Sex and the City movie and my skirt! magazine debut

In need of a total brain-break yesterday, I went to see Sex and the City. About half way through, when the ladies were on their un-honeymoon in Mexico, I was struck by the parallel to my recent skirt! magazine essay, Change of Plans.

I’ve heard a lot of negative criticism about the Sex and the City movie, and admit I didn’t race to see it until I needed an escape from the rigors of summer school, but was quite moved despite the blatant product placement and rabid materialism, and not just because I saw myself, and my essay, in Mexico.

And, let it be known, I didn’t watch the series; in fact, I’ve only recently subscribed to HBO and that was for the John Adams mini-series (though I got into Big Love, too).

I was moved by the heartbreak, a common human condition. I was moved by the tight circle of friends, though they look much more perfect than any people I’ve ever met. I’ve even loved shoes, though mine were likely from PayLess or Target, under $20 and definitely not heels– those torture devices kill my back.

I connected with Carrie Bradshaw because she’s a successful writer and I long to be. I connected with Miranda Hobbes because I have been blinded by hurt and distrust and busy-ness and allowed those things change my personality for the worse. I connected with Samantha Jones because I’ve certainly used men for crazy sex, and if I wasn’t married would again. I sympathized with Charlotte York because I know several people who resemble her, though in different ways. I’ve dated, and probably been engaged to, someone like Mr. Big (I was engaged three different times, to three different people, before marrying my Mr. Wonderful). I am absolutely sure I’ve shunned a Steve Brady and still feel guilty.

I didn’t connect with the designer clothes, Jennifer Hudson’s performance or living in New York. And, in a sad way, I didn’t connect with the tight circle of girl friends; I’m just not that close to anyone and don’t always get along with women– especially superficial women.

All the same, the movie was what I needed yesterday afternoon, fantasy escapism with a strong human scent.

It made me feel more reasonable, too, for going on my un-honeymoon and for allowing myself to get so broken down, so many times over so many different men, when I opened my heart at the wrong time, to the wrong person.

And, in the end, I’m probably still more like Miranda: busy, cranky, tired and unreasonable with those I love the most. Fortunately, with the love and support of Mr. Wonderful, I’m on my way to becoming a much more down-to-earth Carrie.