Let’s be honest, as my blogs demonstrate, I tend to have really embarrassing taste in film. Most of the time I can get away with this by claiming that I like tacky films for their novelty value; like Gillian Armstrong’s “Little Women” starring Susan Sarandon AND Winona Ryder (I mean, it’s not like I watch it once a month or anything, or cry when Beth dies...or anything). Except I can never, ever forgive myself for the unadulterated joy I felt the first time I watched the trailer for “Sex and the City 2”.


Most people will probably have stopped reading by now, but for those decent few who are willing to give a sad and sorry chump a chance to explain herself, you can trust that I have always gotten on my feminist high horse when it came to "Sex and the City". Yes, it does dress up old sexist attitudes for a new audience in the 1990s, telling women that it is empowering to be slutty, but not so empowering that a career and fleeting relationships will satisfy you. And yes it implies that only a man and/ or child can quieten those inner rumblings of yearning womanhood. Every positive thing that ‘Sex and the City’ attempted to achieve, including having women talk frankly about sex, was muted by this constant reminder that “Mr. Big” needed to be locked down. Plus Sarah Jessica Parker has a weird face. So basically, the idea that I would actually be super pumped for this film has made me about as embarrassed as Jay-Z watching Oprah rap.

 



And yet, this 1.21 minute trailer has sent me absolutely salivating. All those pink cupcakes! The glittery font! The mystery(!) of Kim Cattral’s ageless face! The camels! And I’m not the only one that is eagerly awaiting the premiere date, judging by the constant onslaught of film stills on every news website. When I was (forced) to see the first film, several months after it had been released, the suburban cinema was still bursting at the seams with middle aged women who cackled at every sexual reference with glee (my first experience of unabashed ageism).


So why am I excited, do you ask?  Admittedly I was never really interested in the series, and yet now I have had my taste of Sarah Jessica Parker’s drug, dammit I need another hit.
  

I say this very reluctantly, but the first film did have its borderline funny moments. I do find Kim Cattral’s blue humour to be mildly amusing, albeit a bit embarrassing in the same way as your elderly aunty making a sex joke. Also it’s not often that you see airbrushed women poop their pants in Hollywood cinema (not enough, I say).


But, for me it is the clothes that are the major pull towards "Sex and the City" becoming my dirty little secret. I always knew that the show was supposed to be innovative in its choice of costuming, but after seeing many photos of Patricia Field herself (costume designer for the show and movie) I had my doubts.



Somehow, this woman who looks like she wandered out of the subway with a newspaper hat muttering about the end of the world, has managed to create one of the most outstanding combinations of high and low fashion ever to grace our TV screens (and possibly movie screens too).




And this!




And, and this!



Yup, I’m pretty obsessed. For some reason I had always assumed that because these women and their problems seemed completely banal to me, their clothes would also reflect this aesthetic. But man oh man, like Tiger Woods cheating on his Swedish model wife, I was so so wrong. But  considering that Sex and the City’s audience are mainly middle aged women who generally do not have the dollars to buy Monolos, nor the guts to wear crop tops, how have the Field creations become so synonymous with viewers that fans can even buy Carrie’s clothes on http://www.patriciafield.com/?

I guess that’s part of the appeal of Sex and the City; you know that as a weekly columnist Carrie could never afford all those shoes and probably has a call girl gig on the side, but you WANT to believe that it is ok to wear floral ornaments that are bigger than your head. It’s the escapism that keeps the show going, not its social commentary. I guess it makes sense that ol’ SJP demanded that that the next film be re written to be made “more fluffy” for audiences. Judging by the cupcakes, this intervention has been successful.

So with my head hung in shame, I admit that I am part of the Sex and the City army. And although I have John Cusack in “High Fidelity” whispering in my head “It’s WHAT you like, not what you ARE like” reducing me to another shrieking female fan, at least I have the guts to admit, that you know what? Sometimes I want to watch a movie about clothes. Sometimes I want to sit down and not think for two hours while watching a screen awash with pastels. Wanna make something of it?