When Carrie needs to get her life back together, she hires Louise as her personal assistant. Louise is enraptured by the fashion, but she rejects the lifestyle. Rather than purchase expensive handbags, Louise discovers a company that allows customers to rent Louis Vuitton like a time-share condo. There is a man she loves back home. When the offer of marriage comes, she accepts it.

Louise probably represents more of the women in the audience than do any of the lead characters. Like Louise they are dazzled by the high-digit clothing and accessories, but rather than commit to buying into the whole lifestyle, they choose to rent it a couple of hours at a time. I suspect, I deeply hope, that with any reflection at all audience members will recognize that if they strip away the artsy decor, glamorous clothing, and artificially witty dialogue, the actual lives of most of these women would be objects of pity, not envy.

It would not be difficult to imagine that, ten years down the road, Carrie and Big have divorced, as have Miranda and Steve—allowing the two BFFs to move into their 50s complaining bitterly about the emotional unavailability of men. Charlotte finds that she can no longer hang with the ladies as their worldview no longer squares with the happiness she finds at home. Samantha is dead—either from an incurable sexually-transmitted disease, or at the hands of a jealous, spurned lover or an enraged wife.

Envy, jealousy, material one-upmanship, pride, elitism, sexual promiscuity—there will always be a fleeting pleasure associated with sin. After all, if sin wasn't fun, no one would do it. But after sin's work is done, the bill eventually comes due. Why would any of us wish to idolize a lifestyle that has repeatedly demonstrated its inability to satisfy—in fact, which is predicated upon dissatisfaction? The fixes of fashion are temporary, like drugs. They wear off and wear out and we find ourselves endlessly seeking novelty to ward off the numbness.

The Examined Life

"Can't we just party and have a good life?" This question was posed to me by an undergraduate student balking at what she perceived as the overly-rigorous philosophical musings of C.S. Lewis in The Abolition of Man—a book that asked her to ponder whether real morality exists and, if so, whether she should modify her life to adhere to it. My response to her was, "Sure. But could you please answer a question for me first? What constitutes a 'good life'?" She stared at me like a deer caught in the headlights. She could not answer the question, so I followed up, "If you cannot define it, how do you know you're having one?"

Sex and the City purports to show women the good life. Sure, it is a fantasy. But all compelling fantasies are made up of versions of our hearts' desires. If Sex and the City manages to continue its boxoffice success, it will demonstrate that this worldview has more than passing appeal. The women who make up the lion's share of its audience should take a moment to ask themselves if this kind of life or these kinds of men represent what they really want, and if they are prepared to pay the price necessary to pursue it

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