We love Sex and the City for no other reason than this, from Fantasy Moguls, which we only saw because we can’t stop reading Perez:

The film business cannot afford to ignore women at the
box office when they can rally to create a hit this big. By Monday
morning, Sex & The City will be the biggest opening in film history
for a movie headlined by a woman, surpassing Lara Croft: Tomb Raider
starring Angelina Jolie, which scored $47.7M. It is also important to
note that these are not ingenues. Sarah Jessica Parker, Kristin Davis,
Kim Cattrall and Cynthia Nixon are all in their 40′s. To date, the best
opening weekend for a movie with a 40+ actress as the true lead was the
1996 version of 101 Dalmations, which featured Glenn Close.

Can. You. Fucking imagine: 101 Dalmations? We’re writing this on Sunday afternoon, and we swear to God we’re off to see the film tonight if only to make Hollywood executives realize that women like seeing movies about other women, and even more so when the women on screen are not forced to act like bimbos and morons and girls in bikinis. We can’t even write that sentence properly, the whole idea of it is so infuriating. We’re not saying we’re of the mind that SATC is the apogee of the female experience—but if it opens the doors for others, we’re buying a ticket.

And in any case, we want the clothes. For much more—ha! we can’t even think of the word that means something like … "cogent"! that’s what it is—cogent thoughts on the clothes from the SATC movie, don’t miss Erik Wilson’s piece in the Times:

TEN years of watching “Sex and the City,” including the sanitized
reruns on TBS, has trained a generation of label- and love-addled
romantics not to raise an eyebrow, presuming Botox
hasn’t yet made that impossible, when Carrie Bradshaw dons a black
Burberry coat and a trilby to go shopping, film noir style, at Duane
Reade. Or when Carrie wears a four-figure Nina Ricci sweater trimmed
with hundreds of feathers while typing on a laptop in the privacy of
her own home.

Ooh, if only. We are typing on a laptop in the privacy of our own home, except we are wearing Old Navy. Ah, the inconvenience of living a non-fictional life. We are all of us in Old Navy, but some of us are dreaming of the feathers. More or less.