Season Two, Episode Five: Four Women and a Funeral

The Summary:

Carrie's friend, the fashion designer Javier, has died of a heroin overdose at the unacceptable age of 34, and said death has gotten all of the ladies thinking about life, death, mortality, the works. Carrie, declaring that "sometimes I felt like I was barely living," decides that one good way to feel alive again would be to call, and set up a date with, Big. [Head, I believe you remember Desk?] They go out and almost sleep together, but Carrie refrains in the end, because you know--Big=Emotional Minefield. But then, they go out again and do, in fact, sleep together. (Carrie: "I didn't know if it was suicide or not, but I'd never felt so alive.") Oh dear.

And the other women? Charlotte meets a guy at Javier's funeral (funerals being ever popular sites for Love Connections, of course.) Turns out, said guy, Ned, uses his sorrowful tears over his dead wife to lure emotionally susceptible ladies into feeling pity for him (one) and subsequently sleeping with him (two.) When Charlotte learns that he is expressing his, ahem, grief all over town, she is quite, quite displeased and Ned promptly finds himself dumped.

Sam also finds herself in quite a pickle, when she is caught by a prominent socialite in a distinctly compromising position with said socialite's husband. (Didn't we have this talk about laying off the married guys not in open relationships last season? Have we learned nothing here?) Said prominent socialite makes Sam's name mud in town, ensuring she can't get into any restaurant/party/event anywhere. (Another perk of living in the sticks--I'd like to see anyone try to get me blacklisted at Perkins.) Eventually, Samantha makes friends with Leonardo DiCaprio (who does not actually appear in the episode, alas--in 1999 he must have still been too busy trying to dodge the roaming hordes of Titanic fans), and her reputation is restored. So fickle is New York society!

Miranda is buying herself a new apartment, and it is fannnncy. (Can I please have a lawyer's salary without, you know, actually having to be a lawyer?) She loves the apartment, and is sooooo excited about it. Universe, can you please try to bring her down? Heaven forefend that Miranda should be happy, after all. Thanks. So, the realtor who sells the apartment to her asks bewilderedly, "It's just you...?" when she learns Miranda is buying the aparment for herself and only herself, and tries to set Miranda up with her son. The broker who helps Miranda to close the deal asks "It's just you...?" dubiously, and assumes that her down payment is coming, not from Miranda, but from her father. (Ladies, making money on their own? Please.) Miranda's new next door neighbor asks "It's just you...?" suspiciously, and proceeds to tell her that the last owner, also a single woman, died in her apartment, and that said death went unnoticed so long that her cat ate half her face.

In the face of all this charming negativity, Miranda has a panic attack. Reassured by Carrie that all these people are losers and that she'll never be alone because she'll always have her friends, Miranda gets much of her initial happiness about her shiny new (and bloody HUGE) apartment back. Good!

The Analysis:

I Am So Sick of Watching Carrie Self-Destruct Over Big, and We've Just Started Season Two, Sigh, Watch: I don't have the energy to get into the whole "Carrie-sleeping-with-Big-even-though-she-knows-full-well-that-he-is-bad-news" thing properly here, but I will briefly note that 1) I am well aware that we are sometimes viscerally drawn to people who are profoundly bad for and to us/who are mad, bad, and dangerous to know in general, 2) I guess it's something that Carrie is at least aware that what she's doing here is dangerous at best and self-destructive at worst, but 3) I am nonetheless finding the Big plots very tiresome to re-watch. I just want to write "PLEASE STAY AWAY FROM THIS BEAUTIFUL, FUCKED UP MAN" on a big pink Post-It, and staple it to Carrie's forehead.

Severely Needing to Re-Prioritize Your Priorities Watch: Remember back in Season One, when Carrie noted that Charlotte's top three most important qualities for a gent she was dating to possess were "looks, manners, and money"? Turns out, Ms. York hasn't progressed too far down the Road Away From Shallowness since then. Because why is Charlotte so interested in dating Ned, apart from his whole Tragic Romantic Past thing? Charlotte, explaining his allure to the ladies: "He's really handsome, and he went to Princeton." Ahhhh, of course. Not that I'm knocking either of these things, but seriously? Did he maybe also seem like an interesting person, or not...? Charlotte makes quite the journey over the course of the series in terms of what her "dream man" looks like--at the moment, I fear, we are still at the very beginning of said journey... Sigh. Again.

"Did Someone Just Order a Victorian, Straight Up"? Watch: And speaking of Miss Charlotte York... when Miranda is complaining about how proud she is to own her own apartment, Charlotte warns her that such ownership might put the kibosh on her ever getting a fella because "men don't want a woman who's too self-sufficient"--that such economic independence on the part of a woman is "emasculating." The other women are (rightly) appalled by this statement (the Victorian crack above comes from Samantha, bless her), but, as other commentators on SATC have noted, Charlotte is often presented as the "voicer of unpleasant, un-P.C. 'truths' " in this series, so this leaves a bit of a bad taste in my mouth. "You may not like to admit it, but by holding property in your own name, you instantly transform yourself into Queen Castrator!" Please. The Victorians themselves would be ashamed of you for that one, missy.

"It's Just You?": Facing Bafflement/Condescension Simply Because One is Single Watch: My favorite part of this episode, to be sure, is the Miranda plotline, in which she gets hit on all sides with hostility, bafflement, and perplexity because she is a single woman in her mid-thirties, buying her own home. At every turn, Miranda's happiness in buying herself a home that she loves is undercut by people who assume that she can't possibly be financially successful/independent, that being single inevitably leads to one day becoming cat food, and that she, as a woman living alone, is a problem which needs to be fixed. Worn down by this constant barrage, Miranda snaps temporarily--but she bounces back again, and comes to savor living in her own apartment, which she loves--and she is happy! On her own! Imagine that!

