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Falling Out of Fashion


Back in the day, I lived many of the episodes of Sex and the City. I had friends that paralleled each of the main characters, and I was some shadow version of the various love interests. But not to my friends, so I got to be part of the dishing about their own Aidans and Mr. Bigs.

At the time, it was a blast. I was in step with popular culture. Or at least some pretty and insecure segment of it.

Those days are passed. I think the most awesome description of the series was from a cartoon show (Family Guy?); it’s about three hookers and their mom. So I haven’t been interested in the movie sequels.

Girl Friday has a review of the latest one:

I saw this movie last night on a free pre-screening pass and at one point I actually exclaimed, "OH GOD" in disgust. This instinctive reaction to one of the lamest parts of the movie -- and there are so many; roughly 3 hours' worth -- was bookended by several uncontrollable, irritated sighs.

The dialogue is atrocious. How man times, over how many years, can the same four women have the same conversations? I've seen the entire TV series. I even halfway enjoyed the first movie. But not even the phrase "beating a dead horse" accurately describes the verbal vomit that is this movie.

That’s a small part of the reason I’ve moved on a different phase of life. The Sex and the City life is monotonous. Gorgeous and tasty, but always the same.

Seinfeld had the same narcissism, but it was goofy and funny. I still kind of miss the days when my house was like Jerry’s apartment. SATC was just a slow-motion tragedy.

"Sex and the City 2" is void of emotion.

The TV show was nothing but feelings and fashion. Without the feelings, it must just be an animated issue of Vogue.

…the moral of the story, if there was a moral or even a story in "Sex and the City 2," is that having sh*tloads of money makes life a billion times more fun because your biggest problem becomes what to wear to dinner tonight.

I love the past. But it can stay there.