At the ripe age of 16 when denim skorts and clunky JC Penney boots were the objects of my style affection, I accidentally stumbled upon a world that would impact my life for years to come.  Having just coaxed my mother out of a Jessica McClintock dress for the prom on top of proudly securing a Clueless movie fan club (self-enlisted) membership, I figured I knew pretty much everything there was to know about fashion.  I was wrong.

Sitting alone in the living room of my parent’s house one Saturday evening scrolling through the television channels for something to watch, I was prompted by a spirit (must have been the fashion gods) to go against my mother’s “no HBO” rule.  I slyly turned the television to the adult station where I came across four nicely dressed ladies, in a restaurant or bar, enjoying what seemed to be tasty drinks while examining the peculiar behaviors of men – my channel surfing came to a halt.  The more I watched, the more I was entertained.  Here in the TV screen were lively, independent thinking women who had great careers, carried meaningful discussions, lived colorful lives in NYC, wore fashionable threads, and defied society’s dating rules.  I was in love.

After that particular Saturday in 1998, I pledged allegiance to Sex and the City and watched it every chance I got.  The salsa theme song for the show was like my call to worship.  Whenever I heard that music, I stopped whatever I was doing and dove to the nearest television set for my blessing.  Giving up an hour on my Saturday evenings for the show was a small feat, for in exchange I was motivated to go after my dreams and make writing my occupation as Carrie did. I was determined to be career-driven like Miranda, hopeful like Charlotte, and liberal like Samantha.  Sex and the City was my premonition of a world I had yet to discover but later would.  It allowed me to dream, and it educated me on valuable things like Manolo Blahniks and the importance of investing money in things such as your wardrobe and martinis which will surely bring you great joy later on in life.

In a time where the norm is witnessing women pull each other’s hair and yell obscenities at one another on television, I long for fashionable shows like Sex and the City and Girlfriends and hope that television can go in that direction again someday.  Until then, binge watching reruns will suffice.

To commemorate the 20th anniversary of Sex and the City, check out a few throwback fashion moments from the show below.  Happy 20th Sex and the City!! Lemon drop martinis and Gucci shopping sprees (consignment only of course) are in order!

What are some of your fondest memories of Sex and the City?

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