Don’t Rely on Carrie Bradshaw to Tell You the Truth
It's another night with my friends Sophia and Lauren rotting away on the couch indulging in our monotonous routine of watching Sex and the City. We observe in awe as the screen displays striking images of the Big Apple - even though if we glanced outside we could witness it in the flesh. But we don’t want to do that. This New York, the Samantha Jones or Miranda Hobbes New York has proved itself to be more enthralling. As we watch, it's getting harder to ignore the question hovering over our heads: “what are we doing wrong?”
I'm living in New York for many reasons. Excellent career advancement opportunities, education, great food, culture, etc. But I can't lie, wanting to emulate Carrie Bradshaw lives high on my list.
Before I came to this luminous city, I had probably watched every New York-based sitcom and movie there was, from Seinfeld to Sex and the City, When Harry Met Sally to A New York Minute. Doing this, I adopted the burning desire to impersonate all the New York City women who pioneered; living recklessly but elegantly, wearing campy outfits, and making every moment merely for the plot. I’m not entirely succeeding at doing so.
But as I’m sure you’ve learned if you live in the city, these sitcoms carefully paint a captivating image of New York and proceed to smash it right in front of you. When I was handed the keys to my first apartment, I naively imagined a casually messy but somehow perfectly placed look, neighbors who would become life-long friends, and the 500-square-foot home becoming the epicenter of all stories that would be cherished one day. But here I am only a couple of months in, and I’ve already had to attend to mold on the ceiling above my shower because I didn’t ventilate the bathroom properly, an AC that leaks when it rains, a broken door knob, and the fact that my neighbors collectively seem to hate my roommate and me because we’re NYU students (fair enough). They don’t tell you that in Friends. They also don’t tell us how they afforded that apartment.
But I adore my apartment. This isn’t the issue. The issue lies in the fact that there is one common denominator in all NYC sitcoms: New York City is one of the characters. One of the key friends in the group. The friend that picks up our protagonist when everything else fails. Yet the city to me, many times, has been the cherry on top of a breakdown.
During freshman year of college, I spent 90% of my time massaging my brain over Spanish homework, watching dreadful horror films with my friends, getting yelled at on the street, and frankly, questioning my decision to move here. The city had proved itself to be far too overwhelming for me and doing anything but my tiresome routine was a farfetched fantasy. But flash to a year later, adjusted to the Big Apple at last- I stood prepared to change the way I experienced it. So, Sophia, Lauren, and I finally shook the chip crumbs off the sofa and plunged into our new ways - ways that would mimic the exhilarating life of Carrie, Samantha, Miranda, and Charlotte. Let me brief you on how this little experiment is going.
Let's start with the dating scene (I’m sick). My first date appeared in late September. While I was racking my brain in the hours preceding to find a reason to back out, Sophia and Lauren gave me the comforting advice of, “at worst, this will just be good content.” And that’s all I cared about at this point. A good story to bring back to my friends at home. So I went, and to make a long story short, I never saw this person again. The only thing Carrie and I had in common on our dates was that I had something to complain about for the following weeks. I basically spent the whole five hours (pro-tip, make an excuse at the beginning so you can save yourself later) being mansplained about New York architecture and finance. He then ended the date creepily and would not leave me alone for two weeks. It genuinely could not have been worse. I thought I’d try one more time for good measure. I went on another date in October, and I was presented with a picnic full of delicious food and good conversation. I also have not seen this person again. So… not sure if any of you out there have any tips for me but they would be greatly appreciated.
Things haven’t been too optimistic for my friends either; cumulatively the three of us have been on ten dates and despite a few promising moments, we are in the same place we started- the trenches. During our weekly movie night, Sophia stormed into the apartment with the announcement that after four seemingly successful dates with one man, she’d been ghosted. In conclusion, if you have been thinking about plunging into the New York City dating scene, I’d hold off— at least until you're emotionally stable.
Maybe it’s the people these days or the online dating culture that is responsible for the difference in the way the late 90s/early 2000s portray dating, but either way, I gave up on the whole scene, at least for now. I barely have the time and energy to make dinner these days, much less for 5’8 men and awkward silences. So, I moved to simpler things, like getting dressed up by putting a bow in my hair to feel something (I’m sorry if this is getting dark). We finally found our cute little cozy cafe spot to discuss potential love interests, and plot twists, and it was fun for a while until I checked my bank account. Who knew a chai latte could be $7! I’m not sure how the likes of Carrie Bradshaw with a column in the newspaper is affording a walk-in closet of shoes and brunches that seemed to occur daily, but I’d love to discuss this method with her someday.
While it should be obvious that my life wouldn't amount to the messy perfection that is the life of an NYC sitcom protagonist, I found myself disappointed in how little time I spent on spontaneous dates, and how much time I spent crying at the library. Disappointed in the way that Carrie saw the New York streets versus how I did. Her streets were clean, full of life, fashion, and fantasies, and mine are full of people who don’t know how to walk properly and cars that try to run me over even when it’s my right of way. Carrie couldn’t stay away from the city; I always need a break.
In these shows, they forget to tell you that this is a place packed with aspiration, drive, endless nightlife, and fast-paced expectations. “This person is applying to this internship”, and “that person is booking a gig with this person”, “she’s going to graduate early”, and “they got a job there” …
New York is a wonderful place. But what I had to realize is that the way New York serves some is different from how it will work for me. There are ways to elevate your NYC experience without exhausting yourself on first dates with boring people, or emptying your pockets on Upper West Side brunches. Using these glorified shows as a little push to curate your social life is never a bad idea but basing your worth on it might just be (oops!). Your life won’t be like Elaine Benes, Samantha Jones, or Sally Albright. I’m trying to find my peace with that, and if you’re a hopeless idealist like me, I hope you can too. Your experience is yours.
