Carrie Bradshaw, at least, had the benefit of existing in circumstances that were unreal and being redeemed by a wardrobe that is even more fantastical. Her inane attempts at conclusive generalizations on dating had the distance of being theoretical. Then I read this, or, two pages of it anyway, because my god, girlfriend spent 2 pages just trying to justify her existence. I can’t even, this invites all kinds of mockery. Is this really supposed to be symptomatic of “New York women”? The best man she’s dated was her high school boyfriend, that is more telling than anything else she has to say.

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One response to “

  1. jess February 17, 2011 at 1:26 AM

    hm.. I didn’t mind the article, actually

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