Oh, and a brief P.S. on the whole "It's just you...?" phenomenon: I feel compelled to note that the last time I traveled, I thought about this episode all the bloody time, because when I asked for a table for one in restaurants, I got asked "It's just you...?" (in those words, I kid thee not) all the bloody time. Well, let's see, it's just me standing here... I did specifically ask for a table for one... and as far as I know, the Holy Ghost isn't much of one for dining out, so... yes, it is in fact just me! Gave me a weird "am I Miranda?" feeling, that did.

Slightly Annoying Things About the Miranda Plotline In This Episode: Remember how I said the Miranda plotline was my favorite part of the episode? It totally is, but I do want to nitpick at it, a bit, nonetheless (you knew I would):

First Nitpick: When her broker misfiles her paperwork for the new apartment, and lists her as "separated" rather than single, Miranda has to e-mail him to correct this error. Carrie describes this "I am actually single" missive as "a rather humilating e-mail." Ummm, remind me why this humiliating, again? Typing "I am single" actually almost tips Miranda into another panic attack, for Pete's sake. Let me see. I am single I am single I am single. There. I typed it three times in a row, and I have never felt less panicked in my life. I get that this is part of Miranda's "I am sick of people making judgments and constantly harping on my singlehood when all I want to think about is new curtains" thing, but still--let's lighten up on the "even stating that you are single is a humiliating act" talk, shall we?

Second Nitpick: I also feel a troublesome little pang that Miranda's way of demonstrating her status as an independent woman is to buy herself a massive apartment. It is a means of declaring one's independence which is, after all, very much tied in to class privilege. And it's the first taste of a theme which pops up again several times throughout the series--that empowerment/independence can best be measured and demonstrated in material goods/concrete possessions. Hmmmm. I think not.

Notable Quotables: Miranda, in the midst of Apartment-Buying Madness: "I've got the money, I've got a great job, and I still get... 'It's just you?' "

Next Up...?: "The Cheating Curve," about what actually counts as "cheating" in a relationship. [Resists the urge to make an already dated, and always tasteless, Tiger Woods or Al Gore joke here.]

Season Two, Episode Four: They Shoot Single People, Don't They?

The Summary:

As you may have already gathered from the title, this is another episode which takes The Single Life/The Way The Single Folks Are Perceived and Treated as its central focus--so, naturally, I enjoy it tremendously. Not that it is not riddled with flaws, because to be sure... it is. But still--enjoyable!

So Carrie has been selected as the cover girl for a pending New York magazine article about the "single and fabulous." Clearly, the article will indeed be a joyous celebration of the positive aspects of the single life! Except... of course it's not. Carrie's photo shoot turns out to be disastrously unflattering, and the article itself "Single and Fabulous?: Eat, Drink, and Never Be Married" turns out to be a nasty attack on women who fritter away their "good" years, only to find themselves tragically and miserably single at the advanced age of 40. Of course it does.

The women all profess themselves to be totally unrattled by this article and its implications that their lives are tragic, wretched, and hollow... but of course, rattled they most certainly are. Miranda starts (re-)dating Josh ("an ophthalmologist I once faked orgasms with"), even though their sex life continues to be distinctly unsatisfying on her end. Eventually, she decides that maybe spending her entire life feigning sexual pleasure is not so much a desirable option. And so... buh-bye, Josh!

Similarly fearful of the horrors of continued single life, Charlotte and Samantha also take up with rather unsuitable gentlemen. Samantha's unsuitable gent is William, who starts referring to himself and Sam as a "we" and alluding to their future as a couple pretty much right after they meet. Naturally, he turns out to be a schmuck, who ditches Sam in pretty short order. She is momentarily sad that his "we'll do this, we'll do that" couple-talk was all rubbish, but quickly recovers (feeling much better after throwing a drink in his face while he chats up his next lady prospect.)

Charlotte's unsuitable gent is her friend Tom, a nice guy whom she has no romantic or sexual interest in, but whom she nonetheless decides to start dating because 1) he's pretty much the first guy she sees after panicking about the "Single and Fabulous?" article, and 2) as Charlotte puts it, "he's strong and masculine and can fix things around the house!" Sounds like a great reason to start a relationship to me! By the end of the episode, however, Charlotte concludes that the fact that Tom can successfully rewire lamps is not a sufficient foundation to build a lasting relationship on. Consequently, she and Tom amicably part ways. (I'm so glad not to have to write "and then Person A gets dumped," for once! A non-dramatic break-up, for a change!)

Carrie, meanwhile, all in a tizzy about being the city's poster girl for Tragic Spinsterhood and determined to prove to herself her continued youth and sexual desirability, throws herself at Jake (who is Bradley Frickin' Cooper, albeit sporting a really unflattering, floppy haircut--but still.) In the end she decides not to sleep with him, however, because if she did, it would be "the only time I'd ever slept with a man to validate my life." Turning away from Jake, Carrie notes, "I decided instead of running away from the idea of a life alone, I'd better sit down and take that fear to lunch. So I sat there, and had a glass of wine, alone. No books, no man, no friends, no armor, no faking." Good, getting comfortable being out in public as a Woman Alone sounds like a much more positive and healthy step than sleeping with an undesired stranger (even if said undesired stranger is Bradley Frickin' Cooper!)

The Analysis:

People of Color Watch: William, Sam's sleazy swaine, is Hispanic. His sleaziness is in no way tied to his ethnicity (good), though maybe it's a little annoying that he owns a salsa club (he couldn't have been an investment banker or a trader, like most of the other men Sam dates? No, he had to be doing something specifically "ethnic." Oh, those fiery Latins, with their fancy dancing!)

At one point in the episode, William stands Samantha up and she ends up crying in the restaurant where they were supposed to meet. During said tears, she is comforted by a Pakistani man working in the restaurant as a bus boy. In the course of said comforting, he kisses her and offers to go home with her (the folks at this restaurant must take the whole idea of customer service reeeeally seriously.) I'm a little troubled by this, because this bloke doesn't get a name, he's just referred to as the "Pakistani bus boy" over and over and over. And over. And seeing a grown man of at least 40 referred to again and again as a "boy," in a way that a white man of that age certainly wouldn't be...well, that has some nasty associations, now, doesn't it? Also, why do we need to keep hearing that he's Pakistani? If he was Latvian or Swedish or German, would his national origin be thus relentlessly referred to? I feel that it would not.

