Leandra Medine's Blog, page 592

Ask a French Girl: French Versus American Guys

MR’s resident French girl, Laura, has covered all sorts of topics from our end: the right way to order wine, the myth (or truth) that French people hate ice, brunch, Tinder and the universal problem of getting kale stuck in your teeth.

This time, however, with the topic being a bit more…complicated…she enlisted the help of two companions: an American man who is gay and single, and a French woman who is in a relationship with an American man.

What’s the difference between French Guys and American Guys?

The French guy puts the adjective after the noun; the American guy puts the adjective before the noun. French guy: “A car yellow.” American guy: “A yellow car.”

What about how they ask a girl out?

A Frenchie will not “ask you out.”  Or if he did, you two would just be together outside.

Meanwhile, Americans ask you to “have dinner.” But is this an “I am asking you out”-type of question, or is it, “I am hungry, let’s go eat“? I’ve never bothered to figure out the difference.

Is it annoying to date French guys here in America since you moved out of France? Aka, you came all this way for the same BS.

This is like asking me if it is annoying to eat croissants in New York. I came here for the bagel adventure, but I hate cronuts.

There’s this idea that everyone’s all free-love in France, that everything isn’t treated like it’s a big ordeal,  so everyone is more romantic (and intimate) without the hangups. Is this true?

Love is definitely a happy and open subject in France. Most of the time it’s the result of friendships, trust, respect and desire.

In NYC, however, it feels like a difficult and heavy topic. I hear American women say this a lot: “Don’t worry. One day you’ll find your better half.” It’s true, you shouldn’t worry, but you should also stop waiting for the future to arrive. Have fun now.

How do you guys “DTR” in France? (That means Define the Relationship in case it’s not translating, and it’s the most dreaded talk a couple has.)

This is hilarious. I was just having brunch with French and Americans and this subject came up. I can’t really find a way to explain how we “DTR” in France, because we don’t. You’re either together or you’re not, and you figure it out alone.

I will say that some people need time. Give it to them.

Is there as much pressure in France to be in a relationship?

I think it depends on the stage you are at in your life. And pressure is only felt by the one who wants to receive it.

Everyone says that it’s easy to date in New York City but hard to actually find a relationship. Why? Is it the city life? And if so, does that same thing happen in Paris?

New York is definitely a tough cookie city. Is that the reason why people can’t find a boyfriend? Not so sure. I truly believe in timing, and I think that “fast loving” (inspired from fast food and fast fashion) created new guidelines in NYC.

Paris is definitely more mellow. Nonchalance in every subject is the national sport.

So what’s a single girl to do if she’s sick of dating and wants a relationship?

Be your best lover. Someone might see you loving yourself and be jealous.

(Is that a Sex and the City line? Am I a Yankee yet?)

How are French and American women different when it comes to dating, just from your own observations among your friends?

So, SO different. Day and night. French women never think they’re on a date. It’s not until they talk to an American friend and realize, “Ho! It was a date!”

American women would never think they just went for a “casual dinner with a friend” — until they speak with a Frenchie: “Ahhh…I thought I was on a date.”

Last question: French kissing. Out of all the countries, who’s best at it?

Give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and God what belongs to God. French know how to kiss. Americans know how to speak English with no accent.

(I’m half kidding.)

Remember that everything I told you is just a theory. If we narrowed everything down this quickly in real life, there wouldn’t be any spontaneity. Besides, can you really simplify men into two broad groups? One man alone — French or not — is already complicated enough.

…But the French are especially complicated.

Photographed by Krista Anna Lewis

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Turtleneck PSA: The J.Crew Tissue Turtleneck Is Your Best Bet, Trust Me

One of the harsh realities of maintaining residence on the east coast of North America comes up every year at the same time (Halloween, give or take a week) when, to the chagrin of the tenets of idealism, it is confirmed: winter, unlike equally insufferable teachers, is not going on sabbatical. It is never going to go on sabbatical. As a matter of fact, it is arriving. And with its arrival will never not come the sinister accoutrements that define it.

But if you, like me, view the glass as neither half empty nor full but are just grateful it’s there because you’re thirsty, dammit, then you should seek solace in this shopping PSA: No matter how much you might hate the turtleneck (I take it you’re neither a Nora Ephron nor Diane Keaton fan?), you’re going to need one. And when you do, there will be one place (J.Crew) where, with it’s soft-ass, angel foreskin cotton, that necessity will be provided in spades. And I do mean spades, because at $34.50 a pop, the world is your color wheel and you are its easel.

