SATC2: conflicted.

I'm a movie person.  During my undergraduate studies, I actually took a couple of English classes which focused on interpreting film as a literary medium. To be perfectly honest, I far prefer film to television for many reasons: the lack of overtly time-wasting advertisement, the capacity to tailor the story to an audience, the time allotted to the story, the sophistication of budget and design, and the list goes on...

Image via HBO.

Because of these very preferences, I find the advent of cable television original programming to be one of the greatest events of my adult life.  Due to the lack of network sponsor constraints, shows can be racier, daring, smarter, and simply more real.  Over the years, I've fallen in love with cable-only shows like Mad Men and Treme in a very major way, but I don't know that any show will ever speak to me the way Sex and the City did.

Channeling Carrie's curls

The first season of SATC premiered when I was in graduate school. Now, I must confess that I was a little slow to discover it. Although my friends raved about the show, HBO was a luxury I simply couldn't afford at the time.  Soon, however, I started attending SATC viewing parties with friends and was hooked.

I had mine first.

As y'all know, in the late Nineties-early Aughts, it became wildly popular for women to classify themselves as one of the four female archetypes presented in the series.  My friends always considered me the Carrie of our group: at the time, I had long, curly hair and wasn't afraid to take some free-spirited fashion risks. Like Carrie, I've always wanted to be a writer. In the biggest coincidence of all, I wrote on a beautiful Blueberry iBook, even before Aiden bought one for Carrie.  The list went on: I had an on-again, off-again boyfriend with whom I could just never make it work. Everyone I knew considered him to be my Mr Big, because our relationship was so tumultous.

Sipping a Cosmo, natch.

The SATC parallels reached a fever pitch in my own life during the final episodes.  I was moving to a new city to take a job, a decision which almost instantly filled me with a strong sense of trepidation and remorse. I was still heartbroken from the final breakup with my boyfriend. As I prepared to say goodbye to my friends and the city I loved, my sweet cousin noted that, no matter how much she disliked my ex, she was already poised to echo Charlotte's missive that sent Big to Paris: "Go get our girl!"

As the show drew to a close, so did my time in the beloved city of my youth.  The week that I was scheduled to move was, coincidentally enough, the same week that the series ended.  As my little apartment filled with boxes of clothes and dishes and the little successes and miseries of my twenties, I decided to give that era of my life the Carrie Bradshaw-style send-off it deserved. I rented a hotel room (one which received HBO, natch), and threw a viewing party for my friends. I mixed Cosmos and toasted the life I was leaving behind. And I cheered for Mr Big to rescue Carrie from that damned Russian.

Charlotte in Dior, SATC2

Even though I always considered myself to be "a Carrie", my very favorite element of the Sex and the City series was that, although individual women tended to identify strongly with one of the female leads, we all have a little bit of each of those characters within us. We all have a little free-spirit, a little cynic, a little optimist, and a little vixen within us.  Over the years, I've traded in my long hair and vintage obsession for a toned-down, preppy look which would make Charlotte proud. My friends swear that R. and I are the Goldenblatts, with our house full of dogs and our drama-free life.

So, with all of the parallels between my own life and the glorious world created by Michael Patrick King, I've probably already seen the latest installment a few times, right?


Well, truthfully, I don't know when I'm going to see SATC2. Or if I'm going to see it. Let's just keep it between us, okay?

The first movie made me happy and sad at the same time. I cheered for Charlotte and Harry as their family grew. I considered Miranda's marital problems with Steve to be no more than a plot contrivance. I hated that Samantha had to leave poor, pretty Smith behind. And I felt betrayed that the ultimate single girl caved to matrimony.  It probably didn't help that R. and I had, once again, moved to a new town, and that I didn't have a group of close girlfriends with whom I could go see the SATC movie; I dragged my poor fiance, who was a good sport, but who saw little value in the film as a pop culture phenomenon. Still, I kind of left the theater feeling a tidbit dissatisfied, wishing they'd left a good thing alone.

Now, as the reports trickle in from the second movie, I just find myself feeling sad. Carrie's first love -- her "boyfriend"-- was NYC.  Half the movie, I am told, takes place in the UAE, which, last time I checked, was on another CONTINENT. I mean, the girls freaked out over trips to San Francisco and L.A.; Abu Dhabi hardly seems like their intended destination.  And, the trailer shows Carrie freaking out about an Aiden sighting; this seems a little contrived as well. I loved the way the final season of the series tied that relationship up. It made sense that he was the ex she'd never see again. Most relationships quite simply come to an end.

Most relationships, quite simply, come to an end. I think this sums up my feelings for Sex and the City. I loved the show, but it came full circle artistically. The movies were a fun concept, but were spaced too far away to remain relevant. Now, the crass tie-ins to the sequel seem whorish and overblown. (Seriously, Macy's? I buy Sperry Top-Siders there. My grandma buys Estee Lauder. It's hardly the outlet for experimental couture, a la Carrie Bradshaw.)

Sometimes it's just better to leave a good thing alone.  Then again, it may be a fun way to spend an evening with some friends and some cocktails.

I'll let you know what I decide.

Cheers,

H