Sex and the City
A Vogue Idea

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A Vogue Idea

Cha cha cha. Cha cha cha. Cha cha cha!

Carrie, in what looks like a Vivienne Westwood pinstriped suit, large cameo pin, and tan Manolos, stalks the busy sidewalk. Her VO says, amazingly, that she's on her way to work. At a, you know, job-type thing. She stops in front of a shop window to fluff out and tug at her new bob. Okay, this is the opposite of prescient, now. We all know about her bob (seen it at the Globes!), and the fact that she has a mortgage now is not the real reason people are hustling to make more bucks out here in the real world. That reason, for almost everyone, is the recession. But whatever; these are bonus eps shot in the summer before 9/11, so I can't really bitch about the contextual lapse. But I am bitching anyway. Will Carrie ever grow up and face the coffee? Can she ever smell the music, or is it all rainbows and stilettos? Who knows.

Carrie strolls the halls of Vogue magazine (and I am SO JEALOUS. Though I think I'm more an Allure girl than a Vogue woman. It's my frugality and love of make-up that causes me to embrace Allure. Plus, they have so many recession-era alternatives to the high cost of fashion, so I have to love them for being so real. You know, the Lust/Must feature? Really speaks to me). She VOs that she's just turned in her first freelance article for them, which thrills her because Vogue is one of "the most relevant and provocative magazines on the newsstands today," which of course is total bullshit except that some brilliant script writer has tacked on the totally necessary qualifier, "at least to ME." Yes, to YOU, Bradshaw. The same claim could be made of Brave Words and Bloody Knuckles, a heavy metal magazine, but the love of glossy periodicals is a subjective one, no? She fluffs her bob some more, and walks uncertainly into an office.

Candice Bergen, a hard-boiled editor (has she ever not played hard-boiled?), perches on a bearded man's desk and pronounces Carrie's copy "not Vogue." Ooh, burn. Carrie's face falls and shatters into many tiny pieces, like a house made out of Legos would if you dropped it. "You didn't like it?" I think Candice hated it! The copy is covered in red pencil marks. Speaking as a writer, I'd have to say this is pretty cool and old-school. I would love to have my copy corrected by a Vogue editor. I'd ask, "What do I need to do to make it Vogue?" And it would take all of my self-control not to answer my own question and say, "Strike a pose?" The bearded guy comforts Carrie, saying she wrote a great "first draft," and her "spin" is "very clever." She's made men into an accessory to be worn with clothes, and has a sentence about how the new Prada dress "should always be worn with an investment banker." As Beard reads the line, Carrie moves her lips along with him in sync. Uch, that's annoying. And immodest. Candice says she isn't sure Carrie "knows anything about purses, or for that matter, men" (no argument here), then says she thinks Carrie's copy is just her regular column with the word "style" in place of "sex." Bearded Guy is all, "For the love of God!" Oh, come on. Writers can take a little abuse. Or should I say, "Do take a little abuse." Candice is all, "I don't care about your agenda." Which is to whine, right? Me neither. "I want less Carrie Bradshaw and more 'carry this bag with these shoes.' You should be writing this down." Carrie makes faces and looks around her like Candice is addressing someone else in the room, then says defensively that she was trying to use humor, as in "men are the new black!" Bearded Guy laughs. Me, not so much. Then Carrie reaches around Candice to grab a pencil, muttering that she "didn't bring a writing implement." Now I have to stop typing to make the sign of an "L" with both hands.

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