I don’t know if that makes sense, but I trust that you get the gist.

So here’s what I’m thinking: I started buying and wearing these turtlenecks last year around this time, playing it safe with hues of black and gray until I bought a red one and boom: salsa on chips. Everything just tasted better! I wore it under button downs and sweaters and dresses and lots of other shit. For the imminent season, the company launched yellow! And pink! Burgundy and orange! Both striped and not — which have all proven explorations in experimentation with color. Just last week, I wore the yellow one with an orange sweater and red skirt. You might remember the pink one from a story that went up yesterday. My hunch says that a color resuscitation is very much on the imminent horizon. My goal for us is to contribute to the sunrise, not the sunset.

You know?

Fin.

Photographed by Krista Anna Lewis

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Let’s Talk About It: Diversity in Fashion

During fashion week, there is no way to assess how a garment moves on the body without noticing that white models are doing most of the moving. For one month, twice a year, the disproportionate representation of our global reality is on display atop endless runways. It’s certainly easier to see the lack of diversity here than it is within the industry as a whole — it’s in your face. This doesn’t mean it’s any easier to talk about.

No one wants to hear a white woman “pretend” to get this struggle. But as Robin Givhan, fashion editor of The Washington Post, said to me during an interview, “You don’t have to know how it feels in order to recognize when something is inappropriate.” That’s our responsibility as humans.

“I think sometimes there’s fear of getting it wrong or not being politically correct,” Givhan said in response to the fashion industry’s resistance to acknowledge wrongdoing. “Those are all absolutely legitimate fears. But the conversation won’t get anywhere if people aren’t willing to live with those fears and speak up.”

Fashion activist and former model Bethann Hardison has been speaking up for years. She founded the Diversity Coalition/Balance Diversity to eliminate racism during casting and get more women of color on the runway and in editorials. She recalled a time when designers “just weren’t seeing black people.”

The Fashion Spot collected data from 373 shows and 9,926 model appearances across the Spring 2016 runways of New York, London, Paris and Milan. They reported that “77.6 percent of the time models were white.” It’s a slight improvement from the 80 percent they reported for Fall 2015, and 83 percent from the previous spring.

Hardison remains undeterred in her mission to get the industry to change. “I am a very patient revolutionary,” she told me. “I believe in education. That change comes about with dialogue.”

Derek Lam’s inspiration for his Spring 16 collection was civil rights activist and musician Nina Simone. “The relevance of fashion is always changing,” he wrote via email. “Sometimes the emphasis is more on the frivolity, as an escape, like 1950’s fashion was a response to war time deprivation. And sometimes it is more in tune with social change, like the 1920s and 1970s.” Like right now.

Diversifying his runway was important to Lam. In comparison to prior seasons, his Spring 16 show demonstrated real change. “Fashion shows can be robotic,” he said, equating them to when a clock chimes and “the little wooden figures come out the clock door in a circular pattern again and again. Kind of monotonous and ridiculous.”

Rosie Assoulin, a designer who prioritizes diversity in her presentations, said something similar: “It’s about not having a static beauty ideal. It’s not about representing this idea of one. I want to celebrate the individual as opposed to ‘a type.'”

Says Lam of his Spring 16 model casting process, “I think a big credit should go to the model agencies who really dug deep and made the effort to present diversity.”

Aurora James, creative director of Brother Vellies — a brand that employs artisans in Africa, experienced the opposite. She had such a hard time getting agencies to send her models of color for her Spring presentation that she found and cast unsigned women herself.

“I was pissed,” she said. “I was like, how is this going to make all the people I work with feel? I want them to feel reflected and included.”

That word, “inclusion,” may be the most important talking point in this conversation. Inclusion can mean the difference between celebration and appropriation, as James pointed out. “Black culture is often the inspiration,” said fashion editor Shiona Turini, “but black people aren’t part of the conversation. When we’re included, we’re able to help make a more well-rounded product — runway show, beauty story, hair tutorial, editorial.”

