Is there a secret Cold War between marrieds and singles? | SATC 1-3: Bay of Married Pigs

 

So, it’s been a while. Technically, the majority of this post was written in May, when I intended to publish it, but things happened; a friend got married and I was busy with that for 7 weeks, Prince died and writing about four privileged white girls seemed frivolous (it is frivolous), and because I absolutely HATE this episode, motivation to finish it was pretty low. But some how that motivation got a recharge and I’m back to this crazy ass project. I’m just jumping in from where I left off in May, so if there are any dated references, I didn’t update any of the old stuff.

Carrie and her bucket hat have been invited to the Hamptons for the weekend by her friends, “perfect couple,” Patience and Peter. As payback for their generosity, Carrie’s good friends (every goddamn person Carrie runs into on this show outside of the girls is a “good friend”) demand that she regale them with tales of her Single Gal Sexual Exploits, you know, like in any normal, healthy friendship.

In the morning, Carrie is greeted by more than just her friend Peter—he brought his friend Little Peter along to say good morning.


Good morning, Carrie.

Peter is so damn nonchalant about it too. He just stands there in his t-shirt; (no underpants, but at least Carrie was spared the sight of Peter’s man nipples) he just casually sips his coffee. It’s so weird and awkward. Perplexed, Carrie just walks away. Perplexed, I wonder why I’m even doing this, yet I continue.


She’s probably confused because who, when they’ve invited guests to spend the weekend, just hangs out without underwear? In the kitchen? Drinking coffee?!

First of all, that is unsanitary af. I would not drink or eat anything made in that kitchen. Secondly, this is worse than an unsolicited dick pic. Because it’s LIVE! Unsolicited dick live show.

Peter might be a good friend, but he is a terrible host.

By the time Patience returns with juice and ~the good muffins~, Peter has managed to find pants, thank god. He’s super ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ about the whole thing, of course. Typical. Carrie congratulates Patience on Peter’s dick, but Patience has no (sorry!) patience for whatever the hell is happening and Carrie is unceremoniously shipped back to the city.


Luckily, she’s just in time for lunch with the girls. She’s also inexplicably tied her cardigan, not around her waist like a normal person, but under her arms and across her chest, probably because Patricia Field drank 160 Cosmos before she styled SJP for this episode.

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Samantha theorizes that Peter probably just wanted to “show it off, like a monkey,” and then asks how big it was because Samantha. Lucky for us, their server asks the ladies right at that exact moment if they want freshly ground pepper, allowing Carrie to gesture at the pepper mill with all the subtlety of an elephant stampede.


Carrie tells them how she told Patience it wasn’t a big (heh) deal, but that Patience thought it was (😂) and Carrie can’t seem to understand why—it’s because her Single Gal brain isn’t as developed as Patience’s Married Lady brain, duh.

Obviously, this means that marrieds hate singles and that single girls steal away married men for ritual sacrifice.

I mean, Patience has every right in the world to feel that it’s a big deal that her husband had his dick hanging out for their friend to see. A dude hanging his junk for anyone to see without their consent is gross. It’s doubley gross he does it to a friend, and tripley gross because he’s married and it’s not that kind of marriage. But, Patience doesn’t have a right to be mad at Carrie (maybe for congratulating Peter’s peen) because Carrie didn’t do anything wrong—the blame lies solely with her gross husband. Buuuuuuut, if Patience was rational then we wouldn’t have an episode! To be fair though, Patience doesn’t look happy with ol’ Pete either.

Miranda thinks that marrieds pity singles and Charlotte, of course, defends marriage since it’s “the sorority she desperately wants to pledge.” (I’m rolling my eyes so hard rn). She does relent somewhat when she adds that her married friends treat her differently.

Apparently marrieds are the enemy.

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Then we get good ol’ Stanford wearing the kind of hat that the bass player of a ska-reggae band would’ve worn in the 90’s as he laments to Carrie that even the gays are getting into the marrying game. They’re all flying off to Hawaii specifically to make Stanford feel inferior.

And as if on cue, they run into Carrie’s old friend (whom she hasn’t seen since he came out, but you know, he’s a good friend) Joe, with his husband Lou. Joe asks Carrie if she’s married and she says “not really,” (BITCH, YOU’RE SINGLE!)

This is the age before everyone had Facebook and inundated their friends with overly staged engagement announcements and wedding hashtags, but you know if Carrie had Facebook her relationship status would be set to “it’s complicated,” permanently.

And Joe, right there in the middle of the street, asks Carrie for one of her “top notch” eggs (top notch? SHE SMOKES!) because that’s a totally normal thing to ask a friend who didn’t even know you were out of the closet.

Carrie is insulted and calls it “single bashing for a new millennium” because this one bizarro event has equated Carrie—and thus all single girls—to being walking egg farms.

Okay, Carrie.


Meanwhile, Miranda’s at her firm’s annual softball game and has agreed to let Jeff from her office set her up on a blind date—dun, dun, dun—with a woman! Unbeknownst to her, of course.