Maybe the Missionaries Didn't Have It All Figured Out... or Did They??? Watch: Frustrated by her persistently unsatisfactory sex life with Josh, Miranda rants a bit in this episode about how unrealistic the portrayal of heterosexual sexuality is in pop culture. Isn't it annoying, she fumes, that lots and lots of TV shows and movies show women effortlessly, rapidly coming after only a brief spell in the missionary position? Because maybe that's not so much reflective of many women's sexual experiences/responses, and works to distort yet further what "normal" sex is supposed to be like, making women feel badly about their own "performance"?

Excellent points all, these, there's just one leetle problem here--one of those TV shows which frequently presents us with such simplistic, deceptive representations of female sexuality is (all together now)--actually Sex and the City itself! Miranda, Charlotte, and Samantha (because we see less of Carrie's actual sex life--one of the privileges of being the series star, who can demand a "no nudity, less sex" contract, I suppose) are often shown effortlessly, rapidly coming after only a brief spell in the missionary position.

Hmmmm. So once again we find ourselves in a "let us criticize something which we ourselves engage in" type situation. Sigh. So, points for noting that maybe female sexuality is more complex than mainstream pop culture often represents it as being, and no points for themselves actually being a pop culture venue which itself sometimes offers such non-complex representations of said sexuality.

Singlehood as Non-Tragic Watch: It will come as no surprise to you, I am sure, that one of the things I really like about this episode is that it does, indeed, tackle the negative ways in which single women (especially single women of a "certain age") are often perceived and treated in this American culture of ours. Which is to say... negatively, as unattractive, hopeless, and inevitably doomed to suffer emotional breakdown.

I like that the episode at once shows that these stereotypes do temporarily shake the women up (one is human, after all, and constantly being told that one's life is sad and pathetic if one does not have a fella--it takes its toll), but also makes it clear that said shaking up is temporary, because fundamentally, they actually are pretty happy in their lives, no matter what any magazine article has to say about it. Miranda realizes that the single life might actually be better than a coupled life characterized by chronic sexual discontent. Charlotte realizes that settling for a guy she doesn't actually care about just so that she can be in a relationship isn't fair to said guy, or to herself. Samantha realizes that it's better to be single than to be dating a jerk. Carrie realizes that maybe a life alone isn't something to run from, or be terrified by--that when New York magazine affirms that her life is a tragic, wasted opportunity, all because she's single and not 22--they're wrong. Lovely.

Notable Quotables: Samantha, after being dumped by William: "She realized something--no matter how much it hurts, sometimes it's better to be alone than fake it."

Carrie, shell-shocked in the wake of the terrible, single-shaming article's publication: "They said 'Single and Fabulous!', exclamation point, they did not say 'Single and Fabulous?', question mark! That question mark is hostile!"

Next-Up...?: "Four Women and a Funeral," in which Hugh Grant plays a charming, but bumbling Brit wooing a brittle American girl... or, no, wait, sorry it's actually about the ladies contemplating Morality, Life, Death, and Love. Heavy. Stuff. Oh, and Big is back! [Prepares desk to become reacquainted with head.]

Fashion and Feminism: Friends or Foes?: A Tangent

One of the chief “f”s of SATC (one being “friendship,” of course—I leave it to your fertile imaginations what the other primary “f” might be) is, of course, fashion. From the very beginning of the show onwards, fashion was one of its focal points. Throughout the series (and into the ghastly—but very nicely togged up, I will admit) movies, the writers, producers, and costume designers all worked together very closely when it came to deciding what the four women should wear for any given moment/discussion/event. Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte, and Samantha’s sartorial choices were never incidental to the primary action of the show/the films, but were, rather, often a vital part of it. Fashion really mattered in the SATC universe, both to the four characters, and to the women and men who created (and dressed) them.

Part of this focus on fashion, of course, had less to do with creativity and self-expression than it did with a significant, ever popular “m” word—that is to say, money. By the time we got to the movies (“SATC 2: brought to you by Skyy Vodka, Debenham’s, and, of course, the Prince of Darkness!” Have I mentioned I didn’t like the second movie at all?), the connections between the franchise and various products/designers were quite blatant and overt—were, indeed, positively shameless. I confess that I have not done any digging/research on the subject whatsoever (and me with a PhD in my back pocket, aren’t I supposed to like that kind of thing?), but I am nonetheless quite sure that some unsavory deals must have been done throughout the series between members of the SATC juggernaut and various designers and stores. If you were to play a drinking game in which you took a slug of vodka (Skyy Vodka, presumably, SATC’s vodka of choice, in case you hadn’t heard!) every time the characters mentioned/enthused over a particular brand (perhaps taking two slugs for repeat offenders like Bergdorf’s, Manolo Blahnik, and Jimmy Choo) in any given episode, let me assure you, by the end of said episode, you would be very drunk, indeed. (Like, we're talking Russian drunk.)

In short, all of this talk about fashion in the show most certainly has its dark side. A dark side in which particular brands are touted because there is money to be made, and profits to be enjoyed. A dark side in which the women of SATC are defined primarily through their roles as avid consumers within, and enthusiastic cheerleaders for, a capitalistic society which, as we know, is no respecter of either persons or nations. A dark side which suggests that, for women, real beauty, success, and glamour have a very high price tag attached, and that to be an accomplished, modern, sexy woman, you have to look the part—in a $4,000 dress and $400 shoes, of course.

Having noted that the show’s immersion in (and whole-hearted, uncomplicated embrace of) the world of high fashion most certainly has its problematic aspects… may I also note that said immersion is also one of my favorite parts of the show? Not because I see the show offering a sophisticated analysis of the ways in which women forge a sense of self through their clothing choices (because I don’t think that it is), and not because their take on fashion radically challenges normative ideas about what constitutes “beauty” (because I don’t think it does)—but rather because I really, really like pretty things, and deeply enjoy getting treated to a constant parade of outfits from women who are quite dashing and risk-take-y when it comes to the clothes which they wear and the ways in which they wear them (here’s looking at you, Carrie Bradshaw.)

