Skip to main content

A Woman's Right to Shoes

The Pride Parade is a distant memory, now, but before the week closes, I want to look at one other major gay achievement from the recent past: "Sex and the City." Perhaps you've heard of it? Perhaps I've mentioned it here before?

"Sex and the City" came, first, from the pen of a woman, Candace Bushnell. Then it was sort of co-opted by a gay man, Darren Star. Eventually, another gay man--Michael Patrick King--took over. It's King who interests me. King oversaw the emotionally-rich episodes of the late seasons, and King wrote the triumphant first movie. (Did I call that movie triumphant? Yes, I did. Having Miranda meet repentant Steve at the midpoint of a bridge, as India Arie's "Heart of the Matter" played loudly in the background? Brilliant. Having Joanna Gleason, the spiky, cerebral Sondheim muse, in the role of Miranda's therapist? A gift to gays--everywhere. Michael Patrick King also authored the disastrous second movie--but we won't talk about that.)

One thing that bonded both gay men and single women--w/r/t SATC--was the show's awareness of "subtextual judgy-ness." There was--and is--a dominant narrative in America: You are to find a spouse, "settle down," and then spawn some new little humans. If you don't do that, you are in some way deficient. (I, personally, am not arguing this; I'm summarizing someone else's argument.) Regardless of its flaws, SATC did push back against this narrative. It allowed Samantha to have the sex she wanted to have; Kim Cattrall's self-assured performance seems to be a big, loud, relentless "Fuck You" to Catholic America. The show gave us four friends who took care of one another; it asked, more than once, how is this arrangement any less satisfying or functional than more "conventional" choices other characters might make? Gay male viewers--who had a habit of forming new non-nuclear families after having fled the midwest for NYC--responded warmly to the friendships at the show's core.

To me, a major banner-waving "gay" moment in the series is in Season Six: "A Woman's Right to Shoes." Michael Patrick King didn't write this; it's the work of series staple Jenny Bicks. That said, King was the show-runner for Season Six, and it's safe to say he had a role in the plotting and shaping of the episode (and in all late episodes).

"Right to Shoes" famously has Carrie attending a friend's baby shower. There's a rule: No shoes. Appalled, Carrie must shed her Manolo Blahniks, which cost (almost) five-hundred dollars. "But this is an outfit," she says, feebly, and it's to the writer's (and the performer's) credit that we aren't led to roll our eyes at this line. Of course the shoes go missing. Has someone stolen them? (Probably.) Did they disappear into some heap of stuff in this moderately chaotic home? That's a possibility, as well.

Carrie's friend can't seem to feel very apologetic or concerned about the missing shoes. Later, after a fight, Carrie's friend can't even seem to feel concerned about the ruffled feathers, the tension within the friendship. "I'd forgotten all about that argument," she says. Implied: "Really, you have too much time on your hands." Matters become even worse when the friend remembers her manners and offers to pay for the shoes, then rescinds the offer when she learns of the real cost. "I'll give you two hundred," she says, while turning up her nose. Implied: "You ought to start making different choices."

In a wonderful twist, Carrie begins recalling all of the gifts she has purchased for her friend--to celebrate weddings, to mark various triumphs in the lives of the friend's kids. It's not that she resents spending this money, she says; it's just that there's nothing reciprocal. She has taken a path less traveled. Why shouldn't that path be celebrated--in its own way? You take on enough shit when you do something unconventional with your life. (Ask any gay man for confirmation.) Should you also--in the midst of this shit--be required to weather the judgment and faux-superiority of a person who has followed a more traditional path?

Carrie doesn't confront the friend again. She does announce that she is getting married--to herself--and that she has registered for one item: An extravagant pair of shoes at Manolo Blahnik. She informs her friend, and, in a move that makes us love the friend, that very friend gets the message. She buys the shoes for Carrie, and includes a short, sweet note: "Congratulations. We are very happy for you and you!"

The episode ends with a spot-on voice-over: "It's difficult to walk the route of a single woman in NYC. Sometimes, we need the right pair of shoes for support." The twist in the notion of support: The idea that brutally-uncomfortable Blahniks could also be a kind of spiritual boost. Who could argue with that? Great, surprising writing.

Watching this episode, I was startled to note how moved I felt. I imagine it's a favorite among many gay viewers. One of its strengths is that it doesn't say one path is better than the other; both Carrie and her friend are flawed, confused, vulnerable. There isn't really a villain. There's tension, and then there's a surprising and graceful resolution. (In a way, the episode recalls Samantha's struggles in a fancy restaurant. She must silence her cell phone. But why mustn't that mother at the neighboring table silence her cute/obnoxious small child? Samantha asks her question, and the adorable baby flings pesto all over her--Samantha's--face. Both the hapless mom and the frazzled single lady have some issues. They have to coexist; they have to keep moving, despite frayed emotions and basil-in-the-hair. That's New York City.)

At its best, SATC found major depths within apparently small choices (often *sartorial* choices). The show suggested that there is more than one way to live a life--and, whatever we choose, we're going to face pain and embarrassment, and we're going to struggle with misunderstandings and miscommunication. In this way, the show can make a viewer feel less alone. This is not an achievement to "sniff" at.

P.S. The title! A pun on "A Woman's Right to Choose." One of the less irritating bits of wordplay in SATC's long history of verbal hyperactivity. In these troubled times, let's all remember that a woman has the right to choose.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Joshie

  When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...

Josh at Five

 Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...