This is obviously because Miranda has short hair and a fabulous power lesbian wardrobe, plus she is always lambasting men and she plays softball, so in the SATC universe, Miranda is a pretty typical lesbian; anybody could make that mistake.

And even though she’s offended by the assumption that just because she’s single she must be gay, Miranda has no problem exploiting this for her own personal gain. Her boss, Chip, invites Miranda and Syd, her blind date, to a dinner party, and if it means making partner at her firm, Miranda will impersonate a lesbian to make that happen!


Carrie is working on a new theory in this week’s column, “Maybe it’s not about hate, but about fear of the unknown. Married people don’t hate singles…they just want us figured out.” Mmmm, kay.

What’s to figure out? Some people are just not in relationships, whether by choice or no, it doesn’t seem that difficult a concept to understand, but then again, Carrie is a sex anthropologist and must get to the bottom of this confounding mystery.

And in the name of research Carrie has lunch with her favourite married couple: Lisa and David. Lisa and David are cool marrieds, you guys! They feed each other French fries and make jokes about being married! That’s how you know they are super chill.

Lisa asks Carrie how she feels about being single (eyeroll gif) and Carrie tells them it’s not so bad except for when her family sits her at the kids table because I guess unless you’ve legally saddled yourself to another person, you’ll be treated like a child (uh, Carrie and I are cousins, probably). And just as Carrie begins to wonder if she’ll ever be the marrying kind, entirely by coincidence, Lisa and David’s friend runs into them at lunch. Real subtle guys.

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Some coffee and taramisu later, Carrie and Sean like each other enough to see some movies together. She even helps him pick out a Williams Sonoma cheese grater (which will run you anywhere from $14 – $40). That’s fun.

Carrie compares Sean to a DKNY dress—something you’d never buy, but you try on because of proximity, or something. Do people not buy DKNY? How does Donna Karen stay in business?

Elsewhere, Miranda has her best power-lesbian suit on having attended Chip’s dinner party as an undercover lesbian. It’s got all the makings of one of those ill-conceived hipster white-girl experiments where they try wearing a hijab for a day to try and see what it’s like to live like a hijab-wearing woman without actually listening to the experiences of those women, except Miranda doesn’t go home to write a blog about it.

Instead, Miranda screws up her courage and bravely comes out of the non-gay closet to her boss.

Chip is cool with Miranda being being straight, but he’s disappointed that his pet gay really wasn’t, forever ruining the “diverse” dinner parties his nameless WASP wife plans her life around. Tragic.

Miranda and Syd leave and Miranda figures she’d better make sure she’s not at least a little bit gay, so she kisses Syd in the elevator and confirms for herself (and Syd) that she indeed isn’t a lesbian.

I wonder what Syd got out of this wackadoo situation besides a totes awkward elevator kiss and a free dinner.

While Miranda was rising above the oppression of her short hair and sartorial choices, the rest of our intrepid singles head to the Upper West Side to Sean’s house warming party. Carrie calls it “Noah’s-West-Side-Rent-Controlled-Ark,” because the party was full of a bunch of straight white couples.


Samantha immediately goes off to ply herself with booze in order to lessen the impact of being around a bunch of gross marrieds, while Carrie and Charlotte take a tour of Sean’s apartment, which ends in Sean’s office/future nursery.

He emphasizes this by pulling out a baby mobile he bought on a whim.

Dude, I buy gummy Cokes on a whim, I buy lipstick on a whim, I buy notebooks on a whim. Mobiles are not a whim kind of purchase. Like, where are you shopping that you just happen upon a mobile that makes you think “eh, what the hell ¯\_(ツ)_/¯?”

Charlotte’s uterus is going bonkers and she gets all up in Carrie’s grill about how when a dude buys a “classic six on the Upper West Side” he is basically a peacock strutting around with his iridescent feathers waggling about hoping some poor woman will be distracted long enough for him to lock it down.

Charlotte’s entire reproductive system wants to eat Carrie alive for landing this dude before she had the chance to meet him.

Samantha, meanwhile, is doing a shot of tequila for every married dude she’s boned who is on the ark with his wife.


A lovely liquid Samantha is giddy with glee when Carrie introduces her to Patience and Peter as they board the married-people ark.

Patience seems to have forgiven Carrie for having to working eyeballs; it’s implied that Parience has found her, er, patience with Carrie because now Carrie is with Sean, the marrying guy. If ever a threat was removed it would be by casually dating a dude who buys baby accessories on a whim and $40 cheese graters.

Samantha bursts out laughing and exclaims “I know you! You’re big peppermill dick!” at Carrie’s introduction. And with that, the girls exit stage left.

Charlotte, seeing how drunk Samantha is, insists Sam sleep on her couch rather than going back to her own place because Charlotte is a good friend— you know Carrie would’ve never offered.

As they head into Charlotte’s  building, Samantha makes eyes at the doorman because Samantha, and then she and Charlotte have a rousing game of truth or dare, make a few prank calls, and have a pillow fight in their nighties before going to bed.

But Sam can’t sleep. Samantha doesn’t count sheep, she counts dick, and the only D she wants right now is downstairs manning the door.

