The second season of SATC started with Carrie rebounding from the first of many Big breakups with The New Yankee (why she would choose him is beyond me, but best that she get back in the figurative ballgame). Charlotte dates a music exec who grabs his crotch more often than Michael Jackson, and who promptly dumps her when she buys him underwear from Barneys. Samantha can’t hit a home run with her otherwise perfect boyfriend James, who unfortunately reinforces the idea that size does matter. And then there’s Miranda, who doesn’t get a baseball metaphor, but does express frustration with the constant “girl talk” among the foursome. Mir, we have so much in common.

 

I will forever think fondly on the early days of SATC. Remember when it was a critically acclaimed cable darling that had yet to become self-parody by way of the movies? These were the days of (slightly) more practical outfits, before every designer was tripping over themselves with gifts for the SATC wardrobe department.

Carrie’s in that horrible oversized fur that ran away from Raisa Gorbachev’s closet after one of her visits to America during the Cold War. While I don’t like it, I respect that Carrie’s budget had limits. She has her one good coat, and forces it to go with everything. 

 

 

 

Like baseball games. Dare I state the obvious? If it’s cold enough to wear fur, how can it also be warm enough for strappy shoes and bare legs?

Carrie’s legs must be freezing, because her posse is bundled up. Just look at Charlotte’s fur-trimmed number. It’s pink! It’s princess-y! It matches the shirt underneath! And Miranda… is dressed like Brigitte Nielsen in a winter-themed remake of Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome. With hair to match. Samantha’s too cool for this scene, and chills in the back with her leopard print coat (standard issue for cougars), rocking her Gucci glasses to make up for the lack of sausage on her grill.

 

Oh, sorry. Are you new to SATC? “Lack of sausage on her grill” was a metaphor.

 

Judging from her boredom in the boudoir that evening, a really appropriate one:

We can’t show you more, given that we don’t want your IT guy to flag us as inappropriate when you surf us on your work computers during your coffee break. But yeah, Samantha’s boyfriend James is a no-hitter.

 

Carrie’s doing a little better in the dating department, and chooses The New Yankee as her rebound man:

Mr. September might be simply dressed, but he’s smoking, especially after knowing that he was batting ten home runs in a nine-game stretch.

 

His batting average rises when he scores a date with Carrie to the Dolce & Gabbana party. I mean, I think the signifance of that invite was lost on him, but surely he took notice of Carrie in her delicate powder blue dress. Remember this look, because it’s downhill from here for Miss Bradshaw.

Charlotte dressed for the evening in art dealer black. No complaints. It’s safe, but it works.

 

Although, I notice she’s in a rut. Observe, yet another H-T black number for her date with the record exec:

She’s wearing more black than Marilyn Manson did in the 90s, but at least she did the Audrey Hepburn aesthetic much better than Jennifer Love Hewitt did. And the little black dress remains always-appropriate, which is much more than I can say for her date’s penchant for doing this:

I may have been raised as an immigrant, but even I was told that this behavior was NOT acceptable on any level, at any time, EVER. Dealbreaker!! And he dumped her? I judge. I judge him deeply.

 

She did, however, mix it up by color-coordinating for a — Christmas, I want to say? — vibe with Miranda. Seeing this red-and-green combo immediately made me think, for no good reason whatsoever, of the Bing Crosby-Davie Bowie Christmas song duet. SATC should never, ever do this to these two women ever again.

 

Or this horrible, horrible, HORRIBLE “outfit” inflicted on Miranda when she narrowly escapes running into her ex:

I quote Alec Baldwin, upon seeing Liz Lemon’s cut-off overalls: “Lesbian Mario Brothers!!” The end.

 

Well, it’s not truly the end without a parting shot from Carrie, just like the narratives she used to close off episodes of SATC. Here we see her in the junior miss edition of Raisa Gorbachev’s fur coat, but she’s like? Totally edgy? With her single braid? 

Carrie, you are not at the Lillith Fair. You are dating The New Yankee and you go to Dolce & Gabbana parties. Please see the floaty dress above and leave this look to Alanis Morissette. Let us never speak of this ensemble or of Miranda’s puffy coat and coveralls again. EVER.

(But the visual of Samantha and the hot dog will be with me until I die.)