Here’s where “talking about it” doesn’t cut it and action has to be taken: Magazines, websites, designers, agencies, photographers, stylists all have to diversify their employees. Yes: Man Repeller does, too. Models represent one fraction of the fashion world. “Don’t just look at the runway,” said Turini. “Look around at who is sitting next to you at fashion week.”

Keija Minor, editor in chief of Brides, is the first black woman to hold the title of editor in chief at Condé Nast. Eva Chen, former editor in chief of Lucky, was the first Asian American woman at Condé Nast to hold the title. But these two are outliers. Diversity is lacking across the entire industry.

Shiona Turini recounted numerous instances of being the only black woman at various magazine staff meetings. So too did Rajni Jacques, a creative director and editor at large.

“Our generation grew up to be PC,” Jacques said. “It created this tension when speaking about race, or why you’re influenced by a person of color. I’ve worked at magazines long enough to know when the topic of race does come up, it’s as if everyone is talking but no one’s really saying anything. What do they mean by ‘urban’? It could mean a lot of things. I want to get them to say ‘black,’ because if you can’t speak about diversity, how the hell are you going to execute it?”

“Urban” or “hip hop” or “safari chic” — it’s here that we get into the topic of trends: trending subcultures, trending models who represent the moment’s “look.” It’s important to consider diversity as the norm while being wary to not celebrate race as novelty.

When diversity is limited, it means the range of faces within diversity is further limited, which means only a tiny representation of a rich culture or ethnicity is showcased in the images that dictate society’s already narrow perception of “beautiful.”

“People are driven by what they know,” Robin Givhan reminded me. “Ideas of beauty are driven by what they know. That’s the prime argument for being concerned about diversity in the broader sense — not just who walks down the runway.” It’s why we need to remain mindful of the world around us.

“What is fashion if not an industry founded on the fundamental idea that things come and go,” said Givhan on trending beauty ideals. “I can think of a dozen models who were ‘it girls’ for two seasons, now they’re barely on the runway. I don’t think that’s solely about race. It’s about a short attention span.” Bethann Hardison had a similar sentiment, though both women agreed that problems arise is when the industry moves away from prioritizing diversity. “That’s not a trend,” Givhan said. “That’s ignoring a whole customer base.”

Keija Minor said that in order for there to be a change in the industry, there needs to be a change in mindset. “As more people stop looking at increasing diversity in their editorial content and staff as the ‘right’ or ‘cool’ thing to do and start realizing that it’s the business-savvy thing to do, we’ll see meaningful change. 44.2 percent of millennials identify as part of a minority race or ethnic group. To not be more inclusive is leaving audience share on the table. As Shonda Rhimes said, ‘being more inclusive in media is not about diversifying, it’s about normalizing to accurately reflect the world we live in.’”

To normalize, we have to keep having these conversations. I think we forget the very real power of words to incite action. As Sophie Theallet — a white designer whose Spring 16 show featured 60 percent diversity, not to mention a plus size model — wrote to me over e-mail, “Change never comes from the top; but from within.”

Shiona Turni asked why I was writing this story. She didn’t ask it to challenge my intentions but rather to help us both focus in on what she would say, and what I would write.

So I quoted Bethann Hardison: “If you’re not color conscious, something’s wrong. You have to keep it real and not be afraid to say things.”

Afraid? I’m terrified. But I do hope I’ve kept it real.

Runway images via Vogue Runway; collage by Krista Anna Lewis

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If HR Asks Me to Alter My Attire, I Have to Comply — If I Don’t, Will I Get Fired?

One time, I had this brilliant idea to wear my pajamas into work for an entire week then write about the experience. The catch: it was a freelance article that I’d pitched to a publication. My full time job is at a corporate, cubicle-filled agency — not exactly the kind environment that fosters extracurricular guinea pig journalism.

That said, the exercise wasn’t really all that shocking.

I nearly always wear oversized t-shirts with heels to work and I almost exclusively wear oversized t-shirts to bed. Sometimes, depending upon the intensity of the evening and alcohol percentage of that night’s preeminent beverage, those two worlds merge into one.

Still.

My colleagues quickly found out about the little experiment and proceeded to mock me for weeks.

Which is fine. I can handle a good dig. What made me nervous was that I’d drawn attention to the fact that I dress differently from my more corporately-coiffed colleagues. In their pantsuits and pumps, were they automatically considered more exemplary employees?

