Confession time!
I don’t get the appeal of Seks and teh Sitee. I haven’t watched a lot of it, but this is my impression of what I saw: a group of women with the relationship skills of middle schoolers who think nothing of dropping the equivalent of a mortgage payment on a pair of shoes and, despite ostensibly being intelligent, accomplished women, cannot survive three minutes without a man. Not only can’t I relate to the characters—I actively dislike them.
Imagine my delight that the furor has been revived by a feature film and I. Just. Can’t. Get. Away. From. It. It’s all over TV. It’s in every magazine. They’re talking about it on the radio. I’ve been avoiding the internet because I’m afraid to find out who thinks Carrie (who, might I remind you, committed adultery with this fabulous guy she’s now marrying—but he would NEVER cheat on HER) is just the bestest heroine evah. I’ve been forced into complete media blackout. Hey, fine, I do what I have to do to maintain what sanity I have left.
But when I go out to dinner with friends in my small, provincial town and find both restaurants occupied with SatC parties with women (several with Adam’s apples) in frickin’ SatC COSPLAY, I can’t help but feel there’s something in the municipal water supply that my Brita filter is sparing me from.
Carry on. Call me when it’s over. I’ll be here, alternating between Ilona Andrews and Marjorie Liu, who’ve thoughtfully provided me with female characters with more pressing concerns than their cocktails clashing with their Choos.
So nice to know I’m not alone in my profound “WTF??” over this particular phenomenon.
I tried to give SJP the benefit of the doubt . I said to myself, “Self? You LOVED Square Pets. Footloose was a defining moment of your adolescence. Give the new series a try for nostalgia’s sake.”
So I did. Watched one episode. Recoiled in horror.
Then I caught an interview with SJP and found myself muttering, “When did you get to be the most pretentious twit on the planet? Sex in the City is NOT a beautiful flower growing in the soil of the audience’s love, and you should have your mommy dress you because that big-ass silk rose is STOOPID.”
Apparently, nostalgia can bite my ass.
Yeah, some of the “fashion” blew my mind. It’s fashionable to look like a clown? I guess I’m too uncouth to appreciate the subtle distinction between “chic” and “freak.”
It reminded me of Waiting to Exhale, which I thought was an incredibly insulting portrayal of women in general and AA women in particular (same “we’re intelligent, accomplished, strong women… until we smell testosterone and morph into huge insatiable vaginas”), only years and years of it in series form. Blech.
Yeah, you can add me to the list. And I went out to dinner on Friday and saw the same groups of women who certainly should’ve been old enough to know better in their matching black SatC tank tops and black capris and (no lie) matching pink sparkly flip flops and pedicures.
I openly stared. I may have mocked. And SJP shouldn’t be allowed to dress herself. Ever.
And…uh…that would be “Square PEGS,” not square pets. Although those are cute, too.