Samantha goes down to the doorman enrobed in what I can only call a fur seduction wrap, with a cute black bra and panty set that shows off her SPECTACULAR abs. Needless to say, she brings the little Irish lad upstairs for a shag.


The next morning Charlotte finds him; the poor little doorman has been vag-matized.

While Samantha was seducing the doorman (who, I assume, headed right back to Ireland to nurse his poor little broken heart), Sean wants Carrie to stay the night—he’s seducing her with his ability to clean up after the housewarming. And when Carrie turns him down (she can smell his desperation, which probably smells like a Chestnut & Praline Bath and Bodyworks candle) Sean gets all worked up about how “you” women (uh, thanks, Sean) all want to get married apparently, but none are willing to take him up on his offer.

1. Probably because your pants are ugly, Sean,

2. You buy baby mobiles whimsically. That’s weird, Sean,

3. And your pants are really fucking ugly, like super ugly. They’re terrible.


But for real, I’ve known a few nice ladies who be more than willing to go half on a $40 cheese grater; Sean just really needs somebody to take him pants shopping.



Carrie apparently think so as well because she spends very little time before she sets Charlotte up with her leftovers. But no matter how desperate Charlotte is to hyphenate her last name with that of a man’s, she draws the line at a man who prefers American Classic china. Only French Country will do for Charlotte York, fellas.

Oh my God, I almost forgot to talk about this episode fourth wall-breaking montage.

I have very little will left to live after being reminded of the fourth wall breakers in this episode and it’s making it difficult to even want to write the rest of this post. But, I’m this far in, so what’s wading through a little more crap, right?

So, anyway, we have Shitty Lady #1, sitting at a bar with her probably equally shitty husband. She’s talking about how after she got married she didn’t like seeing her single friends. She didn’t like being reminded that she’s A SHITTY SHITTY LADY of how desperate she used to be. First of all, this chick is such a shitty friend. Second, don’t put that desperate shit on your friends, Shitty Lady! Third, your single friends are better off without you—fuck you and the high shitty horse that you made your tacky wedding entrance on.

Next we get Shitty Lady #2, complaining about how her married friends are gross monsterous “we’s” rather than 2 independent individual personalities who have chosen to be together (tbf, that we shit bugs me too, but whatever).

Next we get Sir Whines A Lot, wah-wahing about he never gets to see his best bro anymore because Best Bro got ball and chained. Now Whiney McWhinerson is sad because his fwend is only allowed to come out and play on Super Bowl Sunday. It’s a modern tragedy. Shakespeare would’ve written a play about it.

Back to Shitty Lady #1. This chick is going on and on about how fucking amazing she is because she decided to grow up and be a real adult, unlike her desperate single friends who are living in an extended adolescence. WHAT A BITCH! I bet she’s one of those women who had to give her very lucky husband an ultimatum to get him to propose, so congrats Shitty Lady. I bet they’re divorced now.

This illustrious episode ends with “Respect” playing as Carrie saunters down the street, while she voice overs about how marrieds and singles are like the war in Northern Ireland, essentially the same, but different—so, you know, not the same, but whatever, Carrie is the professional writer around here.

She meets up with the ladies at the theatre, because if they can’t have husbands, at least singles can still go to the movies, or something.

EPISODE SUMMARY

Dude Count:

1. Big Pepper Mill Dick Peter
2. The egg hunters
3. Cool-married David
4. Every-woman-with-short-hair-is-a-lesbian, probably Jeff
5. We-need-a-lesbian-for-our-dinner-parties, boss man Chip
6. Bad-Pants-Marrying-Guy Sean
7. Vag-matized Irish doorman
8. Sir Whines A Lot, aka: Whiney McWhinerson

Worst Friend:

Carrie, obviously

Overall Rating:

2 $40 cheese graters out of 10 big pepper mills

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If models could cause otherwise rational individuals to crumble in their presence, exactly how powerful was beauty? | SATC 1-2: Models & Mortals

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A little later than I intended to have this posted, but everything going on in my life was so much less irritating than this episode, so…

This has to be one of the worst episodes of Sex & the City. It’s so bad I could barely even muster the snark to complain about how bad it is. But I managed to pull through.

We start with Carrie—a much more blonde Carrie than in the pilot—voiceovering about a date that Miranda was on.

She’s at a dinner party and she seems to be enjoying herself. Her date—Nick Waxler, aka: Sports Agent Dude, aka: SAD—has just asked the group what old movie stars they’d each like to bang. The group goes around answering and Miranda chooses Sean Connery. Past, present, future Sean Connery. So, I guess Miranda is okay with hypothetically screwing abusers  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The women end up in the kitchen (it’s inevitable really, how else will all the sandwiches get made?) and Miranda tells them how she met SAD. SAD’s lady friends lack all of the tack. All of it. They start telling her that they’d given SAD an ultimatum because he kept bringing over models that either couldn’t/wouldn’t hold a conversation or preferred to throw up instead of answering SAD’s dumb hypotheticals. Who says these things to a woman they’ve just met?

