Sex and the City, the Paris episode

...Carrie and me.

When the TV series Sex and the City first aired, I thought it was amazing to be the same age as the protagonists. It felt like a shared journey with the characters.

I recall a conversation with a male friend around that time. He had watched a few episodes to understand what all the fuss was about and told me, “You’re the Carriest woman I know.” At that moment, it felt like a badge of honour. We all aspired to be Carrie Bradshaw, and truth be told, I was pretty close. Same age, curly hair, petite, single, fiercely independent, interested in fashion, and with a distinctive style. I, too, had my friends and also my Mr. Big. I met him when I was fifteen, and he has been on and off in my life ever since. Of course, there were some differences. She lived in New York, and I lived in Buenos Aires. She wore haute couture for dinner with friends, and I wore prêt-à-porter. But the biggest difference of all was that, by that time, I was already a mother to a four-year-old daughter, and that anchored me in a way that prevented me from going from one bad relationship to another. I always got my priorities right.

I remember the excitement of watching the season finale, divided into two episodes called "An American in Paris." Carrie was the American in Paris. She moved there to join her boyfriend, a famous artist, for the opening of his new exhibition. They were planning to stay there for some time. In Paris, she felt miserable and lonely and kept thinking about Mr. Big. She told all this to her friend Miranda during a phone call. Miranda told Charlotte and Samantha, and they all met Mr. Big. He told them that he loved Carrie and wanted to win her back. With their approval, he went to Paris and rescued Carrie. Then, in a romantic scene on the Pont des Arts, he finally told her that “she is the one.” They kissed, and we all felt emotional and hopeful about the happy ending.

I watched the season finale with my sister, and then again with my friends, and we all agreed that it was the perfect ending. None of us paid too much attention to Carrie’s dislike of Paris. Maybe we thought it was all down to her really loving Mr. Big.

A few days ago, my daughter showed me a TikTok featuring a young woman saying, “I want to have Samantha’s self-esteem, Charlotte’s standards, Miranda’s drive, and nothing of Carrie.” I was struck by this statement, and it made me think of how much we women had changed.

The first episode of Sex and the City aired in 1998. At that time, we all wanted to be Carrie, but the truth is, Carrie was a mess. The opposite of an empowered woman, being mistreated by one man after another. We just couldn't see it then.

I decided to rewatch the last episode, this time in Paris. I knew my perspective would be different because I also evolved as a woman, but I was shocked at how much the sadness of Carrie resonated with me.

This time I thought, “I am the Carriest woman in Paris.” The way she walks, the way she looks at people just being happy, and the loneliness and sadness that she carries with her. She tells Miranda on the phone that Paris was harder than she thought, that it was too cold and rainy all the time, and that she was alone most of the time.

That is exactly the way I feel about Paris. I know I have said it in previous posts, but just to be clear, Paris is difficult. The cold, the rain, the loneliness, and the endless sadness. For me, Paris will always be the place where I learned that my mother died. And I know no one, not even my own Mr. Big, can rescue me from that.

But then I remembered my favourite episode of the series. It is called "The Real Me." In this episode, Carrie is invited to participate in a fashion show that will mix “real people” with supermodels. Not completely sure, she accepts, only to fall midway down the catwalk. While on the floor, she thinks, "I had a choice; I could slink off the runway and let my inner model die of shame, or I could pick myself up, flaws and all, and finish. And that’s just what I did, because when real people fall down in life, they get right back up and keep on walking." And she got up and kept walking.

Just like I did, when the father of my baby daughter chose to leave me on the very same day my own father died. Or when I was inexplicably fired just four days before my fiftieth birthday. Or when I finally reached my limit with being mistreated and made the bold decision to quit my job and pursue my own path.

For me, Paris is the last episode of a story that began in March 2001, when my daughter started primary school, and will finish next week with the defence of her dissertation. I am already working on the script for what will follow. Since I am the author and director of my story, I am the one who chooses the location. I am looking at different possibilities and haven’t decided yet.

Meanwhile, you can uncover more about the real me right here: I am The Creative Advocate.