“Maybe it’s time to be clear about who I am. I am someone who is looking for love, real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can’t-live-without-each-other love and I don’t think that love is here in this expensive suite in this lovely hotel in Paris.”
Carrie Bradshaw, 2004
While I was too young for Sex and the City the first time around, I did go to college. One winter I decided to write a legal essay while stuck in student accommodation during the holidays surrounded by hard snow, no company and the makings of a dangerous amount of bacon sandwiches. When I wasn’t trawling academic journals, attempting to string sentences and copy-and-paste plagiarism together in a manner that implied I somewhat understood what my hypothesis claimed, I decided to dust off the season six boxset that had been teasing my eye line. Nothing to remedy the brain fugue caused by dead men’s philosophy like a good old bout of froth, right?
To say my life changed while my body didn’t fuse itself to the couch in the following 48 hours is pretty much accurate. I mean that part where Carrie tells Big to leave her alone when he showed up smirking on her Manhattan doorstep before she went to gay old Paris with The Russian, and then that speech about love? And Big arriving in Paris in his town car and their souls colliding on the bridge? And how about Samantha battling cancer and falling in love? And Miranda realising that sometimes the Manhattan lifestyle she had mastered has to come second to real-life responsibility? And Charlotte learning to get over herself and her superficiality? Also the episode A Woman’s Right to Shoes?
When SATC ended ten years ago this month there followed a dearth of television shows that addressed women’s interests. This was before The Good Wife and Girls, and even at that SATC hit the happy medium between the driven professionalism of the former and disarray of the latter. It showed four women whose shared priority was their friendship.
It had a heart and empathy that has yet to be replicated on the small screen. It was perfect television that people now trash for the sake of it. Emily Nussbaum of the New Yorker wrote an impassioned defence of the show last year and how it became unpopular and crass to genuinely appreciate a stellar show that was tightly scripted with fully-realised characters. This distaste for SATC is probably due to the car-crash second movie that launched a thousand blistering reviews, but that’s no excuse when the previous 94 episodes and first movie were excellent commentaries on the financially independent woman we now all aspire to be.
Last week while commemorating the tenth anniversary of the Sex and the City finale, producer Michael Patrick King heavily hinted at the possibility of a third movie. Speaking to Entertainment Weekly he said: “Sarah Jessica and I both know what the final chapter is… That doesn’t mean it will or should be told, but I do think there’s one story left.”
For this reason we’re nailing our colours to the mast. We want to see the final chapter. We love Carrie. We love SATC and that whole Middle-Eastern holiday was a dream Carrie had in between getting a flatscreen television and black diamond ring.
So what do y’all think Michael Patrick King and SJP are plotting? Are Carrie and Big going to have a baby? Will Samantha be getting married? Maybe Miranda is made redundant? Or Charlotte sets up a start-up art business? In the meantime you can follow this hilarious parody Twitter account about the threequel that induces a guffaw in us at least thrice a week.
Jeanne Sutton @jeannedesutun