There is this weird thread that runs throughout this entire episode where people either imply or explicitly state that all models are beautiful but stupid and really that beautiful people are inherently stupid. SAD’s friends seemingly imply to Miranda that she’s acceptable because she’s intelligent (and therefore not beautiful) and it’s hard to tell if she angrily eats her cheesecake because SAD’s friends (and therefore SAD himself) don’t find her beautiful or because SAD is a modelizer and being a modelizer is offensive.

And what’s up with SAD’s lady friends anyway? Like here are two apparently intelligent women (their taste in old movie stars aside) and they never thought to maybe set up their idiot modelizer friend with someone instead of just berating the women he brought to their dinner parties? Maybe SAD needs new friends.

And let’s be real here, SAD’s problem isn’t that he just likes screwing beautiful women. His problem is that he doesn’t give a shit about these women. Not past how they look, anyway. He doesn’t want an equal and he sure as hell doesn’t want a challenge. He wants a pretty doll without any independent thought or opinion because how else can this douche feel superior?

Uh, anyway, back to Miranda… she was angrily eating cheesecake.

She and SAD leave the party and Miranda confronts him about the modelizer thing. He admits he’s “obsessed” and Miranda is all “So, what am I? Your emotional beard?” And she bounces. Good for you, Miranda!

Naturally, Miranda runs to Carrie to bitch about this latest bump on her dating road, “If men like [SAD] are dating models, what chance to ordinary women have?” Uh, maybe the chance to not date douchebags? (Sorry, models.)

But thank Darren Star for this conversation, because how else would Carrie have the theme for this week’s column?

Back at Carrie’s, it’s girls night and Samantha is telling the ladies how she could be a model, but she “works for a living.” If Naomi Campbell wanted to throw a cell phone at this episode I’d hand her my iphone.

So, Samantha is a model on the high road, apparently, and like, what the hell does that even mean? That modelling isn’t a legit career? Okay, Sam. I’d love to see you say that to Iman or Cindy Crawford’s faces. I’m sure your job doing PR in New York City in no way requires needing the assistance of the occasional model, Samantha.

Anyway, then there is a whole discussion about how unfair it is that beautiful women get certain advantages. Apparently none of these thin white women have ever looked in a freaking mirror before because they’re all conventionally attractive and this entire conversation is so fucking ridiculous.

But it gets way more ridiculous because Charlotte starts in about how Christy Turlington makes her feel bad about herself.

Let me remind you what Kristen Davis looks like:



But, you see, Charlotte is wearing glasses in this scene, and if I’ve learned nothing from rom-com law, it’s that a conventionally attractive woman’s beauty can easily be hidden behind a pair of dark rimmed glasses.

Charlotte starts chanting “thighs, thighs, THIGHS!” manically while Miranda declares she wants to force-feed Christy Turlington lard and now we all know which of the four would kill the other three if it came down to it.

The ladies begin metaphorically chopping each other up for their favourite parts, except Samantha, who loves her body. Good friend Miranda snarks “you paid enough for it,” while Carrie sagely voiceovers “exactly how powerful was beauty?”

Okay, I get the whole having body image issues. We live in a society that enforces them on us so we’ll spend as much money as possible trying to fix every perceived flaw. We all have these issues. Even dudes have body image hang ups. However, four very beautiful women who check off every box of the Western Beauty Ideals checklist agonizing over their scripted flaws really annoys the fuck out of me. I mean, what do all the women who don’t look like Carrie, Samantha, Miranda, and Charlotte do? Just give up and lie on the floor?


Ugh, whatever.

Two models are sitting in a restaurant and start telling us about how pathetic modelizers are. They fall in love instantly because models and modelizers just want to get laid. Great, glad we cleared that up.

SAD then begins proselytizing. “Why fuck the girl in the skirt when you can fuck the girl in the ad for the skirt.” It’s at this point that I reach into my laptop and use a skirt to strangle this piece of garbage, but then that would turn this into a Law & Order episode. (Coincidentally, I’m currently watching an SVU episode where SAD actor, Josh Pais, is playing a defense attorney while I edit this.)

The restaurant models go on about how pathetic these modelizers are and how they can be manipulated into getting whatever they want. Take Xandrella, a “supermodel” (she’s not George Michael Freedom 90 level supermodel, so this claim is dubious at best) starts to list all the swag she’s gotten: trips to Aspen, weekends in Paris, holidays in St. Barts. She’s gotten jewellery and a boob job too, so that’s nice for her.

But guess what? Male models work the system too! Brad Fox (a catalogue model) has gotten a motorcycle and a juicer. Score! Who the fuck needs St. Barts when you’ve got a juicer? He’s also gotten scuba gear and an Herb Ritts photo. Well, he is just a catalogue model after all.

One of the restaurant models makes sure that we know she’s literary. Sometimes she reads an entire magazine from cover-to-cover!

Brb, gotta pop my eyeballs back in because they jumped out of my face and tried to run away.

SAD is now telling me about how models DO have brains, they just don’t use them. Uh, ok, you’re the one paying for trips to Paris and boob jobs, so who is using their brains here, douchebag? But then he says “my friends think I’m shallow. Sometimes I think they’re right. Other times I think, ‘hey! I’m fucking a model!'” SAD is a giant turd, you guys.

