sex and the vitriol

Ah, the Sex And The City premiere, brilliant. Hacks of both sexes must be ejaculating uncontrollably into their M&S pants. For what else can provide an opportunity quite as good as this to talk about how rubbish women are?


First, the film. I have no doubt that it is execrable, utterly without wit or wisdom, blah blah. It probably has no more plotholes or flimsy characters than The Matrix Reloaded, or Pirates of the Caribbean FFS, or Saw 43; but those were films with special effects and guns and stuff. What does this have? Shoes?


Some women might really enjoy it, which proves they are stupid. Some might concede that it is shit but claim that the TV series was much sharper, which proves they are stupid. Some women might argue that they never watched it anyway, which proves that they are probably ugly.


Then – oh joy – the actresses and their characters. According to your article, you can cry that these squealing brunchers are cariacatures of stereotypes of cartoonish puppets, or completely representative of all women. Whichever angle you take, don’t forget some outrage at them having either no wrinkles or too many; being too beautiful or too imperfect. That Sarah Jessica Parker, daring to take her place on our screens with a longer-than-average nose and face. Her character, Carrie, a writer? As if anyone with an interest in shoes can string a sentence together. And Kim/Samantha: I mean who the fuck does she think she is, enjoying sex at her age? Don’t forget to talk about how large her vagina probably is. Cynthia? Ginger and lesbian, ‘nuff said. If you’re taking an indignant quasi-feminist angle, you can point out what a bad role model her character Miranda is for giving up her job; if sexist, you can use it as proof positive that women should stay out of the boardroom. Ditto Charlotte, with her perfect wife-and-mother act. The keyword for all four, chaps, is desperate.


We come to the premiere itself. The four women on the red carpet. Look at them smiling. We know they hate each other because they are women. Look at their frocks. Look at their hats! Look at their made-up, shiny faces. It’s almost as though they feel the pressure of a thousand keystrokes on the back of their necks, reminding them that any flaw will be highlighted, every pore pored over.


Other famous women go to see the film. They also wear frocks and frightened smiles. They too will be pawed at and pored over, tweeted and blogged. Someone will hate Peaches Geldof. Someone will wish that Amanda Holden would shoot herself rather than wear a possibly-misjudged homage frock. Everyone will despise them. Anyone who doesn’t; well, they’re probably stupid enough to go and see the film.