Possibly. And yet, that wouldn’t be enough to make me change. Despite the potential consequences my less than Claire Underwood-esque appearance could have on my professional relationships and the office-wide respect I receive, I’m still instinctively opposed to modifying my personal style.

But this isn’t college or art class. This is, for better or for worse, the real world. Technically, if HR asked me to alter my attire, I’d have to comply.

And if I didn’t, would I be fired? That’s sort of a scary thought — that inflexible devotion to one’s own personal style could become a professional detriment. Is it possible to settle for a satisfying compromise?

To not express myself via flashy shoes, gargantuan sweaters or masculine nightshirts is unthinkable. It wouldn’t feel right. Besides: if it’s not impacting my work ethic, productivity or professional passion, giving up what makes me happy to appear symbolically “appropriate” seems sad.

But let’s say it becomes a real problem. Do I stop being so steadfast about my style? Do I do as every other maturing human being around me has done, suck it up and buy a pencil skirt? A well-fitted, non-ironic cardigan? Is my mom manically nodding, “YES GABRIELLE,” from behind her office desk while reading this?

Or, should my refusal to adapt to these aesthetic norms necessitate that, even if I love and excel at my job, I find a new career path that accepts my creative wardrobe choices instead of faulting me for them?

I have a hard time believing that our clothing should determine our careers — that we’re so one-dimensional, an affection for unique aesthetics could overrule our other compelling qualities. Why should we be ostracized from potential career paths by long-held sartorial stigmas? Seems to me that deadlines are equally as achievable in distressed denim as they are in pinstriped trousers.

But if the point of fashion — part of why I love it — is that it offers us an opportunity to play different roles, then perhaps the solution lies in finding a middle ground that simultaneously showcases multiple sides of myself. Surely there has to be a way to make a pajama shirt work with a power suit. Maybe it’s my job to find it.

Bracelets by Hermès and Gabriele Frantzen 

Photographed by Krista Anna Lewis

The post If HR Asks Me to Alter My Attire, I Have to Comply — If I Don’t, Will I Get Fired? appeared first on Man Repeller.

Ask Isaac: He Won’t Give Me the Closure I Need

Hi. I’m sorry to hear that you’re going through a rough time, and that you’re finding it difficult to get over your ex.

However: After you’ve broken up with somebody, it’s not their obligation to give you closure or to help make you feel better about the breakup; that’s all you, my friend.

Let’s say he agreed to meet up with you, or called you back every time you contacted him. What could he possibly say to make you feel better about the fact that the two of you are no longer an entity?

At the end of the phone call, you’re still broken up. When you’re paying the bill after coffee, you’ll still be walking out of the cafe a single gal. If you went to a bar, had a few drinks, went home together and did the deed, he’d still be leaving you and going traveling alone.

Your ex cutting contact isn’t cowardly or disrespectful; it’s emotionally mature. He’s doing what he needs to do to protect himself and move on, and the best thing you can do is follow suit.

In the meantime, stop stalking his social media channels, surround yourself with positive friends who care more about you than they do about him, throw yourself into healthy pursuits like work or the gym or learning a new language, and if you’re really struggling to get over it, go see a therapist. (Your friends will only be able to deal with you talking about your heartache for a short while — don’t become THAT GUY.)

And don’t forget: This too shall pass. That’s an Isaac Hindin-Miller guarantee.

Follow Isaac on Instagram here, Twitter here, and check out his website here.

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What Sex Ed Didn’t Teach You

The camaraderie that comes with a box of jasmine rice is one of the most fascinating 21st century phenomenons. An emergency 8:00 am trip to my local grocery store taught me this truth. They say technology is destroying our ability to connect with others — always plugged in, never present — but as I stood before the cashier and groaned at the grain’s inflated ego (ten buck for this?) the Royal They’s cynical theory was proven otherwise: the cashier and I had a connection.

“Dropped your phone in the toilet,” she flatlined. It wasn’t a question.

I had. How did she know?

“Just did that a week ago. Turn your phone off before you put it in the rice. Leave it alone all day. It’ll work.”

