WELL, actually it never had a plot in the first place. The year 1998 was a revelation -- I turned 18, started studying journalism and had my first serious boyfriend. It was also the year that I discovered Sex and the City and it had a profound effect on me, although not necessarily one that is shared by the majority of the female species.
The first Sex and the City episode I watched left me feeling distinctly cold, and I remember thinking: "Wow -- this is some pile of sh*te." All my peers were raving about it -- the friendships, the sex, the clothes, the shoes. It featured all the things I was -- and still am -- hugely fond of, so I persevered and tried to get on board the Sex and the City train. But it left the station without me.
Not only did I find each of the characters excruciatingly annoying, but watching a fashion victim, a nymphomaniac, a prude and a sour-faced, sarky redhead discuss their 'glamorous' desperate lives over weekly brunch was -- and is still -- not my idea of entertainment.
Unfortunately, the feeling amongst my own closest friends was not mutual, and so over the years I have had to endure a handful of episodes as well as listen to several series being dissected.
I have lost count of the number of times another female (and occasional male) has tried to engage in some frivolous Carrie/Big chat and I have been forced to utter the words: "I don't watch Sex and the City," only to be met by an incredulous stare in return. I mean, what is to like?
Excuse me if I am not inspired by a bunch of self-absorbed characters who can hold down successful careers and maintain semi-functional friendships but can't see a pair of Manolo Blahniks without peeing their pants (that is when they could be bothered to actually wear any).
And don't get me started on the fashion . . . and I use the word 'fashion' in the loosest possible term. It beggars belief how a character who has been spied wearing bum-skimming hot pants (complete with pasty legs), a granddad cap (with too many ridiculous outfits to name), white fingerless gloves and various tacky scarves worn bandana-style, can be deemed a fashion icon.
If wearing unflattering clothes and sporting dark roots in desperate need of some highlights are the making of a fashion icon, then surely all women at some stage throughout their lives deserve iconic status. That said, I certainly wouldn't want to encourage this look.
Nor would I want to encourage women to ignore perfectly handsome and intelligent men in favour of chasing unobtainable, emotionally inept ones, a la our SATC 'heroines'.
Despite my aversion to all things SATC, I did drag myself to the cinema to see the first movie. Am I a glutton for punishment? Perhaps. But I also wanted to see if I would feel any differently about the show 10 years on. And I also didn't want to be left out of a girlie evening that included copious amounts of cosmopolitans -- which is about the only half- decent trend to emerge from SATC.
I will admit that it was not as bad as I had expected (the highlight undoubtedly being when Charlotte had an accident of the number two variety), although I don't think I enriched my SATC-obsessed friends' experience by constantly asking annoying questions such as: "Why would she marry that tool?" If, by some miracle, my friends invite me to accompany them to see the next movie in the coming weeks, I will reluctantly accept, but only if there are delicious cocktails on offer.
In the meantime, I will boycott my favourite glossy magazines that seem to have scrapped all intelligent and entertaining content in favour of dumbed-down SATC 'fashion and insider gossip' (yawn), and pray that the hype dies down before I go completely brain dead.
Sex and the City 2 is released nationwide on May 27