Sex and the City – the identitiy crisis.

Ah the summer collections are out en force on the highstreets of urban England. Needless to say, London had them days before the rest of the vital organs of the British Isles as a consumer body but such as it is, fashion as per gets the heart pumping before distributing the liquid around to all the other nooks and crannies. That said, fashions is taking up more column inches than usual at present with the inumerable Sex and the City premiers dotted all over the world on a nightly basis and the dream-sequences of the Cannes Film Festival red carpet.

The return of SATC has had quite an impact on most women. The return of four individual friends to the sidewalks of Park, Fifth and Bleaker have seen an advertising boon! The notion of the customiseable and the notion of the reinventable. Now in every window display worth its salt you will see four themed manequins. The tea dresses and muted tones (with a bit of shoulder but no cleavage), long-drink-of-water maxi dresses in fiery shades, wrong-side of the tart spectrum cosy numbers and manqeuins that look more like an elaborate pudding. Yes its the “which one am I” dollies better known as Charlotte, Samantha, Miranda and Carrie.

This ingenious marketing device is posing right in front of the generation that ten/eleven years ago were fighting over Union Jack dresses and purple platforms! And its fabulous to see history repeating itself with half a dozen whimsical, sultry, sarcastic or prudish (all dressed accordingly) twenty-something girls prancing through Debenhams with their arms interlinked, heels clacking on the laminate floor.

And just like the Spice revolution, these dusted-off icons are liberating girls once again. It is fashionable now to be like Carrie and not quite know what you are doing, what you are planning for and relying in balmy codependance on your friends. It is a la mode to lock your knees so tightly together like Charlotte that the squeaking together of kneecaps is like a high-pitched dog-whistle for men who want to take you back and show you to his mother. It is allowed now to be proud of your high achievments and your career and to use your intelligence to its max, and utilise a self-depracating humour to charm your cohorts like Miranda. And it is no longer against the rules for a forty (or fifty) something woman to flaunt what she’s got regardless of the skinny teenage bitches prancing about like comparative ammateurs around Sloane Square – of course Samantha, the man amongst the piegons, wrote the book on being promiscuous or flirtatious and getting AWAY with it.

Now, I have to ask the £515.00 question ( price of a quite beautiful flamingo coloured Manolos I just found on net a porter). Which one are you? Which one are you dressed like today? Which one are you inside. If you were Posh Spice ten years ago are you now Charlotte? If you were Ginger Spice when you were only 4 foot 9 and weighed 5 stone then are you now Carrie? Maybe you are still 4 foot 9, that just means you can get away with wearing monstrous Blahniks without looking like a man!

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