Carrie is at Gabriel Macht’s art/sex loft. He’s a friend of Carrie’s; we are only two episodes in, yet there is already an established trend of Carrie’s friends being assholes. Like attracts like, I guess.

Barkley (Gabriel Macht/Harvey Specter) is contributing to Carrie’s column by showing her exactly what kind of asshole he really is. Like how he treats models like dogs and yet still manages to get laid and live in an arty NY loft without actually selling any of his paintings.

He shows Carrie his real art. Oh, by the way, his real art is VIDEO TAPING MODELS HAVING SEX WITH HIM WITHOUT THEIR KNOWLEDGE OR CONSENT. And Carrie just lights a fucking cigarette. I really just cannot with Carrie, you guys.

Next she meets up with Nice Guy™ Skipper who tells Carrie all about how he and Miranda totes made out and hey, could Carrie pass along a note to Miranda since they have sixth period together? Actually, Skippy is whining about how Miranda won’t call him back.

Be cool, man!

Nope. He is incapable of being cool. Skipper pulls out his flip phone so Carrie can CALL MIRANDA AND ASK HER WHY SHE HASN’T CALLED HIM BACK. This is a for real actual thing that was written into the script. Like these are adult human characters in their 30s with professional adult jobs and omg I still have half the episode left.

So Carrie gets Miranda’s machine and the poor answering machine, which does not deserve this abuse, gets this message: “Hey, it’s Skipper. I’m in the street with Carrie. I just told her about how you won’t call me back. So now you have to call me back! YOU BETTER CALL ME BACK! No, I’m kidding. I’m joking! Please call me back. Did I mention this was Skipper?”

RUN. RUN FAR AWAY FROM THIS MAN, MIRANDA. 

And, as usual, Carrie knows how to bring things back to her: “I think there is a curse put on the heads of anyone who tries to fix up their friends.” Really, Carrie? You did this! You did this to your best friend Miranda! You deserve whatever karma is bringing your way.

If I was smart I’d throw up my hands and forget this ridiculous project, but I’m not, so let’s continue.

Carrie and Stanford are at a fashion show in which Stanford’s most important (ie: only) client is starring. And sure, he’s a fine underwear model, I guess, but this is what a real 90s underwear model looks like:

and Stanford’s client, Derek “The Bone” is no Tyson Beckford.

Anyway, Stanford is weird and gropey with Derek (that’s no way to behave with a client Stanny!) and confesses to Carrie he’s just waiting for Derek to confess his undying love some day. This is a goddamn toxic work relationship. Carrie asks Stanford if Derek is gay and Stanford tells her Derek is too gorgeous to be straight. Stanford’s thirst level: dehydrated.

Samantha’s managed to get front row seats at this show, so it’s probably an America’s Next Top Model finale show. Harvey Spectre shows up, Samantha hits on him, and he acts ridiculous in that special way only men can when they pass up a good thing for an easy lay. When Carrie warns Sam that Spirit is a modelizer, but what Samantha chooses to hear is “challenge!”

Sam and Carrie titter like pre-teens reading an exclusive JTT interview in Tiger Beat when Derek walks the runway.

There is an after party and lo and behold who is at this party than smug bastard modelizer, Mr. Big. Apparently Big’s been reading Carrie’s column; he tells her he thinks it’s “cute.”

If anyone else had told Carrie they thought her column was cute, she’d have a shit fit, or at least we’d get a scene of the ladies at brunch where Samantha and Miranda get offended on Carrie’s behalf and Charlotte thinks she should take it as a compliment. Instead, Carrie giggles like she’s a naive 14 year old and the cutest boy in school has just told her she said something smart.

She tells him she’s working on a piece on modelizers and asks for his thoughts. “Only that they’re very lucky,” Big replies with that smug-ass grin, and continues, “[some men just admire] extremely beautiful women. Do you have a problem with that?”

THE NERVE OF THIS SMUG-ASS BASTARD.

Also, if this is what passes for flirting in 1998, I’m so happy to not have been flirted with in 1998.

Big’s date appears, she’s a model, of course (but also black!), and suddenly Carrie is transformed into “patchouli in a room full of Chanel.”

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I miss Samantha rn. She would not let that shit fly.

So Patchouli Carrie voiceovers about something to with having thought she’d accepted her looks when she turned 30 and being too old to have the energy to be superficial.

Funny, here I was thinking being old enough to come to peace with your physical self is just something that came with age and wisdom and finally realizing how bullshit it all is, but  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ what do I know? I’m only in my 30s.

This entire episode is just full of awfulness.

So, then Sam runs up to Carrie to giggle about how baby Gabriel Macht checked off the “Yes” box on her do you like me? note, but Carrie does her one good-friend-act of the episode and warns Samantha about art-boy’s penchant for filming his model-sexing without their consent. This just makes Samantha more determined to go all the way with the dreamy boy from art class.

Carrie, feeling invisible in the midst of a bunch of models and the dudes who fetishize them, decides to leave and as she makes her way outside she runs into The Bone. Stanford is apparently getting a neck massage from a Versace model so Derek is leaving too. They end up at Carrie’s.

