I’m a fairly bored student, living in some shithole in London searching for an identity. Tired of my beautiful creativity dying a death, I’m seeking out to try and better myself as a person. Instead of doing something worthwhile – learning a language, picking up ‘chicks’, or learning how to darn, I’ve chosen to watch my least favourite television show of all time, in order, all the way through. Can I justify this though? I have no idea.
Every male in the world likes to think they can read women, but can they really? Are females truly the mysterious beauties the media would like us to believe? From the builders lust when they catch a glimpse of Kerry, 18 on Page 3 of The Sun, to the fey indie boys shyly wanking over a grainy youtube video of an American Apparel model – women are seen as enchanting, yet difficult – alluring and confusing, sexy and teary. What can a geezer do to really ‘know’ women?
By watching Sex and the City apparently.
A show, about four thirty-something ‘sassy’ New York women. Written by some American man – probably bald. It’s not the most appetising of TV show descriptions, especially when compared to say, ‘The Wire’ (angry young black men get ANGRY), or ‘Soccer Saturday’ (hilarious host talks shit with various ex-alcoholic, ex football players for six hours.) Based on the snippets I’ve seen of the show, it’s something I will downright loathe – but surely there must be a charm to it, some genius that I’ve not yet glimpsed. Why else would it be adored by the loveable rogues that is womankind the world over? Surely it can’t just be the gorgeous shoes? Women can’t be THAT shallow can they?
Who knows? Not me, which is why I’ve decided to plough through every single episode, one a day, in order to try and explore the female psyche, enrich myself as a person, and perhaps most importantly, to marvel at the only leading performance by an animal in a long running television series (excluding ‘Alf’ as he was more of a creature,) that being the sterling rendition of the horse, which plays journalist ‘Carrie Bradshaw’, who I’m led to believe is one of the main characters in the show.
So there you have it. Will I grow to love the show or not? Will my opinion that acting like those four battered old foxes is a terrible way for women to behave? Will their constant chasing of cock lead to me turning gay? What about the complex web of peripheral characters? What about Miranda’s ginger mane? Samantha’s rampant sex drive? Carrie’s ever growing mole? and who could forget Charlo…..zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.