She made me feel better immediately. Not only did her success story validate my ten dollar purchase, but it meant I was not alone in my stupid actions. I’m 27 — surely I should know better than to text near wet tiles. I thought as much as I plunged my arm into a toilet bowl at 7:30 in the morning. I thought even more as I spent the next half hour in high gear, attempting to sanitize my limb while brushing my teeth while finishing an email from my computer that I had started pre-morning swim.

When, I wanted to know, would I finally learn?

And when will I grow up?

No matter how far in the future — how will I ever be able to care for a child?

It was here that I realized our phones are the adult’s version of the sex ed egg challenge: We’re handed a fragile device and then expected to take care of it for an unrealistic amount of time. We can’t lose it. We can’t break it. We can replace it, but what a hassle. It’s a lightweight burden that we’re required to bring everywhere we go, which presents a stressful conundrum: it’s safest in our hands, but in our hands, it’s most vulnerable.

Then we’re graded on whether or not we’ve succeeded in keeping it safe, except in the real world, the word for “graded” is “judged.”

I have failed and repeated this life course multiple times so far. I’ve left my phones in cabs, in bars and in oceans. However, I am comforted by something a sex education teacher (of all the people to comfort) said: the point of the egg challenge in her sixth-grade class is not centered around teen pregnancy but rather, for her students to learn the “fragility of life.” It’s so they think about something besides themselves.

If I were a phone immersed in toilet water, then later forced into a bag of rice, I’d take pride in knowing that all of this torture was essentially for the greater good of humanity. Or at least for the greater good of my stupid human. That she (me) may be continually messing up but at least she’s trying, at least she’s thinking of others — and at least she’s problem solving! That’s a sign of maturity.

Right?

At the very least, I’d take comfort in knowing that she had the good sense to save the bag of rice. Not to eat, for heaven’s sake. But just in case this happens again.

Illustrated by Max Dower of Unfortunate Portrait.

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Sloane Crosley x 2: An Interview and a Podcast

Sloane Crosley is cold.

“I keep my sweaters in the freezer,” she explains, looking down at her torso. This knit has yet to thaw. Sweaters in a subzero — it’s the kind of winning and odd quirk that could be ascribed to a character of Crosley’s invention. Yet here it is in the real world, saving Crosley from “vindictive” moths and the perils of ordinariness.

She and I have met to talk about her first novel, The Clasp. Before this, she’d published two books of essays, I Was Told There’d Be Cake and How Did You Get This Number—superlative examples of how a great writer can spin meaning from minutia.

The Clasp, however, is filled with more than brilliant observation. It traces narrators Victor, Kezia, and Nathanial from New York to Los Angeles to Paris on a hunt for a famous stolen necklace.

An exercise in validation and neuroses, The Clasp parades characters, scenarios, and clever turns of phrase that are so spot on they speak to your soul. I quote a favorite to Crosley to demonstrate my fandom, remembering a moment in which Kezia walks into a couple’s apartment and muses: “Oh, to have two incomes in one home. Like having two hairs coming out of one pore, but pleasant.”

“It’s the humor of recognition, right?” Crosley prompts. “You laugh because it’s true. And hopefully that works for the sad things and the funny things.” It does. But the book isn’t all studies in human behavior—it’s a real narrative.

“I think I wanted people to leave the house a little bit,” she says. “What’s funny is the plot does become a little bit ridiculous, but sometimes I think if I hadn’t done that it would be really boring. It would be entertaining for the sake of it. And I was so uninterested in that.”

To commit to the fiction of it all, Crosley created characters from scratch. “I mean, I’m a human being that has met people,” she says, “but I wasn’t thinking of any specific person when I wrote the three main characters. In fact, I went through magazines and weird Facebook profiles like a creepy stalker and made this collage and knew exactly no one in it.”

Because the book revolves around a necklace, inanimate objects required no less research. Crosley spent five years taking notes on clasps and chains and pronged settings in the diamond district in Manhattan. Poor girl, she traveled to French chateaus for immersive fieldwork.

“I’ve always loved jewelry and fashion, which seems to me like an obvious thing to like. I like food and shelter, too,” she says. “But I haven’t always seen those things as art. That’s new. They’ve always been these personal things.”

She points to a vintage Georg Jensen pendent slung around her neck and explains that her grandparents purchased it when they got engaged.

“It’s funny, you know. That side of the family aren’t particularly nice people, so I don’t look at it and think, ‘Oh. Aw.’ But it would be sad if I lost it, because I’ve applied meaning to it — not because it came with meaning.”

