Jane Austen with Fornication

From time to time I across these little empty pieces of mindless fluff that make a point. This was recently published in Slate:

“I admit I watched Sex and the City, the series, pretty religiously. I missed the beginning. And after watching my first episode, I hated it. I hated the way they talked: the faux fabulousness. But it was oddly addictive. It was like a train wreck I couldn’t stop staring at.

And then I started to genuinely like it. While still hating it. Sort of.

But the end, the end, it drove me mad.

I was never a fan of Mr. Big. I thought he was miscast. I thought he was downright abusive to Carrie. I have dated men like this. They want to spend time with you, on their terms, only in private, and will never acknowledge their relationship with you in public. For years, they might introduce you as their “friend.” They come and go as they please. Then suddenly they marry someone else. Yet they still call you. They string you along with scant moments of tenderness.

Anyway, it seemed a relationship for a 20-year-old, not a wise, powerful thirtysomething woman.

And this was my main gripe with the show. It promised to be about wise, powerful, independent women. Women who can fuck around like men, but at the end of the week, they always show up for brunch with their girlfiriends. But in the end, it was just about four single women who wanted to find Prince Charming.

Jane Austen with fornication!” [Link]

 

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~ by Errant Aesthete on 05/25/08.

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