The Rittenhouse Review

A Philadelphia Journal of Politics, Finance, Ethics, and Culture

Saturday, February 21, 2004  

Hello, Accomplished Writers, Artists, Musicians, Businesswomen?

Judging from the relentless attention of the media, one would think the nation were up in arms, incipiently revolutionary, or at least thoroughly and irredeemably distraught, unconsolable, adrift, and losing the collective will to live.

No, you wise and faithful Rittenhouse readers, this distress results not from a pervasive and generalized alarum provoked by the Bush administration’s profligate militarism and reckless foreign policy, nor the plight of the poor and unemployed, nor, well, you know.

Instead the hysteria surrounds the impending demise or dissolution or desuetude of that most horrendous of television series, “Sex and the City.” (See, for example, “No More ‘Sex,’” by Ellen Gray, Philadelphia Daily News, February 20, and “Miss Matched,” by Karen Heller, Philadelphia Inquirer, February 21.)

Far too much ink has been spilled and too many trees have fallen -- to say nothing of the 0s and 1s wastefully transmitted hither and yon on the subject -- agonizing over the end of the show and the four remarkably, and uniformly, unattractive (psychologically speaking, of course) women who formed the core of the show’s story lines.

I say: Good-bye, sluts. Good riddance. Don’t let the sheets hit your asses on the way out.

Does the end of “Sex and the City” portend something potentially greater? The broader culture’s sudden collective interest in accomplished women writers, artists, musicians, and businesswomen? (No, sorry, sit down Camille Paglia, Cindy Sherman, Sheryl Crow, and Carly Fiorina, the key word here is accomplished.)

Sadly, this probably is not a key turning point because the show was still quite, and rather inexplicably, popular. Getting (out) while the getting (it) is good, I suppose.

Call me sexist, call me patronizing, call me popular-culturally ignorant (Please!), but I think women deserve better than “Sex and the City.”

And yes, I know, “my people” are no better. It’s sad that, for all of their purported cultural superiority (e.g., “opera queen”), too many gay men know more about, and even idolize, porn stars -- witness: steroid abuse, tattoos, full-body waxing and shaving -- than they do the writers, artists, musicians, and businessmen in their midst and among their cultural heritage.

But that’s just me.

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