I tell her I think probably too much about Samantha Jones and how badly she wanted to buy that fabulous ring for herself. Is there a greater luxury than being able to get your own damn diamond? Responding, Crosley shows me a picture on her phone of a small gold ring she covets. It is very fancy and shaped like a monkey. “I’m obsessed with it,” she tells me, conceding that she should probably sell a few more manuscripts to buy it.

I wonder aloud if that means we can expect more novels from Crosley. She nods but promises a book of essays is next. She tells me she’s looking forward to getting back to “using the truth as a crutch,” which is how most of us end up with bad knees and Crosley produces bestsellers.

Follow Sloane on Twitter and Facebook; buy her novel,  The Clasp, here . 

Follow host Jay Buim on Instagram or visit his website here; l ogo and feature illustration by Kelly  Shami.

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Shoesday Trend Watch: Are Mountain Boots Next?

At Louis Vuitton’s Resort 2016 show last May in Palm Springs, Nicolas Ghesquière showed luxury hiking boots. This worked fortuitously well given the atmospheric circumstance; we were, after all, among mountains overlooking the extravagant Bob Hope Estate. The boots were fun to write about (as in, ye fashion-conscious woman shall walk the distance of manifold mountains in appropriate footwear as a metaphor for life), but from a purely consumer-driven point of view, they were also kind of confusing. Given how many great shoes there are out there coupled with how great they make their wearers feel, who’s going to wear these? Who wants to wear these?

Then again, though, that right there is the magic of Ghesquière. Of any good designer, really. Because it’s that so-bad-they’re-good (or is it so-good-they’re-bad?) feeling that separates the esoteric from the low common denominators. What I’m learning as I go is that you’re not supposed to feel an immediate, thoughtless swoon coming on when you see new things in fashion. Powerful garments make you think, and often they’re a little uncomfortable.

Until they’re not.

Because then they spread, and with the spread is born a likeness. Example: Laurence Dacade, Sergio Rossi, Rupert Sanderson, Virgil Abloh’s Off White and Italian shoemaker AGL have all released their versions of a hiking boot. They’re practical and realistic and that should make them so boring but it doesn’t. It almost makes them more lucrative, further perpetuating the point that perhaps the new luxury in fashion is convenience. Winters are getting rough, so get a pair of efficient boots and feel good about it. Wear them with jeans, or tights and little skirts. Add a sparkly turtleneck because you can! I don’t know. I’m curious about what you think.

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Images via Footwear News and Now Fashion.

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Why Are We Still Obsessed with ‘Sex and the City’?

Also relevant: Does television have a women problem?  Or would you rather just muse on the best shows to re-watch?

On Wed, Oct 21, 2015 at 4:33 PM, Leandra Medine wrote:

Given that we’re about to embark on the last leg of the Sex and the City diet like ten years following its final season, why do you think we’re still so obsessed with the show? There’s a level of resonance beyond just you and me, right? I mean, according to Google analytics, our readers like the diets, so what is it about the show that keeps on giving?

On Oct 21, 2015, at 8:20 PM, Amelia Diamond wrote:

I have almost too many thoughts on this.

The first is that…at least for people our age: Clueless was our (my) first glimpse into fashion, casual sex, dating, drama beyond what you learn from your friend down the street. It’s so glamorous and scary — but also, you don’t get any of the jokes.

And then with Sex and the City, I don’t think I saw my first episode until…when makes sense? High school? But by that point, I got the jokes. I was in the club. Initiated.

Still not part of their world, but hooked.

…That’s like, half of a half of a half a fraction. Why do you think?

On Thu, Oct 22, 2015 at 8:15 AM, Leandra Medine wrote:

So you think we’re still into it because it made us feel part of a club? But wouldn’t have Clueless done that too? I think, and I really could be wrong, that it’s more about the exposure that it provided to the kinds of scenarios that make growing up feel so fascinating. It totally eclipsed the 20-something experience and glamorized reaching your thirties.

And doing that while single!

No one on television had ever turned the spinster stereotype on its head because no one had presented it as anything but miserable. These women proved the power of friendship and for me redefined what makes companionship great. Romantic partnerships are wonderful, but they’re not everything if you’re missing that soul piece.