All of which brings us to the inevitable Bigger Question—can a strong commitment to feminism (which—thank you, Women’s Studies classes which I took in college!—I most certainly have), and a deep love of fashion (which—thank you, American Girl books which consistently featured Loopy Fashions of the Past, especially cracked-out bows from the Victorian era which I read as a child!—I most certainly do) happily co-exist? In a not entirely un-self-serving way (because I defy you to successfully extract either love of pretty clothes or of feminist ideals from my person), I am going to say—yes.

But “happily,” I don’t think has to mean “uncomplicated-ly.” Because there’ll always going to be some fundamental contradictions involved, for those of us who hug both our copy of Our Bodies, Ourselves and the new shiny brown heels which we just got at a thrift store for $4.00 (I seriously did, and they are STUNNING) to our chests. Because is the fashion industry one which primarily has women’s interests/empowerment/fulfillment as individuals/as a class at its heart? Nope. Its primary concern is to make buckets and buckets of shining cash, and if it has to exploit Third World women and create a damaging and destructive ideal of female beauty which kicks all women who are not cisgendered, white, painfully thin, young, and able-bodied to the curb (among other sins) to do it, then by golly, do it it most certainly will.

Am I participating in an empowering, feminist act when I slap on said heels and go gadding about town? (Which… can’t wait to do, they are so pretttttty.) Not so much. I know that numerous Third Wave feminists have strenuously worked to make the case that playing with fashion and beauty can be a profoundly subversive act—and I do buy that… but only up to a certain point, in certain ways, and in certain contexts. There is nothing in the least subversive, for example, about me putting on heeled shoes (which are coded as “feminine” and “sexy” in our culture)—if anything, it’s quite the reverse. As a straight woman, that’s actually something I am “supposed” to do, if I want to in fact be considered “feminine” and “sexy.” Dominant beauty ideals, my lovely new heels—I fear that you play right into them.

This doesn’t mean, however, that I can’t take pleasure in said shoes, because you bet your sweet bippy that I do. Fashion in general is a source of active, continuous pleasure in my life, and (conscious as I am of all of fashion’s many pitfalls and uglinesses for women), I don’t feel an anguished sense of conflictedness that my favorite blogs almost invariably involve the two “f”s of fashion and feminism.

And though I won’t claim that getting dressed in the morning is a feminist act equivalent to writing a feminist treatise or protesting for equal pay, I will say that fashion is, indeed, something which consistently gladdens my heart and lightens my spirits—which even (yes, I’m giving some ground to the Third Wavers here) provides a (small) space for subversion.

I’m quite tall even sans tall shoes, you see, and putting on heels, as such, does feel like a miniature act of defiance to me. After all, I spent my entire adolescence trying to make myself smaller than I was (hitting the 5’10” mark at 13—thanks a lot, genes, that was very helpful)—to take up less space—to not be “too tall” (i.e., taller than whatever boy I happened to be standing next to.) And when I put on heels that push me over the six foot mark (which is to say… basically any heels), it feels like a gift to the frightened young lass I once was, who was terrified of standing out too much—of being too noticeable—of making herself too conspicuous. I’m not afraid of taking up space/being visible, anymore, and I bless heels, for enabling me to take pleasure in something which was once a source of considerable adolescent hand-wringing and angst.

I also quite literally buy all of my clothes at thrift stores (okay, undergarments excluded, I do like to find my undergarments unworn by others)—I think the last dress I bought new was for my sister’s wedding (my sister who has been married for five years, thankyouverymuch), and that was only because I couldn’t find something sufficiently festive at my usual stand-bys. So, yes, I am still buying clothes and shoes that were made in sweat-shops by unpaid, undernourished five year olds. But I’m not directly supporting the businesses which run said sweatshops—sometimes, I even get to support thrift stores with quite lovely missions and admirable goals, instead. So though I am not quite bringing capitalism down from within—it’s still something.

And as a historian of women, there’s also something in the world of fashion which speaks to my susceptible, past-loving heart—for a lot of American history, after all, fashion was one of the primary means through which women could express their creativity and demonstrate their artistry. (And not just economically privileged women, either.) Yes, ideals of female beauty are most often not generated by women, and are certainly not generated along pluralistic, “all women are beautiful, you look great the way you are, even if you are a woman who happens to be voluptuous in the 1920s/flat-chested in the 1950s” lines, either.

But still. Throughout American history, women have taken fashion and made it into a thing of joy, beauty, and meaning in their lives. Treasured items of clothing (wedding dresses, baby clothes) have been passed down as beloved family heirlooms—transforming otherwise simple, physical objects into memories of women past, and hopes for women future. I wear a necklace every day that once belonged to my great-grandmother—a complex and contradictory lady (from what I hear), possessed of a stubborn nature and a sharp tongue. I wear it in honor of her, and of all the women of my family who carved out lives for themselves in times far harsher than the times I live in, now—and who insisted on bringing beauty into their lives, even if that beauty took the so-called “frivolous” form of a pretty new necklace.

So is Carrie exhibiting grating tone-deafness about her own immense class privilege when she insists that buying $400 shoes for herself is the best means for her to declare her independence? Yes. Is she irritatingly buying into Hugh Hefner’s tired line that the best way for women to claim sexual autonomy is to conform to a rigid, narrow ideal of “sexiness” and the male gaze when she sports a Playboy necklace? Yup.

But still. Watching Carrie wear what she wants to wear, in the way that she wants to wear it, and take an active pleasure in her own creativity and body, actually feels pretty darned good to me.

It feels, in fact, pretty darned feminist.

Season Two, Episode Three: The Freak Show

So... are all men freaks? No, you say? You have perfectly normal, charming friends/relatives/significant others who are at one and the same time not freaks and yet definitely male? Huh. You seem very sure about that--that equating maleness with freakishness is laughable and overly simplistic. The women of SATC, however... they are not so sure. Why not, you ask? Let us see.

