Hello and welcome!
If you’re new here, this is Boy in Pink! If you’re returning, let’s dish.
My friends often joke that if a show or movie involves three to four women live-laugh-loving in the city, I’ll be sat. I’d be lying if I said they weren’t right. Between Girlfriends, Harlem, Charmed (both iterations), Waiting to Exhale, The Bold Type, and whatever else isn’t coming to mind, clearly I have a type when it comes to the media I consume. However, you’ll notice that there’s one show missing from my list of female focused television. This show is so iconic –– so quintessential to the gal pal genre –– that it seems almost impossible that I hadn’t watched it in its entirety until this summer. I’m talking of course about the juggernaut that is Sex and the City.
I want to clarify that I wasn’t ignorant of the show’s existence. From Family Guy gags, TBS advertisements, and the very publicized Kim Cattrall vs. Sarah Jessica Parker feud, Sex and the City has been so ingrained in American pop culture that it would’ve been close to impossible for me not to have heard of it. “But Derrick,” you may ask, “how come you, the connoisseur of gal pal TV, didn’t watch the show until this summer?” There’s a few answers to that question, but the biggest one is that I simply didn’t think I’d find the show very relatable. “Derrick,” I see you furrowing your brows, “you, a gay man, watch shows about mostly heterosexual women. Why would the shows you mentioned be more relatable than Sex and the City?” Well, Charmed had the supernatural aspect in its favor since I was big into fantasy as a kid, the ladies of The Bold Type were somewhat close in age to me when I started watching, and –– most importantly –– Girlfriends, Harlem, and Waiting to Exhale are all centered on Black women. While I will never know that experience, there’s a sense of familiarity watching Joan, Camille, Savannah, and all their friends because I feel like I’m watching the adventures of my mom or my sisters and their girls. “Okay. Fair. But what made you finally decide to give Sex and the City a go?”
My junior year finally came to a close this past May and after what felt like a tumultuous two semesters, I was in desperate need of reprieve. With my best friend’s HBO Max (now Max) subscription in the palm of my hands, I said, “Screw it. Let’s see what Sex and the City is giving.” I won’t lie and say it was love at first sight. Outside of the ever fabulous Samantha Jones, I couldn’t see what was so great about the show. However, as I binged my way through the first season, I started to see the charm. I remember the scene that sold me came in season one, episode twelve, “Oh Come, All Ye Faithful.” Carrie, Miranda, and Charlotte are comforting a distraught Samantha in a bathroom stall. The drama? Her boyfriend has a small dick. I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of Sam’s reaction, but I also found that moment endearing because I truly felt like I was a part of these women’s inner circle. For the next five seasons, two movies, and a currently running sequel series, I got to witness every big win and small challenge in the girls’ lives. It might have taken me a minute to hop aboard the Sex and the City train, but I’d like to think I boarded it at just the right moment in my life.
If I can get personal for a minute (actually I can since this is my newsletter), I’ve always considered myself a confident person. It wasn’t until I started watching Sex and the City that I realized, as one of my dear friends put it, that I was projecting confidence. It’s one thing to say you’re that bitch, but it’s an entirely different thing to feel that you are that bitch. I grew up and currently go to school in the Bible Belt. As a Black person, I’ve witnessed firsthand the prejudice and outright racism some supposed Christ-like people harbor. As a queer person, I’ve experienced pure vitriol from a handful but loud amount of God-fearing folk simply because I love differently from them. When you mix being Black and queer together, it’s not the best of both worlds. From a young age, I realized I had to put on a self-assured persona in order to avoid the target(s) on my back. I think part of what made my junior year so difficult is that that persona started to crack. Confidence wasn’t going to stop institutions from trying to silence me. Confidence wouldn’t stop people, intentionally or not, from trying to make me feel ashamed of the brown skin I’m in. But when I escaped into the world of Carrie and friends this summer, I realized –– truly realized –– that confidence isn’t just something to be used as a form of protection. It has to be genuine. It must come from within. As Samantha so eloquently said, “If I worried what every bitch in New York was saying about me, I’d never leave the house.”
As I gear up for my final year of undergrad, I’ll be entering it with the lessons I’ve learned from four vivacious women. To Carrie, thank you for teaching me to embrace my voice and know that there are people who actually want to read what I have to write about. To Charlotte, thank you for teaching me that it’s perfectly okay to want romance while setting boundaries and staying true to my values. To Miranda, thank you for putting some fire in my belly and teaching me that I can stand up to any person or power structure that tries to belittle me. To Samantha, thank you for teaching me the liberation that comes from sexuality and that my confidence should stem from a place of power, not projection. If you’ve never seen Sex and the City and are looking for a fun watch or some insight, all six seasons, two movies, and the spinoff series And Just Like That . . . are currently streaming on Max. If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading, and I hope you’ll join me for whatever comes next on Boy in Pink. <3 <3 <3