Carrie asks Derek why he didn’t hook up with one of the models from the show and Derek, THE MALE MODEL, tells her he thinks models are stupid. Derek’s model nickname should be The Bonehead, not The Bone.

Derek, a model name that you probably associate more with:


does not date models because he thinks they are stupid. I swear, this is more ironic than the writers meant it to be.

Carrie voiceovers that perhaps models repel each other because they can only be attracted to “regular people” and, I wonder to myself… how the hell is Carrie a celebrated columnist?

Derek makes himself comfortable in her bed and Carrie snuggles in close to him. They share a cigarette while Derek unburdens his mind (it doesn’t take long) while Carrie doesn’t listen. A love story for the ages.

Surprise, Carrie, beautiful people have feelings too (I should know).

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Cut to the lonely people montage. Miranda is buying cat food (this is heavy handed, even for you Darren Starr) when Skippy walks up to her.

Red alert, Miranda. Dude is fucking stalking you. RUN AWAY MIRANDA. “Why haven’t you been returning my calls?” he whines.

Miranda tries to brush him off (RUN MIRANDA) but Nice Guy™ Skipper The Stalker claims they have a connection. WHY AREN’T YOU RUNNING MIRANDA? He gets weirdly confrontational (or maybe not so weirdly considering he’s a STALKER) and demands to know if Miranda does this with every guy she’s with.

She tells him to play with kids his own age, but when he calls her luminous her defences crumble because she has the self esteem of a damp napkin and simultaneously alphas up by refusing him his Cap’n Crunch and takes him back to her place.

Ugh, ok first of all, Skipper—fucking gross. Like dude, move on. She hasn’t returned your 3000th call, MOVE ON.

Second, Maranda, you are so god damn childish. You aren’t into this nerd? Fine. Tell him and put me out of my misery, please!

She clearly likes the attention, and really there’s nothing wrong with liking attention, but she’s got this person who is STALKING HER and that’s not okay.

Also, YOU DO NOT NEED TO FUCK HIM, MIRANDA! Especially since HE IS STALKING YOU!!!

THIS IS NOT ROMANTIC! THIS IS NOT LOVE!

It’s one thing to tell him to get lost because he’s a creep, which is what she should do, but it’s an entirely different thing for her to lead him on and send him mixed messages when she has no interest in him aside from getting ego stroked and maybe an orgasm (have you seen Skipper? It’s doubtful he knows how to make that happen). She does not need to get ego stroked by a creeper. He is a creep and deserves nothing from her. She can get her ego strokes somewhere else.


Samantha and the boy artiste are getting down and mid-deed she asks about the camera, but is disappointed when Barkley tells her he only films the models, but he reconsiders and Sam then spends the rest of their time together staring straight into the camera. Whatever.

Carrie’s voiceover tells us that Sam wants the same consideration as the models, which to Sam, I guess means being objectified and thought of as an idiot by some creepy voyeur dirt bag. Samantha does not need this, but whatever, at least she consented to being filmed.

It’s the next morning and Carrie slept in her make up. Stanford is on the phone. He freaks out when he finds out that Derek spent the night at Carrie’s, but Carrie tells him they just talked. Relieved, Stanford exclaims “I knew he was gay!” That’s a fun relationship.

SAD starts bitching about models ruining his life and how he is an old man at 34. Cry me a river, you sad, gross little man.

Carrie is writing in a diner when Big slides into her booth. He can’t stay, he’s late for a meeting, but he’s a professional and he has something for Carrie’s column: “First of all, there are so many goddamn gorgeous women out there. But, the thing is this: after a while, you just want to be with the one who makes you laugh, you know what I mean?” And then he’s out.

Carrie swoons to death.

Episode Summary

Dude Count: 

  1. SAD/Sport Agent Dude/Nick Waxler
  2. Barkley/Gabriel Macht/Harvey Specter/Spirit
  3. Derek “The Bone(head)”
  4. Nice Guy™ Skipper
  5. Mr. Big

Worst Friend: 

Carrie and Miranda tie

Overall rating:

2 models out of 10 trips to St. Barts

Were Women in New York Really Giving Up On Love And Throttling Up On Power? | SATC 1-1: Sex and the City


In 1998, I was graduating high school and HBO was debuting a show about 4 thirty-something ladies in New York talking frankly about sex while prioritizing designer shoes over rent and food. Ahh, the nineties, such a simple time.

I loved Sex and the City when I started watching in season 3. I loved the clothes, and the clothes, and the glitz of New York, plus all the clothes. But I didn’t watch TV then the way I watch it now; now the clothes are dated, the show is a pretty poor representation of New York, and the glitz is somewhat tarnished.

Then the Sex and the City movie happened. After the movies the glitz of the show was beyond tarnished for me. The first movie was bad enough, but then SATC 2: Arab Boogaloo happened and it made me so angry that my urge to kill rose anytime SATC was mentioned in my general vicinity.

 

Clearly, Homer agrees with me

 

It took 5 years and a partial lobotomy to no longer have that reaction to the show. And I figure, if I could sit through a mini-marathon on CosmoTV without ripping my ears off I could probably handle rewatching all six seasons and writing about it.

