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Sex in the City
Mar. 29th, 2009 11:20 amLast night I stayed up way too late watching the Sex in the City movie, which is a bit weird, because I hate Sex in the City down to the marrow of my bones, because I am unable to view it as a fantasy. It always struck me, instead, as quietly (loudly?) insisting that this is how life should be. (isn't everything made for women secretly instructional or cautionary?)
And any one who lives in New York knows it can't be. Those apartments? With those jobs? Seriously?
But it's not just that.
It's the long, long sequence about the horror of the redhead's (I've forgotten her name) pubic hair. We all have our preferences and that's fine. And there's what looks neat in a bathing suit. But really? Get the fuck over it, people. Maybe it's because I'm Italian, and maybe it's because I'm lazy but is this really something we need to be having anxiety and mortification about?
And let's not even start about the thing with Samantha's weight. 15lbs?!?!?! The horror. And she hasn't, of course, they just put her in really tight awful clothes in an attempt to make the point. It was eyerolling.
And then of course there's Big and Carrie, which is inevitably how I wind up tuning in. And it's the clue too, that this is a fantasy and not a slice of life picture. I dated Big. I dated Big for a long goddamn time. And the issue for me isn't that my story there ended differently -- believe me, RELIEF RELIEF RELIEF, and a bit of sadness at how I squandered my twenties.
The issue is that even in their happy ending, she's a little girl and they're both using each other for status and it creeps me out. It's very human, but the fucked part is never acknowledged, again because it's a fantasy, and I can't seem to access it that way. Good pretty girls grow up to be good pretty girls and boys like them. *Yawn* and *hulk smash*.
What strikes me now, particularly when watching the old episodes (flipping channels, it happens), is how young Carrie is during the run of the show. And how batshit insane.
My mother watches it in reruns and I wonder if she gets it, that that was her daughter, just poor and queer and arguing in bars all the time and trying to be the perfect girl so that she could look just right with the tallest guy in the room and be miserable but high fucking status, prom queen at last! Which is, you know, more or less how your twenties are here in the big city.
*sigh* Yeah, she's probably missing that. Probably good.
When I raise my simpler objections about the show (the pubic hair, the weight, the neat little lessons on life at the end of every episode, and people having those apartments with those jobs), everyone, my mother included, says "but it's a fantasy, it's fun!"
Now, fantasy is complex. I get that. I know my own mind, and lord, I spend a lot of time on the Internet. There's lots of stuff we all fantasize about that we'd never do in real life even if we could.
And I get that how applies to the storybook romance that is secretly (or not so secretly) toxic, and I get how that applies to the beautiful apartments. But really, do we need to include being mortified about ourselves (the weight, the pubic hair) in with that too?
Maybe it's like the Matrix, and the fantasy is only appealing, not just with obstacles, but with random indignities as well.
See, I just explained it all to myself. And I still don't get it.
And any one who lives in New York knows it can't be. Those apartments? With those jobs? Seriously?
But it's not just that.
It's the long, long sequence about the horror of the redhead's (I've forgotten her name) pubic hair. We all have our preferences and that's fine. And there's what looks neat in a bathing suit. But really? Get the fuck over it, people. Maybe it's because I'm Italian, and maybe it's because I'm lazy but is this really something we need to be having anxiety and mortification about?
And let's not even start about the thing with Samantha's weight. 15lbs?!?!?! The horror. And she hasn't, of course, they just put her in really tight awful clothes in an attempt to make the point. It was eyerolling.
And then of course there's Big and Carrie, which is inevitably how I wind up tuning in. And it's the clue too, that this is a fantasy and not a slice of life picture. I dated Big. I dated Big for a long goddamn time. And the issue for me isn't that my story there ended differently -- believe me, RELIEF RELIEF RELIEF, and a bit of sadness at how I squandered my twenties.
The issue is that even in their happy ending, she's a little girl and they're both using each other for status and it creeps me out. It's very human, but the fucked part is never acknowledged, again because it's a fantasy, and I can't seem to access it that way. Good pretty girls grow up to be good pretty girls and boys like them. *Yawn* and *hulk smash*.
What strikes me now, particularly when watching the old episodes (flipping channels, it happens), is how young Carrie is during the run of the show. And how batshit insane.
My mother watches it in reruns and I wonder if she gets it, that that was her daughter, just poor and queer and arguing in bars all the time and trying to be the perfect girl so that she could look just right with the tallest guy in the room and be miserable but high fucking status, prom queen at last! Which is, you know, more or less how your twenties are here in the big city.
*sigh* Yeah, she's probably missing that. Probably good.
When I raise my simpler objections about the show (the pubic hair, the weight, the neat little lessons on life at the end of every episode, and people having those apartments with those jobs), everyone, my mother included, says "but it's a fantasy, it's fun!"
Now, fantasy is complex. I get that. I know my own mind, and lord, I spend a lot of time on the Internet. There's lots of stuff we all fantasize about that we'd never do in real life even if we could.
And I get that how applies to the storybook romance that is secretly (or not so secretly) toxic, and I get how that applies to the beautiful apartments. But really, do we need to include being mortified about ourselves (the weight, the pubic hair) in with that too?
Maybe it's like the Matrix, and the fantasy is only appealing, not just with obstacles, but with random indignities as well.
See, I just explained it all to myself. And I still don't get it.
