Like any New York City dweller value her salt, I’ve seen a entirety of Sex and a City mixed times. we never quite identified with any member of a show’s central, expertly coiffed quartet—all things considered, I’m some-more of a Steve moon, Magda rising—but even entrance of age in a Girls generation, it was nearby unfit to shun a prolonged shade expel by Carrie Bradshaw’s stilettos.
As we grew adult and began to fastener with my sexuality, we satisfied we was even serve afield of a Sex and a City gals than I’d thought; they were, with really occasional exceptions, resplendent emblems of mandatory heterosexuality, and a uncover was partial of a grating set of governmental messages revelation me we couldn’t have a life we saw onscreen unless we was straight.
In fact, as we watched Carrie regularly disremember and defect her “gay boyfriend” (aka requisite happy BFF) Stanford Blatch though ever being forced to reckon with a existence of what she was doing, we was all a some-more torn. As we watched Carrie drag Stanford to parties in between boyfriends, omit his problems, and blow him off from a large night out by revelation him that “tonight is usually a girls,” we unwittingly engrossed a thought that being happy meant being sidelined from a genuine story. we wanted to be a lead character, not some forlorn, often-forgotten cliché who was usually trotted out for punchlines once each few episodes.
For a uncover about sex, SATC was never quite forward-thinking when it came to sexuality; in deteriorate one, Miranda—portrayed by Cynthia Nixon, who is now married to a woman—is angry to be mistaken for a lesbian before disposition into it to measure bureau points. The girls are plainly doubtful when Samantha starts dating a woman, and masculine bisexuality is discharged as “a layover on a approach to Gaytown.” Then, of course, there’s a part in that Samantha salary an all-out fight opposite a trans women sex workers in her neighborhood…yikes.
There is that one beautifully aspirational, L Word–adjacent part that sees Charlotte get scooped adult by a posse of gallery-going energy lesbians, though in general, a antiquated passionate politics of Sex and a City were, as Salon author Thomas Rogers put it in 2010, “bad for a gays.”
Carrie’s diagnosis of Stanford is opposite from these oh-so-early-aughts shocker moments, though; it’s some-more pointed and insidious, not something that can be called out in a listicle of “Five Times SATC Was Problematic AF.” Throughout a series, Carrie honestly seems to perspective Stanford as reduction than, not honourable of a same care that her true womanlike friends warrant. She shows adult late to a fire his beloved organized, gnawing during Stanford when he dares to demonstrate disappointment; she ignores Stanford’s new attribute to bemoan about herself, call a singular fight (over brunch, natch) that doesn’t indeed finish with her changing her behavior.