Sex And The City. Sex And The City.Sex And The City.Sex And The City.Sex And The City. Sex And The City.Sex And The City.Sex And The City. Sex And The City. Sex And The City.Sex And The City.Sex And The City.Sex And The City. Sex And The City.Sex And The City.Sex And The City.
Sick of it, yet? According to its fans it's a liberating account of the independent, assertive woman, unashamed to hide her female charms to get what she wants. It's a brutal, headlong escapist monologue of the modern American middle aged female. It's a theraputic thought experiment in how to be happy and to not settle for anything less than bagging a rich white male. Maybe I've got this show mixed up with something else all these years. From what I can make out this has been my experience.
For from a feminist exploration of the life and loves of the independent woman, of friendship, it's a piece of shit that shamelessly revels in its own self-importance and outrageouness. In its execution it comes across as smug, vain and the writing reveals that far from being witty or particularly sexy, it uses aspiration as a mask to justify hedonism, anti-intellectualism and consumerism and undeserved fake prosperity, surely some of the worst human qualities. Even further from the accusation and implication that it's culturally significant and has done much for the modern woman, it actually reinforces the myth of the modern woman as obsessed by shopping and hollow relationships. Far from being a harmless escapist piece of entertainment you can't help feel that the money used to fund this crap would have been better spent on actresses who can deilver stronger performances in a film that actually would be more entertaining, cultural and educational.
It has never been hysterically outrageous. It's always been a self-indulgent, soft targeted, slice of frozen jism.
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