Further thoughts on “Sex and the City”:
-“Modelizer” was meant to be a pseudo-branded term. It was meant to fall from our lips: short-hand for someone who dates only models. The term didn’t catch on. But other tidbits from the “Sex and the City” world did catch on. “Manolo Blahnik”--metonymy for the entire fairy-tale planet invented for that series. “He’s Just Not that Into You.” “Magnolia Cupcake.” “Cosmo.” “I’m a Samantha.” “The post-it note.” “The scrunchie.” “Michiko Kakutani review.” “Vera Wang wedding gown.” “Meatpacking district.” Can you think of others?
-It’s possible to feel no human connection with any part of “The Modelizer” (Season One), and still enjoy its construction. Fairy tales are about curses and reverses, sudden twists, magical potions, perilous journeys. Miranda attends a dinner party. She believes the conversation is impromptu, fresh: “If you could sleep with one celebrity, which would it be?” We watch the hilarity. Then the rug is pulled from under us. This conversation happens once per week, and the central man has a new model on his arm every session. (A similar joke is used in the superior Rachel McAdams comedy, “Game Night,” out now.) Miranda slowly comes to understand that she is the result of a dare; she is what happens when the central man is forced, by his friends, to date a non-model. The dotty grandmother is really a wolf in a nightgown. Miranda has to assess whether she really wants to be with an asshole in an expensive suit, or with a nice guy who maybe needs a haircut and a new tee shirt.
-Appearance versus reality: That’s the theme here. On a similar note, Carrie finds herself drawn to a young male model. Is he gay? How could you begin to find out? (“Sex and the City” gets great mileage out of the mystery that is Other People, and the social gaffes we make when we work with our own assumptions.) When the model invites himself over to Carrie’s apartment, we assume meaningless sex is on the menu. But: no. The model opens up. He wants just to talk and hold hands. He dislikes spending time with other models because there’s a sense of emptiness. He and Carrie have a chaste, sweet night: They fall asleep in their clothing. It’s a fun trick: This particular scriptwriter isn’t really phoning it in. (He, or she, also gets mileage from a zoological metaphor. He/she says that people in the midwest don’t need to worry about “modelizers.” Because models don’t live out there. But NYC is “a model’s natural habitat.” Here, models walk among us, like wildebeests in the grasslands. The observation makes me think of Tina Fey’s “Mean Girls”--and it suggests that, somewhere, someone at a desk is having a little fun.)
-Appearance versus reality: In a third strand of plot, Samantha believes she has persuaded a young man that she herself is a model. This guy apparently sleeps only with models, and he films their sexual acts for later enjoyment. Mid-coitus, Samantha becomes puzzled. “Where is the camera?” she asks. “Oh,” says the thuggish young man. “I only get it out when I’m fucking a model, and you’re not a model.” This is an important moment in Samantha’s “origin story.” She could become indignant and storm out. She could insist on the lie and start an argument. But: here’s what she does. She decides meaningless sex with the thuggish guy is what she wants. She decides she’d also like to be filmed, for kinky reasons. So she lets the “model” comment pass and says she still wants the camera out. And the sex continues, filmed. And Carrie’s voice-over informs us that Samantha is in fact getting off on “being a model”: She is modeling not for “Vogue,” but for a thuggish guy's camera. I very much enjoy that play on the noun/verb “model.” It’s not Jane Austen, but again it’s evidence of “a mind at work.”
-I would see Brooke Shields in the hallway of my workplace at the time of “Lipstick Jungle.” I very much enjoyed that show as well, including its fun title, and I enjoyed the idea of its rival, “Cashmere Mafia.” I gobbled up “It’s Called a Break-Up Because It’s Broken,” and again I appreciated the wordplay (and the practical advice did indeed help to mend my broken heart!). My favorite observation about “Sex and the City”: The four main women are like strategic plotted points on a grid. Carrie: Romantic and Second-Wave Egalitarian Feminist. Miranda: Not-Romantic and Second-Wave Egalitarian Feminist. Samantha: Not-Romantic and Third-Wave Not-Egalitarian Feminist. Charlotte: Romantic and Third-Wave Not-Egalitarian Feminist. Having these sharply-defined semi-allegorical figures was a great help for any one of the show’s many writers. (And you can read more on this idea from the inimitable Emily Nussbaum; I’ll include the link below). Well, that’s all I have to say about this show for now. I think it’s mainly the work-product of a few nerdy gay men with an interest in Sondheim and the Brothers Grimm. And so: I’m not really shocked by my generally enthusiastic response!
https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2013/07/29/difficult-women
-“Modelizer” was meant to be a pseudo-branded term. It was meant to fall from our lips: short-hand for someone who dates only models. The term didn’t catch on. But other tidbits from the “Sex and the City” world did catch on. “Manolo Blahnik”--metonymy for the entire fairy-tale planet invented for that series. “He’s Just Not that Into You.” “Magnolia Cupcake.” “Cosmo.” “I’m a Samantha.” “The post-it note.” “The scrunchie.” “Michiko Kakutani review.” “Vera Wang wedding gown.” “Meatpacking district.” Can you think of others?
