Sarah Jessica Parker, in garish make-up and a tutu, wanders around on the sidewalk, looking very much like a bag lady searching for her lost shopping cart. End credits.
The series begins with a long anecdote told by Carrie in voice-over. Seems a blonde "English journalist" woman came to New York. We see the lady in a cab filled with Louis Vuitton luggage. Carrie says the lady, called Elizabeth, hooked up with one of New York's "typically eligible bachelors." We see the chubby guy who plays Mike McQueen on Popular walking around his corner office with a view, blathering about investments into a phone headset. Carrie lets us know that he makes about "two million a year." We see Elizabeth and Mike meeting each other at a gallery opening, where Mike, a la Rico Suave, tells Liz that "London is my all-time favorite city." Then we have a montage of Liz and Mike golfing and playing footsie while having dinner and having sex in silhouette. Then Mike takes Liz to check out a "townhouse for sale," where he hints to her that they might be having children to fill up some of the home's bedrooms, and asks her to have dinner with his folks later that week. Mike then calls Liz to postpone dinner since his mother is sick. Cut to two weeks later, where Liz harshes to Mike on the phone for not calling her anymore. Then we see Liz talking to a smoking brunette woman in a coffee shop. Liz's sleek blonde chignon has unraveled, she looks about ten years older, and her English accent is in shambles. Carrie voice-overs that Liz has found out about "the end of love in New York." What, Liz couldn't have gotten played like that in London? Whatever!
Cut to Carrie's apartment. Turns out she was the brunette. She's chain-smoking in front of her laptop, elaborating on "The Age of Un-Innocence" in New York. She tries to make some witty plays on the titles "Breakfast at Tiffany's" and "An Affair to Remember," but I'll spare y'all from the lameness. As a cynical saxophone bleats on the soundtrack, Carrie warns us, "Self-protection and 'closing the deal' are paramount. Cupid has flown the co-op." From this scene, its established that Carrie a) smokes more packs a day than Patrick Swayze, b) lives in a cramped, trendily-decorated studio-type flat, and c) is a terrible, untalented, cringe-inducing writer.
Then we see yuppie New York women walking toward the camera on a crowded Manhattan sidewalk. Carrie worries in voice-over about their dating hardships, which she finds unjust because these women are "great." Um, why are they great, Carrie? "They travel, they pay taxes, they'll spend $400 on a pair of Manolo Blahnik strappy sandals." Oh. Then Carrie whines that although these great women have so much disposable income, they are "alone." Owen wipes away a solitary, invisible tear.
Cut to Carrie in a gray trenchcoat. Her hair is cropped to her shoulders, in mousy-brown frizzy curls and parted in the middle. She grabs a New York Post-looking rag out of a sidewalk box and continues wailing, "Why are there so many great unmarried women and no great unmarried men?" She turns the newspaper pages to her column, "Sex in the City," in which she "explores these issues" by using "great sources -- [her] friends."