to watch me sip a Rolling Rock and shoot pool at an East Village dive while wearing sensible slacks – but that’s what life is like. It’s not all faux fur and bare legs and oh, my fabulous furniture-designing boyfriend wants to move in together, and my 80-year-old neighbor just happens to be moving out, so we’ll just knock down the wall between the apartments without consulting the co-op board. Life in the city is surprisingly like life in the rest of the world. We awaken to alarm clocks, buy clothes at Old Navy, and eat eggs at a diner.
But Sex is still worth viewing. Why? Because watching these women squeeze into four-inch heels and mortify themselves in front of men means we don’t have to. – JoAnne Steglitz