I know. I know. This movie is going to be terrible. It is probably going to include some troubling stereotypes, some really troubling fashion, and have little artistic value aside from shoes. But I will go see it, and I will pay $12 to see it at the fancy theater very soon after it comes out, and I am not even considering skipping it, not for a moment. I am willing to forgive what I assume will be fluffy, anti-feminist shopaholic nonsense, I am willing to forgive just about anything.
Allow me, if you will, a rather lengthy metaphor. If this movie were a person, I would tell the story like this: Sex and City is a girl I knew in college, a gorgeous, insightful, flawed, messy, ridiculous girl who I fell in love with instantly and permanently. This girl was not my best friend, but she is someone who somehow features in my favorite and wildest memories from my early twenties, who was the source of many of my "Aha!" moments, and who I turned to to confess my darkest secrets and live out my best adventures. Most of those adventures were her idea. I borrowed her shoes and her lipstick, and she borrowed my car. She was SO FUN. I'm older now, and wiser, and yet I still think of her almost every day, and tell stories about her when I have had too much wine at parties. She lives across the country now, and we don't talk on the phone or write... you know, too busy with work, and what would we say, really? But every so often she comes to town, and when she does, I drop everything to see her.
I drop everything to see her because even though she's embarrassingly inappropriate, and we don't really have anything in common anymore, and my husband finds her totally obnoxious, she is important to me for the sake of those memories, all the secrets we'e shared and all the things I never would have done... if not for her. I love to see her every few years, and it's like I get to pull a secret sequined dress from freshman year out of the back of my closet and discover that it still fits, if only for one night.
