I adore this Emily Nussbaum take on Sex and the City, which, for all its micro-aggression, offered a realpolitik, pagan-spangled take on turn-of-the-millennium Manhattan and (heterosexual, white) lady congress. The final paragraph had me nodding like a banshee and, gulp, recommencing my book: “What would the show look like without that finale? What if it were the story of a woman who lost herself in her thirties, who was changed by a poisonous, powerful love affair, and who emerged, finally, surrounded by her friends?” Note to self: Living out most women’s worst fears brought out your best self. Tell your story, ladybird.
I adore this Emily Nussbaum take on Sex and the City, which, for all its micro-aggression, offered a realpolitik, pagan-spangled take on turn-of-the-millennium Manhattan and (heterosexual, white) lady congress. The final paragraph had me nodding like a banshee and, gulp, recommencing my book: “What would the show look like without that finale? What if it were the story of a woman who lost herself in her thirties, who was changed by a poisonous, powerful love affair, and who emerged, finally, surrounded by her friends?” Note to self: Living out most women’s worst fears brought out your best self. Tell your story, ladybird. 