The Sex and the City Movie left me slightly depressed. No, not because the movie made me all mushy and introspective, wondering when I am going to find my Steve, Harry, Big or Smith. That sentiment wasn’t even a blip on my radar.

Rather, the SATC movie left me depressed for admittedly superficial reasons. Forget Freuds Penis Envy — the SATC Movie left me with major, MAJOR bag, clothes, and shoe envy. I felt like having a tantrum circa 1983 (But mom I waaaaant it!!!!!).

I am not exaggerating when I say that I was salivating at the sight of Miranda’s Norma Kamali Swim-suit and Carrie’s 5,000 pairs of Manolo’s and Louboutins. Suddenly my flip flops and white terry zip-up made me feel like a hot-mess.

Maybe I should have dressed up for the movie (I say this now with extreme sarcasm, because I still think movies go hand in hand with sweatpants and popcorn; not patent leather pumps and thigh highs). But when the movie was over, I had an itch to go home, freshen up and put on my best Carrie Bradshaw imitation. Read More »