So I know as a fat chick and feminist that I'm supposed to see Sex and the City is some sort of man-eating throwback disguised as emancipation in Manolos, as a slap in the face to authentic, real-sized, middle-class women like myself who do most of their living and loving in Skechers and flip flops. But I need to admit to the fact that I love Sex and the City. I mean LOVE it, to the point that when the new trailer appeared online this morning, I watched it twice. OK, three times:

What's so freakin' fabulous is that Aiden is back, and the only thing I love more than looking at John Corbett is... well, nothing. Not even having a whole day by myself to eat pizza and watch the entire 1995 A&E production of Pride & Prejudice (Colin Firth is downright creamy in that thang...which is like "dreamy" except that Darcy is naked). My fantasy relationship with John Corbett has been going on for some time now; I fell in love not with him, actually, but with his character "Chris In the Morning" on Northern Exposure back in the early 90s:

Chris was just my type of guy: intense yet laid back, with a gorgeous man-candy coating over tasty, dark, metaphysical genius. He (Chris) remains my ultimate fantasy man, something my short-haired, philosophically conservative husband is finding out right about...now.

Aside from John, though, SATC reminds me that I'm female, something that I tend to forget as I take on the world in what many people have told me is a "very masculine" fashion (which is another post all by itself). I adore the Cinderella entrances when the four ladies come runway-stalking into every important scene and anxiously await the moments when Samantha says something scandalous (and totally predictable...yeah, I know).

You can posit all day long about the dubious artistic merit and minimal intellectual nutritional value of the whole SATC franchise - I get all that. But sometimes, a girl just needs candy.

Posted: Friday, Apr 09 2010 at 9:35 AM

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