Carrie has gone on a series of increasingly bizarre and awful first dates (one of which takes place amid the bookstalls outside The Strand bookstore--which, let's face it, is worth enduring any number of bad dates for), and is beginning to lose faith in the non-freakishness of mankind. (Using that word in the only way which it ought to be used, of course--otherwise, in almost all other cases, get ready to hop abroad the Humankind Express!) Just when she has come to suspect that all men are, indeed, freaks, sitting alone in a park one day, Carrie meets Ben, who is witty, tweedy, bespectacled, frickin' adorable, and reading a big fat book when she meets him, oh my God, make it stop. Allow me to note before we proceed that the only encounters I have had while sitting alone in a park have been with 1) potentially rabid squirrels who a) kept following me from bench to bench because they hoped I was carrying peanuts in my purse, or b) kept following me from bench to bench because they wished to infect my vulnerable flesh with the terrible disease which they carried within their putrid fangs, 2) small children who have used my skirt as a napkin/trash receptacle, and, once, notably, 3) a man who called me the '"Devil's whore" when he saw I was reading a book about the pro-choice movement. (I'd rather be his whore than your anything, sir.) But to continue.

Carrie begins to date Ben, and he seems simply wonderful. (The man even has one of those jackets with suede patches over the elbows, for Pete’s sake--at this point, the writers are officially trying to kill me.) But... can he really be that wonderful? Surely, there must be something wrong with him...? (Miranda: "If a man is over 30 and still single, there's something wrong with him. It's Darwinian, they're being weeded out for propagating the species.") Seized with panic, Carrie ransacks his apartment looking for evidence of deviant behavior (which I thought we'd already covered was a bad. Idea.), eventually getting caught by him trying to break into a locked box with a nail file. Yikes. Ben promptly dumps her, and Carrie reflects that it's not just men who are freaks--everyone, regardless of gender, has unattractive insecurities and irrational fears and is quite capable of acting more than a little bit loopy in the pursuit of love. (And trying to break into a locked box with a nail file definitely equals more than a little bit loopy.)

What of the other ladies? Not much going on with Miranda, Carrie tries to set her up with one of Ben's friends, who Miranda dismisses as a freak because he hasn't left Manhattan in ten years. Also, he does not like cats. (Personally, I can see the Remaining-in-Manhattan-Perpetually-and-Eternally-Thing, but not the Not-Liking-Cats-Thing. Next!) Samantha decides to get some plastic surgery after being told by a date that she looks 40, and having a massive meltdown because of said comment. She loves the first procedure she has done, and is itching to have more--her plastic surgeon is, unsurprisingly, delighted by this desire and proposes all kinds of other surgeries, happily marking up Sam's entire body with a red marker to point out all the "flaws" he can "fix." Seeing her body carved up in said fashion freaks Samantha out, and promptly stops her from going down The Path to a Thousand Plastic Surgeries. Good choice.

Charlotte has the most lively plotline, in that she finds herself dating a gent who, though he had been baptized "Mitchell" by his mother, has since been dubbed "Mr. Pussy" by women not his mother. (One hopes.) He has earned this nickname... pretty much in the way you might expect, through significant dexterity and unparalleled eagerness to go down on women. (Perhaps Mitch was the inspiration for the bloke in "Because He Liked to Look at It"?) Charlotte is, predictably, enthralled by him, and hopes to turn her Quality Time with Mr. P into Everlasting Love. Since she's never even had a proper conversation with the guy, her friends have their doubts. (Samantha: "You don't fall in love with Mr. Pussy. You enjoy him, and then you set him free!") In the end, Charlotte does indeed set Mr. P free, in part because she concedes her friends' point that she would like a relationship with a bloke she can actually talk to, and in part because she is severely creeped out by the hyper-sexualized way that he eats figs in restaurants. Ah, such a common cause for break-ups, that one!

The Analysis:

The Good: I appreciate the fact that, for once, this episode begins with a gross oversimplification about the Great Differences Between Men and Women/The Massive Divide Between Men and Women, and complicates it more and more as the episode progresses. (Rather than the ever-popular "Over the course of the episode, let us move ever closer to suggesting that we just need to shrug at any relationship problems because that's just how men are--whatever "that" happens to be in this specific instance.) By the end of the episode, Carrie's had the epiphany that all people of all genders (okay, she's definitely limiting the genders to two here, but still!) are complicated individuals, blends of both the charming and the wacky, who make mistakes when it comes to the tricky business of interacting with other, complicated individuals possessed of their very own charms and wackinesses. So... yay! It's not that men are messed up, specifically, it's that we're all messed up, generally! Hooray!

The Good, Part Two: I also like the fact that this episode tackles questions of aging, our cultural obsession with youth, and plastic surgery in some interesting ways. Not in perfect ways, I'll grant you, but still--interesting ways, nonetheless. Sam (who, Carrie informs us, "had celebrated her 35th birthday for as long as anybody could remember") has clearly internalized the idea that age=bad. She can't look 40, because to be 40 is to be "old," and to be "old," for a woman, is to lose value—specifically, to lose one's status as a sexually desirable woman. (Let us not forget the recent survey which proclaimed 31 as the peak year of women's attractiveness and desirability. Darn it, only two years left before I crumble into dust, unheeded and unmourned!) By the end of the episode, Sam is standing in front of a mirror with a plastic surgeon's red lines all over her face and her body, crying, because all those red lines have turned her into a "freak." I rather like this moment (not because of the tears, poor Samantha!), because it suggests that it's not women's bodies themselves which are freakish and out-of-whack, but rather a culture which demands that women maintain a demented and damaging standard of "perfection," and a medical establishment which happily profits from said drive towards "perfection.” Excellent.

