"And another thing ..."

Out at Merc Bar tonight

L to R: me, Josh Spear, Dave Morin, Charles Forman, Megs

At the Sex & the City premiere.

Megs took this photo.

Dress made specially for me by Chloe & Reese.

When Sex and the City premiered June 6, 1998, I was still a junior in high school.

I had never written a column. I had never been to New York City. My idea of fashion was a Northface jacket and a pair of Mavi jeans.

And yet, as silly as it sounds - and for someone who thinks most television is more or less imbecilic, it sounds very silly indeed - Sex and the City changed my life forever.

It’s strange … I’ve had the boxed set of dvds sitting on my shelf for years, the first few seasons since I became a dating columnist for my college newspaper more than six years ago. I invested in the hundred plus dollar pink velvet covered complete set when I graduated and moved to New York as an actual Carrie Bradshaw 2.0 (can you imitate an imitator? I’m really Candace Bushnell 3.0). But oddly, especially given my devotion and chosen profession, I never really watched the last episode in its entirety.

I watched it tonight, and it hit me - how much has changed in my life since then, and how important this series was to me. I’m not pretending it was this important to everyone, but it was important to me.

It hit me as Carrie delivers her last monologue to Baryshnikov, about how she wants “Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can’t-live-without-each-other love.”

It hit me that I may have grown up, because I thought to myself, “No, Carrie! Stop looking for love. Love yourself. Love who you are. Not some transitory passion a man can give you, then take away!” Listen, I love the romance - of course I love the romance. But something changed in me since then … when I first watched this series, in college, I was looking for a man to rescue me (although I’m quite sure I didn’t realize it at the time).

I’m not looking for that anymore.

And so I found myself, at the very end, smiling when Big said she was “the one,” but not in that same, “oh my god now her life is complete” way that I might have in college.

I actually wished that instead of ending the series with her taking a call from Big, they had finished with her walking down the street alone, strutting in her fabulous shoes, smiling, happy to be home in New York, her city. Finally at peace - and most of all, happy to be herself again.

People ask me all the time “Is Sex and the City realistic?” or “How real is Carrie Bradshaw anyway?”

I always answer: “very” and “not at all” - both, at the same time, of course.

All interesting stories - and lives - strain against the boundaries of credulity. The mark of a good storyteller is the ability to push those limits without losing the audience’s empathy. If nothing else, SATC accomplished that, although frankly, I think it accomplished quite a bit more in the process.

And yeah, it also managed to change my life. So … thanks Carrie. I owe you a pair of Manolos.

Excuse me, I have to go write a dating column now.

:)

Oh hello there.

So, I’m brainstorming ideas for Time Out New York’s cheap issue - but over the years I’ve done more than a few “cheap date” columns. Anyone have any thoughts on what they’d like to read - you know, “cheap” and “dating” related? Something different, por favor.

Email me Julia@JuliaAllison.com

Sweet.

(Photo taken for Time Out New York by Pickett, at Blue Ribbon Downing Street Wine Bar 34 Downing St., New York (btwn Bedford & Varick) 212-691-040, Dress is Bill Blass)

At the Maxim Hot 100 Party last night in LA.  We left at 5 pm yesterday but I’m already back in New York.

And very, very tired.

This week’s Time Out New York column, on wine. No, I didn’t drink any of that glass. Merely for show ;)

Photo by Pickett