-It’s possible to feel no human connection with any part of “The Modelizer” (Season One), and still enjoy its construction. Fairy tales are about curses and reverses, sudden twists, magical potions, perilous journeys. Miranda attends a dinner party. She believes the conversation is impromptu, fresh: “If you could sleep with one celebrity, which would it be?” We watch the hilarity. Then the rug is pulled from under us. This conversation happens once per week, and the central man has a new model on his arm every session. (A similar joke is used in the superior Rachel McAdams comedy, “Game Night,” out now.) Miranda slowly comes to understand that she is the result of a dare; she is what happens when the central man is forced, by his friends, to date a non-model. The dotty grandmother is really a wolf in a nightgown. Miranda has to assess whether she really wants to be with an asshole in an expensive suit, or with a nice guy who maybe needs a haircut and a new tee shirt.
-Appearance versus reality: That’s the theme here. On a similar note, Carrie finds herself drawn to a young male model. Is he gay? How could you begin to find out? (“Sex and the City” gets great mileage out of the mystery that is Other People, and the social gaffes we make when we work with our own assumptions.) When the model invites himself over to Carrie’s apartment, we assume meaningless sex is on the menu. But: no. The model opens up. He wants just to talk and hold hands. He dislikes spending time with other models because there’s a sense of emptiness. He and Carrie have a chaste, sweet night: They fall asleep in their clothing. It’s a fun trick: This particular scriptwriter isn’t really phoning it in. (He, or she, also gets mileage from a zoological metaphor. He/she says that people in the midwest don’t need to worry about “modelizers.” Because models don’t live out there. But NYC is “a model’s natural habitat.” Here, models walk among us, like wildebeests in the grasslands. The observation makes me think of Tina Fey’s “Mean Girls”--and it suggests that, somewhere, someone at a desk is having a little fun.)
-Appearance versus reality: In a third strand of plot, Samantha believes she has persuaded a young man that she herself is a model. This guy apparently sleeps only with models, and he films their sexual acts for later enjoyment. Mid-coitus, Samantha becomes puzzled. “Where is the camera?” she asks. “Oh,” says the thuggish young man. “I only get it out when I’m fucking a model, and you’re not a model.” This is an important moment in Samantha’s “origin story.” She could become indignant and storm out. She could insist on the lie and start an argument. But: here’s what she does. She decides meaningless sex with the thuggish guy is what she wants. She decides she’d also like to be filmed, for kinky reasons. So she lets the “model” comment pass and says she still wants the camera out. And the sex continues, filmed. And Carrie’s voice-over informs us that Samantha is in fact getting off on “being a model”: She is modeling not for “Vogue,” but for a thuggish guy's camera. I very much enjoy that play on the noun/verb “model.” It’s not Jane Austen, but again it’s evidence of “a mind at work.”
-I would see Brooke Shields in the hallway of my workplace at the time of “Lipstick Jungle.” I very much enjoyed that show as well, including its fun title, and I enjoyed the idea of its rival, “Cashmere Mafia.” I gobbled up “It’s Called a Break-Up Because It’s Broken,” and again I appreciated the wordplay (and the practical advice did indeed help to mend my broken heart!). My favorite observation about “Sex and the City”: The four main women are like strategic plotted points on a grid. Carrie: Romantic and Second-Wave Egalitarian Feminist. Miranda: Not-Romantic and Second-Wave Egalitarian Feminist. Samantha: Not-Romantic and Third-Wave Not-Egalitarian Feminist. Charlotte: Romantic and Third-Wave Not-Egalitarian Feminist. Having these sharply-defined semi-allegorical figures was a great help for any one of the show’s many writers. (And you can read more on this idea from the inimitable Emily Nussbaum; I’ll include the link below). Well, that’s all I have to say about this show for now. I think it’s mainly the work-product of a few nerdy gay men with an interest in Sondheim and the Brothers Grimm. And so: I’m not really shocked by my generally enthusiastic response!
https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2013/07/29/difficult-women
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