Of course, the fact that throughout the episode, Kim Cattrall's body is on display, in all of its able-bodied, impeccably-exercised, smooth-skinned, free-from-cellulite-or any discernible-marks-or-flaws-whatsoever-ness, rather undercuts this message "It's perfectly okay to be 40... provided that you look like Kim Cattrall." Yeah... maybe not so feasible for all of us who are not, in fact, Kim Cattrall?

The Bad/The Ugly: (I had to combine the bad with the ugly because I couldn't even come up with two things I thought were massively problematic about this episode, isn't that something?)

But what I do find bad/ugly, I do, indeed, not care for--when the ladies are interrogating Charlotte about her connection with Mr. Pussy, and trying to point out to her that she can't so much legitimately proclaim her love for a man whose tongue, in her presence, has been dedicated not to soul-baring speech but rather almost exclusively to... [insert discreet pause here.] "Do you even talk?" Miranda demands. "Do you even fuck?" Samantha snaps. Now, the talking thing, I will grant you. Charlotte is looking for a serious relationship--Charlotte should, therefore, be with someone she can actually talk to. Point to Miranda!

But Samantha... Samantha I will not give a point to. Because she's suggesting here that fucking is as serious a barometer for monitoring the reality and depth of a relationship as talking is... but I ask you, is this necessarily true? If Mr. Pussy turned out to be a man of wit, compassion, generosity, fascination (rather than just an odd little bloke with a salacious way of consuming a fig), would it matter what kind of sex he and Charlotte did (or didn't) have? Sam's comment seems to suggest that it would--that there is a kind of hierarchy in terms of what kind of sex does or does not "count" as meaningful--and surprise surprise, penetrative, penis-in-vagina sex is at the top of said hierarchy. (It wins so many medals, I swear it must bribe the judges.) As always, I am unfond of such "drawing lines in the sand" type messages--i.e., "Your relationship is not real because you 'only' have oral sex." Sweet cracker sandwich, woman, their relationship is not real because she knows nothing about the guy and cares less--what they do or don't do in the Boudoir of Mr. Pussy, I think, is quite beside that particular point.

Next Up...?: "They Shoot Single People, Don't They?", an episode which focuses on singlehood, the bashing of single folk, and nasty magazine covers which portray female singlehood as a fate worse than death. (Is it too late to hope that they get Susan Faludi to be a special guest star and talk about that Newsweek article from the '80s, which claimed that a single woman over 40 was more likely to be killed by a terrorist than get married? Because... love that sucker!)

Season Two, Episode Two: The Awful Truth

The Summary:

Ah, truths which are awful, let us contemplate them!

So it's Carrie's birthday (she's turning 33--which, when I started watching the show as a lass of 21, seemed quite remote and distant to me... not so much now!), and Big has sent her red roses in honor of the occasion. This, of course, sends Carrie into a tizzy. Why did he doooo it? What does it meeeean? Samantha and Miranda think it means that Big is a poo-head, whose wacky mixed signals need to be resolutely ignored, while Charlotte (predictably) thinks that it's a sweet romantic gesture, which might well signal his desire to get back together. Confusion, it reigns. In the midst of said confusion, Carrie somehow ends up asking Big to come to her birthday party. (Hand slaps forehead.) He shows up. It's weird. Carrie still has feelings for him, but she can't tell him so. (Headaches.)

Meanwhile, Charlotte has gotten herself a dog. Said dog, Henry, is totally annoying. Consequently, Charlotte sheds said Henry by the end of the episode. Sooo... buh-bye, Henry!

Samantha is still dating James... but, as you may have already suspected, said dating's days are numbered. He coaxes her into couples' counseling, where she spends a long time dodging the question of what's really bothering her about their relationship, but eventually explodes out with the truth (Sam: "Your penis is too small. And it can't... and I can't... and it's just too damned small") in front of the bemused-looking therapist. James promptly dumps her. Buh-bye, James! (Hope the actor enjoyed hearing "Aren't you the guy with the small penis from Sex and the City?" for the rest of his professional life. "I've done SHAKESPEARE, people, can't we talk about my Hamlet for once?!?")

Miranda has commenced dating "Spring Roll Guy" (a guy she met when... eating spring rolls, shockingly.) Turns out, SPG likes to talk dirty in bed. Miranda... not so much. (Miranda, to her friends: "Sex is not a time to chat!") He gets her into it, however, she discovers that she actually likes it, and everything is going just swimmingly until her pillow talk includes the dreaded phrase "you like a finger in your ass." After she utters this sweet little nothing, SRG promptly dumps her. (Perhaps he has read Sense and Sexuality, the charming booklet issued by our pro-abstinence-only friends which warns its readers that "The rectum is an exit, not an entrance"?) A straight man enjoying anal stimulation? Go wash your brain out with soap for having even entertained the thought that such perversions were possible, you filthy-minded minder of filth!

There is also a subplot featuring Susan Sharon, a friend of Carrie's who is unhappy in her marriage. Susan asks Carrie for guidance about said unhappy marriage, which is unhappy in large part because her husband is, as Susan puts it, "emotionally abusive." Carrie counsels Susan to leave if she's not happy... which Susan promptly does, only to equally promptly find herself miserable. Turns out, she misses the mean husband who yells at her to "shut the fuck up" all the time! So by the end of the episode, they are reconciled. Awww, it's a tender, touching love story which might have come out of Austen, don't you think?

The Analysis:

Homophobia Hinted At, But Not Directly Addressed Watch: So why is it, we ask ourselves, given all of the quite explicit, detailed, anatomical things which Spring Roll Guy and Miranda said to each other during their Intimate Moments, is it her comment that he "likes a finger in his ass" which shuts him down and prompts him to ditch her? The characters never say so directly, but by noting that some straight men enjoy such stimulation but "don't want it brought to their attention," we are left to conclude that this particular enjoyment is seen as "shameful" by heterosexual men, presumably, because of its association with gay men. (Because goodness knows, engaging in any behaviors perceived as "gay" is a sure sign that you in fact are gay, which is clearly THE MOST TERRIBLE THING EVER.)

