Buffalo Gal

I'm in the midst of an online argument with a friend who defines the best of New York City. He had the ultimate Upper West Side childhood surrounded by intellectuals, celebrities and media figures who played on the national stage. He is a gifted writer and musician and a cynic without peer.
His absolute revulsion towards the Manhattan lifestyle fabricated in "Sex and in the City" apparently can step up a notch and did last night with the exquistely packaged fairy tale ending offering each women the perfect partner and perfect potential future within 45 minutes.
(The extra 15 minutes on the episode was necessary in that we know it's pretty hard to solve all of life's problems for four fully developed people in 30 minutes. I can't do long division without a calculator in 45 minutes, let alone solve any major issue in my life or anyone else's.)
But that isn't the point.
Thinking women know that solutions don't come with a Tiffany bow delivered by a milionaire with a stretch limo. We even have a clue that none of the characters make enough money or have enough closet space to dress as they do.
We've noticed that careers are not window dressing to fill in between fabulous parties and more fabulous men. We know it's suicidal to navigate cobbled streets in six-inch pumps. In fact, the greatest fallacy of the show is probably that four working women can consistently meet in a coffeeshop in daylight. It just doesn't work that way.
But it feels good to pretend. And to hear women on the screen talk to each other like you thought only you and your nasty girlfriends spoke.
In their world, no one gains weight or has complicated parents. Their gay friends are always treated with respect and inclusion. There is always someone there to pick you up when you fall off your fantastic pumps.
It's a world that could not possibly exist, but we're willing to suspend all belief to allow ourselves intervals of fabulous.
Forgive us our fairy tale, but Oz had to be at the end of the yellow brick road. And the princesses all had to have their princes, their glass slippers and no glass ceilings.
Think of it as an antidote for reality TV... and reality.

Copyright Judi Griggs 2004

Buffalo Gal Judi Griggs I'm a communications professional, writer, cynic, mother, wife and royal pain. The order depends on the day. I returned to my hometown in November 2004 after a couple of decades of heat and hurricanes. I can polish pristine copy, but not here. This is my morning exercise -- 20-minute takes without a net or spellcheck. It's easier than sit ups for me. No guarantee what it will be for you. Clicking on the subscribe link will send you an email notice when each new entry is posted.
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Previous Entry :: Next Entry Read/Post Comments (0) Share on Facebook		2004-02-23 8:13 AM The Sex in the City bubble I'm in the midst of an online argument with a friend who defines the best of New York City. He had the ultimate Upper West Side childhood surrounded by intellectuals, celebrities and media figures who played on the national stage. He is a gifted writer and musician and a cynic without peer. His absolute revulsion towards the Manhattan lifestyle fabricated in "Sex and in the City" apparently can step up a notch and did last night with the exquistely packaged fairy tale ending offering each women the perfect partner and perfect potential future within 45 minutes. (The extra 15 minutes on the episode was necessary in that we know it's pretty hard to solve all of life's problems for four fully developed people in 30 minutes. I can't do long division without a calculator in 45 minutes, let alone solve any major issue in my life or anyone else's.) But that isn't the point. Thinking women know that solutions don't come with a Tiffany bow delivered by a milionaire with a stretch limo. We even have a clue that none of the characters make enough money or have enough closet space to dress as they do. We've noticed that careers are not window dressing to fill in between fabulous parties and more fabulous men. We know it's suicidal to navigate cobbled streets in six-inch pumps. In fact, the greatest fallacy of the show is probably that four working women can consistently meet in a coffeeshop in daylight. It just doesn't work that way. But it feels good to pretend. And to hear women on the screen talk to each other like you thought only you and your nasty girlfriends spoke. In their world, no one gains weight or has complicated parents. Their gay friends are always treated with respect and inclusion. There is always someone there to pick you up when you fall off your fantastic pumps. It's a world that could not possibly exist, but we're willing to suspend all belief to allow ourselves intervals of fabulous. Forgive us our fairy tale, but Oz had to be at the end of the yellow brick road. And the princesses all had to have their princes, their glass slippers and no glass ceilings. Think of it as an antidote for reality TV... and reality. Copyright Judi Griggs 2004 Read/Post Comments (0) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top