The episode opens with an anecdote about a thirty-something British woman who moves to New York (with her Louis Vuitton luggage set, natch). She meets a man who “makes two million a year” at an art gallery, they eat dinner, they golf, they fuck, and soon enough they’re looking at houses together. Mr. Two Million hints to the realtor that maybe he and the British chick would fill up every room in that house with babies (that poor hypothetical vagina) and Ms. Expensive Luggage (pretty sure her name is actually Elizabeth, but whatever) swoons appropriately. More swooning commences when Mr. Two Mil suggests she meet his mother and then…nothing. Girlfriend gets ghosted.

Elizabeth, looking rough for someone who has a full set of Louis Vuitton luggage, is recounting this story for a dark-haired smoker in a coffee shop. The smoker is none other than Carrie Bradshaw, sex columnist extraordinaire for the New York Star. Carrie tells us that poor Elizabeth just found out about the “end of love in New York.”

I may or may not have rolled my eyes 14 times since this episode started.


There is more Carrie smoking, more inane voiceovering, more dated sax playing in the background. Carrie muses about all the great single ladies in New York who travel and buy $400 designer shoes and laments how these women, with so much disposable income (God, time before the recession was amazing) could be all alone. Maybe they’re comforting themselves with money and designer shoes, Carrie. I would be.

And now I’m being bombarded by unattractive, but probably rich men (aka: toxic bachelors) mansplaining answers for why NY women were single. They’re not even good enough excuses to type out.

Next we meet Miranda Hobbs (A BRUNETTE MIRANDA) who starts telling a story about a woman who had sex for fun, when suddenly she found herself 41, single, and unable to get a date. Apparently this means the woman’s life was over so she left New York to move in with her mother in Wisconsin. Miranda really missed her calling as a children’s writer. Then Charlotte York sets back the feminist movement 50 years because the only viable way to land a man is to play by “the rules.” Her hair is in a super cute flippy bob though.

There’s more back and forth with the toxic bachelors, Miranda, Charlotte, and now Skipper (the SATC universe’s Nice Guy™) ending with one of the toxic dudes aggressively suggesting that women should just marry fat men. 😐 Maybe if dude didn’t hate women he’d be less angry.

It’s Miranda’s birthday and the girls are celebrating by having drag queens bring her cake. And we finally get to meet Samantha Jones, complete with a declaration that women would all be better off if they just had sex like men.

Carrie’s voiceover tells me that Samantha is an inspiration—she’s an older woman (late thirties is older? I really have no chances then) who regularly sexes up dudes in their twenties. “This is the first time in the history of New York that women have had as much money and power as men [LOL], plus the equal luxury of treating men like sex objects,” says Samantha in all her inspirational wisdom. Sam is going to have her mind blown when she reaches 2016.

There is more inane conversation along this vein with Miranda declaring she dumped a poet because after sex (which was great, apparently) she “didn’t want to go there” when he wanted to share his poetry. I guess dude’s poems were pretty bad then.

Charlotte pipes in with some schmaltz about not giving up on love, Carrie thinks it’s impossible to have sex like a dude and  I’m just sitting here going:

giphy

Voiceover Carrie, in all her stereotypical rom-com glory is sitting in bed delivering the first of 92 glorious tedious ridiculous thesis statements: “Was it true? Were women in New York really giving up on love and throttling up on power?” (Which, if you haven’t guessed by now, is where I’m getting the title of these posts.) Carrie, dropping the spoon, grins into the camera, “What a tempting thought!” The constant fourth-wall breaking is making me rethink this entire project and I’m only part way through the first episode.

The next day Carrie is having lunch with Stanford (finally! A character I don’t loathe!) and we are treated to Carrie asking Stanford if he is in love before spotting Kit Harrington (not this Kit Harrington) in all his late 90s trash glory (dude looks like he was the bad boy in a one-hit wonder 90s boy band). Kit is Carrie’s ex, a mistake she made repeatedly in her twenties and early thirties, but I guess it’s understandable because he was the best sex she’s ever had. Stanford urges Carrie not to approach him, so obviously Carrie just has to go over to Kit and tells Stanford its for research. Stanford wins my heart forever when he tells Carrie he “doesn’t have the patience to clean up this mess for the fourth time.” THAT’S A GOOD FRIEND CARRIE. LISTEN TO YOUR GOOD FRIEND STANFORD.

So, Carrie goes back to Kit’s where we’re treated to listening to Carrie agree with whatever it is Kit’s doing under the sheets (hint: it’s cunnilingus). He pops up saying it’s his turn and Carrie, short of laughing in his face, bounces. This may be the only time I truly respect Carrie Bradshaw. Get yours, girl, get yours.

Strutting out of Kit’s building, full of pride in successfully sexing like a dude, Carrie is promptly bumped into by a very rude person who doesn’t even say sorry when the contents of her purse go flying. (This is how you can tell I’m Canadian.)