I dunno, following my usual plus/minus model, I'd say (plus) the episode definitely indicates that such panic/shame on the part of straight men is ridiculous, but (minus) the episode never directly says "isn't it lame that some straight men are so terrified of having their heterosexuality in any way questioned that they're willing to deny themselves sexual practices which they actually like/dump women whom they actually like just to keep a full 100 percent on their 'Don't Do Anything 'Gay' Scorecard'?"

Shrug. I don't think they did terrible work here, but I would have appreciated a "Well, I wouldn't have wanted to date a man whose cologne of choice was 'Fear of The Gays' anyway!" type remark from Miranda.

Trivializing Domestic Violence Watch: The truly upsetting thing about this episode, I think, is the way that it handles Susan Sharon's relationship with her husband. We see him yelling at her, and her flinching as he yells. We see him denigrating her in front of her friends. She herself defines him as emotionally abusive. Nasty, serious stuff, this.

Would that the episode treated it as such. Instead, it suggests that since Susan is an irritating motormouth (wasting no opportunity to depict her as such), that her husband's treatment of her is not abuse so much as it is justifiable annoyance at her tendency to talk a lot, to be loud, etc. Yeeeeesh. Since 1) domestic violence is often trivialized and romanticized in our culture, 2) women who are victims of violence are often blamed for somehow being culpable for the abuse which they suffer, 3) violence which takes the form of verbal rather than physical abuse is yet further denigrated as not being "real" abuse, showing the abusive behavior of Susan's husband and then writing it off as just a rough patch in what, underneath all the yelling and denigrating, is ostensibly a happy marriage... very upsetting. Leaves a very definite bad taste in my mouth, this one. By the end of the episode, we are supposed to embrace Susan's husband as a nice guy, who just happens to like to tell his wife to shut the fuck up all the time. The lovable scamp! Except... no. Boo, I say, and hiss.

Next Up...?: "The Freak Show," in which the ladies ponder the age old question, "Are all men freaks?" Well... are they???

Season Two, Episode One: Take Me Out to the Ballgame

Why, here we are at the start of a new season! All is before us, fresh and clean! (Well, except for the fact that we do have to take our baggage from Season One with us into Season Two. And quite heavy baggage, it is, too. But nonetheless... onwards we go!)

The Summary:

The action of Season Two opens one month after the SATC ladies left us behind in Season One. Carrie's break-up from Big is thus still very recent, and her pain about said break-up still very raw. Carrie's inclination to spend all of her days curled up in her apartment mourning sparks a debate among her friends--what, in the end, is the best way to recover from a failed relationship? To go through a long, painful grieving process? To shrug it all off and throw yourself back into the dating fray? They don't know! Carrie doesn't know! It's all very confusing.

Carrie does, indeed, try to throw herself back into Dating Life (with the new player for the Yankees, naturally, as one does), but after bumping into Big while on a date with said Yankee, Carrie has a meltdown and realizes that she needs more time to recover before she can move on, and re-enter the Dating Pool.

And what of the other women? Samantha is unhappily obsessing about James, who continues to be a lovely boyfriend in all aspects save one. (Samantha, when her friends gush about how wonderful James is to her, voice awash in sarcasm: "Me, James, and his tiny penis, we're one big happy family.") She tries to find a way to make their sex life work, but fails miserably. (For starters, James is anti-vibrator. What did they ever do to him, one wonders? Was he attacked by a vibrator as a child?) So... Sam is left to soak in the Slough of Despond, unhappy about the idea of losing James, and unhappy about the idea of staying with him. Bummer.

Meanwhile, Charlotte is unhappily obsessing about her new fella, Paul, who is a lovely boyfriend in all aspects save one. Said aspect being that he grabs/readjusts/generally checks in with his Gentlemanly Area frequently. While in public. Classy! Charlotte buys him corrective undergarments in the hopes of, well, correcting said problem, and Paul promptly dumps her. Buh-bye, Paul! Buh-bye, corrective undergarments!

Miranda is not unhappily obsessing about any gent, at the moment, but she is totally annoyed that all of her friends are doing so--totally annoyed that all they ever seem to talk about is men. (Miranda: "How does it happen that four such smart women have nothing to talk about but boyfriends? It's like seventh-grade with bank accounts! What about us? What we think, we feel, we know? Christ, does it always have to be about them?") However, Miranda puts her "I am sick of listening to you people unhappily obsessing about men, all the time" sentiments aside after Carrie's post-Big meltdown, and resumes her role as a sympathetic listening ear. No more complaints from The Red-Headed Contingent in this episode!

The Analysis:

Uninteresting, Trivial Detail: In this episode, Carrie is sporting her gold Carrie necklace for (I believe) the first time in the series. As this necklace comes to symbolize her Selfhood and her Identity throughout the rest of the show, I feel compelled to note its presence here--the fact that it appears right after her break-up suggests, perhaps, the importance of her valuing herself and affirming her individuality in these trying, post-break-up times? SYMBOLISM.

Lazy, Tasteless Stereotyping Watch: When the women are all at a Yankees game, Samantha walks by the player's changing room, eagerly watching the men undress/swan around sans clothes/with only tiny towels serving the same basic purpose which clothes/strategically placed fig leaves usually do in these situations. The camera focuses on one scantily clad black player, capturing Samantha's stunned and delighted reaction when she (in time) witnesses him shed the towel which had previously covered his lower half. Now, keep in mind that Sam has just been complaining to the girls about the smallness of James' penis. To have her immediately thereafter leering at a naked black man... well, that doesn't play into any stereotypes which I can think of! White Objectification of the Black Body 101... I think we've found us a teacher, one Professor Jones by name.

Mocking Someone's Physicality/Really, Really Trying to Create the Sex Life One Wants Watch: So I'm still not entirely sure how to feel about the whole plotline surrounding James. On the one hand: I do feel a little shiver of distaste that the size of James' penis is made such a relentless source of humor. It's like a gherkin! It's like the discarded end of an unwanted hot dog! And so on, and so forth. I know it's far from a perfect parallel, but I can't help but wonder (see what I did there?) how I would feel about said comments being made by male characters about a woman's breasts. ("They're like mosquito bites! They're like Skittles!" And so on, and so forth.) The mocking of other's bodies, especially ones which fail to be "masculine" or "feminine" enough--I like it not.

