Sex and the City has been a sort of Bible for young, urban women since it aired in 1998. When the masses lay eyes on a poufy-haired Sarah Jessica Parker attempting to rock the middle part (and failing, miserably), nobody knew that an era had officially begun. The characters of SATC represent, to a wide variety of women, the prototypes for the best life ever lived.
Except this life does not exist.
The real kicker here is, I love this show, too. I want to be Carrie Bradshaw (With a slightly smaller forehead and a lot less colors in my wardrobe.). There is nothing not to love about this version of reality. It seems that 20-something life in Manhattan is nothing but witty banter, interesting outfit choices, and all else that comes with being young, pretty and scandalous.
However, as reality has tended to prove, being young, pretty, and scandalous in NYC makes you like almost every other college girl who graduates and sets her sights on the Big Apple. Broke. Slightly malnourished. Drinking vodka out of a mason jar and calling it a juice cleanse. As the saying goes, “If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere.” With the standard cost of living, I don’t even think I could make it in Jersey.
Aside from that, every guy in New York is seen through rose-colored glasses. According to the show, if you move to the city and buy a pair of shoes that cost the same as your rent, there will be hordes of very rich, very handsome men waltzing around waiting to show you a good time. They’re rich in the “sexy Steve Jobs” kind of way, not the “my great-grandfather struck oil” way. It seems there are hundreds of them. And they’re all single. What a time to be alive.
Best of all is the cast of characters assembled around Miss Carrie Bradshaw, a group of women each set at extremes to show off what a well-rounded person their narrator can be. Charlotte, an uptight perfectionist from an Episcopalian background, works at an art gallery and still somehow affords designer clothing and a Stepford wife haircut. Miranda, a workaholic lawyer, has a caustic view on everything in life and seems to be the only one not aware of current fashion trends. Finally, Samantha is an oversexed, overconfident, and absolutely fabulous career woman who owns her own PR firm. What an amalgamation of personalities, am I right?
Wrong. Because these women, in real life, would not be friends. Charlotte’s delicate sensitivities would be offended by Samantha’s bold opinions on everything from Brazilian waxes to oral sex. Carrie would constantly be blacklisted for writing about their sex lives in a popular newspaper column. Miranda would be constantly bitter about how all of her friends can fritter their life away on Manolo Blahniks (because she is a GIANT fun-killer).
While the plot holes in the show run deep, and there are some details that are very inconsistent with reality, the show has managed to be nominated for over 50 Emmy awards, and won 7. Something, deep within the layers of tulle and 80s haircuts, has managed to resonate as truth with a thousands and thousands of viewers.
The theme that transcends the ridiculous antics of the show is that these women all believe themselves to be strong and powerful in their own right. They’re all talented, they’re all unconventionally beautiful, and they heed no man in getting what they want. The show, which debuted at a time slightly before the rise of the millennial Feminist movement, was one of the first representations of women being just as powerful, free, and cosmopolitan as all the men on the show.
In a man’s world, it’s nice to see women being able to live the life they want, surrounded by a group of women who love them and support them no matter what they do. Which I guess is the real key to the greatest life ever lived.
But an Upper East Side apartment wouldn’t suck either.
The HCND application is now open! For more information contact Rebecca Rogalski at rebeccarogalski@hercampus.com or Katrina Linden at katrinalinden@hercampus.com
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