She quickly begins gathering the 1000 condoms that have flown out of her bag when a handsome man approaches. The handsome man helps her pick up her Trojans, Carrie notices he isn’t wearing a wedding ring, and the handsome man all but wink,wink, nudge,nudges her. Flustered, Carrie pulls on the hem of her dress as she looks back at the handsome man walking away. And that, boys and girls is how Carrie and Big met-cute.


Carrie, in the name of research, is having coffee with Skipper. Skipper is whining about how he has ~feelings~ and is generally lamenting life as a Nice Guy™ while Carrie muses about whether or not Skipper was gay. The nineties were wild, you guys. A lightbulb over her head lights up because ding! ding! ding! Carrie thinks Skipper should date Miranda! What could go wrong?

Carrie is not a good friend, you guys. She voiceovers all about how Miranda is going to hate Skipper and how she’ll think his “sweet nature” (*gag*) is going to make her think he’s really a lying asshole. Why, why would she think this is a good idea??!!

Anyway, that’s when Charlotte calls to cancel going to the club with her friends because she has a date with “ungettable bachelor” Capote Duncan (aka: one of those toxic bachelors from earlier) and how she isn’t participating in the sex like a man game that’s apparently happening.

Remember how in the late 90s dresses that looked like lingerie was a thing? Carrie’s leopard print number will remind you it was very much A Thing. She makes a terrible joke comparing Chaos (the club) to Cheers and you really get a sense that Carrie is probably a terrible writer. The New York Star is lucky to have her.

Oh god, the next scene is Miranda and Skipper on their date. Miranda is complaining about how many models were there at the club and how were regular women supposed to compete with them? She calls Skipper Skippy to further undermine him, and honestly I think it’s hilarious. Rude af, but hilarious.  Skipper tells Miranda he thinks women who aren’t beautiful are still capable of being interesting (ugh, shut up Skippy) so Miranda reaches down his throat, rips out his heart and eats it in front of him rips into him because she thinks he’s implied that she isn’t beautiful. It’s like watching the dumbest accident ever. You can’t look away but also you’re rolling your eyes so hard you may rupture a blood vessel.

As Carrie attempts to intervene, she’s accosted by Kit (Chaos is the place to be seen, after all) who corners her just to say that he’s glad she FINALLY figured out the kind of relationship he’s wanted this entire time: sex without commitment. They both say they’ll call when they’re horny, but Carrie’s expression will tell you that’s never happening.

Carrie walks up to Samantha who is eyeing Mr. Big. She tells Carrie he is the next Donald Trump, just younger and better looking (obviously—a rotting hunk of meat is better looking than Donald Trump); apparently he only dates models, but Sam is determined to make him hers—for the night at least. She checks herself out, squares up her courage and her shoulders, and sidles up to Big asking for him to light her Honduran cigar. And even though she’s basically giving him a preview of what he’d be in for with a night with Samantha Jones, Big doesn’t fall all over himself to replace that cigar she’s sucking on with his dick. This is how you know Big is a Classy Dude. Well, that and he smokes Cubans. Of course, him declaring how cool he is because he’s been smoking cigars since “they were terminally uncool” just negates that. Hipster Big is just a smarmy jackass.

Meanwhile, on Charlotte’s date she and Capote are leaving a gala when he asks her to come back to his place to see his “Ross Bleckner.” That’s what toxic bachelors called their penises back in the 90s. Charlotte’s rules tell her to say no, but the lure of the Bleckner beckons. They kiss but Charlotte’s rules dictate that a lady has to get up early in the morning so Capote, ever the gentleman, gets her a cab. But then he gets in and asks the driver to take him to Chaos because while he gets and respects Charlotte’s no sex on the first date thing, he “REALLY needs to have sex tonight.” Did I call him a gentleman? I meant gross asshole.

Back at Chaos, Capote slips into the club to look for his lay while Miranda and Skipper kiss outside. Skipper is apparently smitten and Miranda wants to get laid. Whatever. Carrie attempts to get a cab, but lucky for Carrie Big pulls up in his limo, saving her from the “unthinkable”—having to walk home. Bitch, please.

On the ride home, he ask her what she does for a living and she tells him she is a “sex anthropologist,” and Big—ever the charmer—replies “like a hooker?” with that giant smarmy-ass grin of his. He clearly thinks he’s witty af and frankly, he’s the only one. Carrie explains that she’s a columnist for the New York Star and that she’s researching that whole sex like a man thing. Big then condescends that Carrie has never been in love in that special way of his that makes Carrie promptly fall in love with him. It’s a charming story, really. One for the grandkids.

Big’s limo pulls up to Carrie’s house and as she leaves she turns and ask him if he’s ever been in love; Big answers “abso-fucking-lutely!” because of course he does.

Meanwhile, Capote picked up Sam at Chaos and they did it, obviously.

Episode Summary

Dude Count: 

  1. Tim (aka: Mr. Two Million)
  2. Peter (Toxic Bachelor #1)
  3. Capote Duncan (Toxic Bachelor #2)
  4. Nice Guy TM Skipper
  5. Mr. Big

Worst Friend: 

Carrie, obviously.

Overall rating:

4 Honduran cigars out of 10 Cubans