On Oct 22, 2015, at 10:09 AM, Amelia Diamond wrote:

That’s a HUGE part of it too. But with Clueless, you couldn’t join the club because you didn’t get the jokes. By the time we watched SATC, we got the jokes, so we became their friends.

The exposure part of SATC was probably why we became hooked, but the reason I fell in love with it and STILL care about it is the fantasy. It’s like our version of science fiction. And their world was glamorous! Samantha makes PR look super fancy. Carrie makes being a writer look like you never have deadlines and can afford a studio. Meanwhile, Charlotte’s a gallery girl — you cannot have a more “NY job” than that. Miranda’s life was probably the most real, which is why no one ever wants to be “a Miranda.” But it’s still all fantasy.

I have to admit: the aspect of 4 single woman was never comforting to me. Samantha is the only character who didn’t make it look terrifying. But I am single and in New York City and it is not that terrifying.

On Thu, Oct 22, 2015 at 2:15 PM, Leandra Medine wrote:

You’re right about Miranda. No one wants to be a Miranda because that’s reality rolled up into a ball that lives on the Upper West Side. I just wonder if that also defeats the purpose of the thesis, which at its root is that the reason we’re still obsessed with SATC is because it broke down the single girl experience and made it stylish.

Question though: why was the idea of being single in NY never comforting to you? Was it because the girls made it look terrifying? If that’s the case, what element of the show resonated best for you? Was it the friendship? The drinks? Carrie’s NY Mag cover?

On Thu, Oct 22, 2015 at 4:32 PM, Amelia Diamond wrote:

No, that thesis stands, too. I don’t think the fantasy element negates the show’s celebration of singlehood. It definitely glamorizes it, but still: SATC made it badass to be single. It made single women eligible bachelors. I’ve been technically-single for a long time in this city and though I’ve had moments of not wanting to be, it’s always been something I’ve embraced. I’m sure that comes from SATC. It’s fun to be single in your twenties in Manhattan.

What was not comforting was the relentless hunt. Carrie chases Big from the moment she meets him. In that episode where Charlotte says, “I’ve been dating since I was 16,” I felt exhausted for her and with her. I’m in no way running around looking for a husband and to me, at this point, a date is just a dinner with someone new. But the thought that this “phase” in my life could theoretically last (according to the rules of the show) until who-knows-how-long? Good lord.

What resonated most was that there was this magical city awaiting me that would, no doubt, support and put forth the best, most exciting years of my life. Do you think the single bit held more weight for you because you grew up here? It wasn’t a magical, undiscovered territory for you. It was just home.

Also, I’m really shitting on this show so it sounds like I didn’t completely love it. I do. I can quote almost every episode verbatim. But…the friendship part? Theirs as a group always seemed kind of fake.

On Fri, Oct 23, 2015 at 7:07 AM, Leandra Medine wrote:

You didn’t connect with their friendship? I literally built Man Repeller as a response to it. (Let me clear that up: I felt like they were my BFFs and provided a sense of camaraderie even though they are fictional and have no idea who I am and I wanted to recreate that experience online only not scripted).

But I think we’re veering too far away from the initial question, which is still not answered: why are we STILL obsessed with SATC? I, for one, will choose an in-bed SATC marathon over socializing any day of the week — what is that?

Of note is probably that it now feels dated — like the experiences are not at all those of a woman who actually occupies the lifestyle they’re supposed to portray. So maybe it is the fantasy.

On Fri, Oct 23, 2015 at 8:26 AM, Amelia Diamond wrote:

The women were all connected by Carrie — the other 3 didn’t really have independent friendships with each other; Sam and Charlotte weren’t side-boobing on a separate chat outside of the group chat; Miranda probably called Charlotte “Carrie’s friend” when first describing her to Steve, you know?

Charlotte’s “What if we were each other’s soul mates” speech was touching and probably true. I feel that way about some of my very closest friends. I just don’t think Charlotte was really speaking to everyone at the table.

BUT YOUR QUESTION: We still care because of nostalgia, one, but two (and more importantly), because the scenarios of the show are still relevant – they remain the guide book to being a 21st century woman, single or not. Like big sisters, Carrie, Sam, Charlotte and Miranda went through everything before us so that we could go back and use it as a reference. You’re never alone no matter how weird a date or awkward a sexual encounter. You’re never alone with sexism at work or a huge fight with a friend or a broken heart. These women went through it all so that when we go through it and make mistakes or don’t know what to do, we turn to the show and there they are, going through it too.

