We're always hearing about how groundbreaking Candace Bushnell's original "Sex & The City" columns in the New York Observer were back in the "Reality Bites" era or whenever they were first published. Conveniently, their appeal is so timeless the Observer re-publishes them once a week for the delight of readers, so this claim is pretty easy to fact-check, we just hadn't done it until now because we reflexively avoid certain combinations of graphical stilettos and ampersands in print. So we read today's clip from the vault, a mind-bogglingly all-over-the-place tale of women who date rich guys who are not attractive but because they are rich that seems to have been the basis for the Charlotte-Harry affair. And um, what? This shit did not happen the year we were listening to Portishead.
Okay, so obviously: discuss, with particular focus on bolded terms and phrases. Is it possible having sex in the city has changed more than owning real estate in the city since the nineties?
Bunny was 40-ish, still beautiful, L.A.-tanned, a sometime TV actress, but before that, she'd been around New York for years. She was the quintessential party girl, a girl so wild no man would consider marrying her, but plenty tried to get in her pants. "I want a table in the back. Where I can smoke and no one will bother us," Bunny said. "Please, darling," Bunny said. "Men like Jingles, and there's a whole group of them in New York, are not the type of guys you marry. The make great friends—attentive, always there when you're in a tight spot. Late at night when you're lonely and desperate as hell, you whisper to yourself, Well, I could always marry a guy like Jingles. At least that way I wouldn't have to worry about paying the rent. "I moved into a friend's apartment," said Bunny, "and about two weeks later I met Dudley at Chester's—that East Side bar for young swells. Within five minutes of meeting him, I was annoyed. He was wearing spectator shoes, a trilby hat and a Ralph Lauren suit."