But on the other hand, re: James, I do rather like the fact that Sam does not immediately dump him because of his "freakish" body, but rather really, really, really tries to make their sex life work. She's eager to experiment, to try new things (well, being Samantha, to try anything), and the failure of said sex life comes about in large part because of James' refusal to follow her down the path of "Something Beyond Insert Slot A in Tab B" type practices. So that, at least, seems like a step in the right direction? Because ultimately, it's more what James does/refuses to do than how his body is formed which causes the problem? So in conclusion--I will take points off for relentless small penis jokes, and give some points back for Sam's open-mindedness and persistence. There. I feel better now.

Constant Discussion of Men--Brief Acknowledgment That This is Indeed Happening Throughout the Show, and That It Is In Some Ways Problematic Watch: Miranda's rant in this episode about how dreary it is that all that her smart, interesting friends ever seem to talk about is boys, boys, boys is, I think, an interesting moment in this episode. Because, of course, shockingly, heterosexual women do actually talk about other things occasionally. Heterosexual women do actually tend to have things like jobs, hobbies, family, and friends--worries, concerns, interests, and pleasures which are not related to their romantic and sexual lives.

But we don't hear too much about such things, in the show. And when we do hear about the women's professional lives in the series, it is usually bound up in romance and sex in some way (Miranda gets set up with a guy at her firm, Charlotte is smitten with an artist she works with at her gallery, Samantha has an affair with one of her clients, and so on, and so forth.) Ditto for the women's (non-sexual) hobbies and interests. (Charlotte spends her yoga class telling Carrie about her foray into vibrator use, Miranda's interest in running gets linked to her dating of fellow runners, and so on, and so forth.)

And in some ways, this does troublingly play into the whole "the majority of things in straight women's lives are just pleasant window dressing for/unimportant distractions from their central focus in life--men" idea. And goodness knows popular/mainstream culture feeds us plenty of said material, as it is.

However, perhaps things are not quite as bleak as they might initially appear. (I think I can just spot some sunshine, peeping in through the clouds...) For one thing, SATC undercuts this "men are the center/primary focus/virtually exclusive preoccupation of heterosexual women's lives" idea quite frequently, simply by continuously underlining the fact that these women's friendships with one another are vitally important to them, and in many ways the center of their emotional lives.

And for another, I remember the fabulous Cynthia Nixon talking about Miranda's speech in this episode in an interview once--the interviewer told her how much she loved that speech, how important she thought it was, etc. Nixon kind of shrugged, and said something to the effect of "Well, but this is a show about sex and relationships--so of course that's what these women are talking about all the time. If it was a show about dry wall, or football, or clog-dancing, then the women would be talking about dry wall, or football, or clog-dancing all the time (as appropriate.) But it's not, so... sex and relationships it is!" This seems to me quite a rational response: that the show "Sex and the City" is not intended to (nor does it pretend to) represent the full complexity of women's lives, but rather zeroes in on one aspect of them.

Though of course... I am compelled to swing back once again on my endless teeter-totter of "this is bad... this is good... this is bad" back to the bad (darn it, the bad always seems to have the last word!) to note that maybe it's still a bit problematic that this is the facet of women's lives which gets an entire show dedicated to it? We don't get "Women's Trials and Triumphs in Their Professional Lives... and the City," after all. By pretty much only telling stories about women's romantic and sexual lives, the show in some ways plays into the "... then these must be the only kinds of stories about women which are really worth telling" idea. Hmmm. So in conclusion... I have ambivalent feelings about Miranda's speech. (Could you tell?)

Notable Quotables: Carrie, in seeking to define the rules for successfully negotiating a break-up: "And finally the most important break-up rule--no matter who broke your heart, or how long it takes to heal, you'll never get through it without your friends."

Next Up...?: "The Awful Truth," in which Carrie contemplates whether or not honesty is really the best policy when it comes to relationships. Since the title of the episode features the words "awful" and "truth" right next to each other, this may give you a sense of where they're going with that one...

Introducing... Season Two

… otherwise known as "More Debates about Single-Shaming, More Broken Hearts, and More Truly Loopy Outfits" (18 episodes)

So we have made it all the way to Season Two! Good for us! [Refrains from noting that Season One was only twelve episodes long, and that there are four more seasons to go…] And what a festive season Season Two is! There is more Drama with Big (what, you want Chris Noth to have subsisted off of lettuce? The man needed a job, for Pete’s sake! Would he have had a job if Carrie had sensibly told Big where to take his erratic behavior and fancy-suited self? No, no, he would not.), more catastrophically bad dates for Charlotte (the writers must have had a punching bag labeled “Charlotte York,” in their office, I kid thee not), a Truly Serious Relationship for Miranda, and, naturally, extensive hijinx for Samantha. We also get to go to the Hamptons, a wedding, a funeral, an S&M club, a Yankees game, and a horse farm. (Not all in the same episode, but wouldn’t it have been entertaining to see them try to cram all of that in in one go?)

For Season Two, I'm also upping the ante on my "count of LGBT characters and/or characters of color." No longer will it be enough for you to appear in the background and say, "Excuse me" or "I think that was my sandwich" or "Remind me again why you're wearing a tutu?" to one of the ladies to appear on my tally. Nope, for Season Two, you need to be an actual character of substance--someone with a name, an at least functionally-sketched personality, and some relevance to the story at hand. Sigh. Spoiler alert--this means that our list for Season Two is going to be SHORT.

First up? “Take Me Out to the Ballgame,” about Carrie trying to get over Big by dating a fetching young Yankees player. Heavy-handed baseball analogies, step up to the plate, you’re up at bat! Um... it's the bottom of the ninth and... yeah, those are all the baseball analogies I can come up with. Swing, batter batter batter!