Do you think that’s it? And if it is, do you think it will get old once we finally grow up?

On Fri, Oct 23, 2015 at 8:50 AM, Leandra Medine wrote:

You’re right about their relationships with each other and Carrie as the centerpiece of the friendship. And I think your final point, about why we still watch it, or care, is a wise one. They went through the motions of our stuff for us, or rather with us. And even if it wasn’t realistic per se, the intention was there and so was the empathy, which might be the really important part of this. Empathy! The only thing a vulnerable person wants, (actually, I’m speaking for myself, so a vulnerable me) is true empathy. Understanding of the exact, isolated thing I’m going through — and as we navigate the years that lead up to our thirties, there are plenty of references embedded in the Sex and the City narrative that give that to us.

And there are good clothes.

Here’s my question, though: why don’t you think we’ve actually grown up yet? Do you really believe we’re less grown up than they were?

On Fri, Oct 23, 2015 at 10:40 AM, Amelia Diamond wrote:

Do you feel grown up? I don’t. Older and more mature and savvier and different from who I was 5 years ago, but not grown up.

Considering Carrie’s age alone by the final episode, we’re not there yet. The SATC wiki says Carrie moved to the city at age 20 and that she’s 35 by the fourth season, which makes her roughly 37 by the show’s end. Age is just a number, yeah, but it also counts for something when we’re talking about life experience. There’s no magic age where I think I will feel “up,” but it’s not my current 27.

On Fri, Oct 23, 2015 at 11:46 AM, Leandra Medine wrote:

You know what? There’s an episode of Friends on in the background right now as I type up this e-mail and I’m thinking…Sex and the City was the opposite of a sitcom. It was one of the first shows I could think of that wasn’t made up of a string of extremely unrealistic, hypothetical situations. The sort of precursor to reality television, only airbrushed and edited and therefore far enough removed from reality to hit too close to home. But we all recognized the plight and wanted to feel it. No other show really does that. It’s either too realistic or too unrealistic. And who are the friends we make on TV? It’s a different day.

Feature image via HBO.  

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When Do You Feel Most Important?

According to Sigmund Freud, humanity is motivated by two desires: sex and to be great. I read that in a book called How to Win Friends and Influence People, which was originally published long before BuzzFeed made its case for the viral potential of a bait-y headline, in 1936.

But back to the initial point.

Sex and greatness.

Greatness and sex.

I think by the rules of the aforementioned theory, if you can umbrella sex under indulgence — erotic and not — that portion makes perfect sense. More interesting for me, though, is the piece about greatness. To understand it, we must first ask what makes us feel great, right?

What Dale Carnegie, author of How to Win Friends, explains is that our respective senses of personal greatness are directly correlated with how important we feel. Think about that for a second. Even love — the centerpiece pursuit of so many of our lives — is in a way motivated by our wanting to feel important. Isn’t that, after all, what it means to be loved? So I’ve been thinking, what makes us feel important? When do we feel most important?

I know that for my husband, it’s when he feels like people (I?) need him. Sometimes I think that’s the reason he fell in love with me: I will honestly forget to apply basic human tendencies, like to shower, or brush my teeth or blink my eyes if I’m not reminded to. I definitely would not open my mail and therefore neither would I pay my bills if it weren’t for his meticulous attention to detail (or what other people might call, a pretty common sense of responsibility).

For me, it’s when I feel like I’ve done a good job. It doesn’t matter at what, but I like the appreciation. As in, “Well done with the chicken you prepared, Leandra. You did that all the while wearing that fantastic outfit? Wait a second, were you cooking while we were on that conference call earlier and you were delivering a sparkling spiel about the future of digital media?” So I guess I feel important when I feel like I am being appreciated. This is the first time I have said that out loud. Or publicly. It no doubt makes a stronger case for my being an insufferable narcissist but one thing I am not is a liar, so it also just is what it is.

But in the spirit of change, let’s turn the flashlight over to you. When do you feel most important? What makes you feel that way?

Photograph by Thomas Hoepker via Victory Journal. Carousel Photograph from Getty Images via Daily Mail.

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