In the episode “What Goes Around Comes
Around,” of the third season of Sex and the City,
the character of Carrie Bradshaw takes “a wrong turn
looking for the right shoes” and finds herself face
to face with a mugger. After taking her Fendi bag, as if
that wasn’t distressing enough, the assailant orders, “And
your Manolo Blahniks.” Up until this point, Carrie
has been upset, but compliant. This is too much, though. “No,” she
begs, “Please sir, they’re my favorite pair.” As
he runs off with Carrie’s things, she starts yelling
for help, “Somebody stop him. He took my strappy
sandals.” This encounter is telling on a number of
levels, as it not only highlights Carrie’s love of
shoes, specifically Manolos, but more significantly, demonstrates
the status that Manolos have now reached in our popular
culture, a status I would attribute in large part due to
Carrie Bradshaw and Sex and the City. During its run, viewers
and fashion journalists alike would tune in each week to
see what the characters were wearing, and although the
styles would evolve over the seasons, Carrie and her Manolos
were a staple throughout. However important the role of
fashion is, though, Sex and the City is first, and foremost,
a postfeminist exploration of single women living in New
York City. Well-received by critics and audiences alike,
the show provides refreshing, positive alternatives to
white, heteronormative models of monogamy and family. For
many women, Prince Charming hasn’t come yet, and
more importantly, they aren’t even sure if they want
him to. Of course, no show is without its detractors, and
many, aligning fashion with one of the more frivolous natures
of femininity, pose the question, “How do you respect
a television show that has its main character willingly
spending $400 on a pair of shoes?” Or, more bluntly, “How
feminist can a show really be when its main characters
are teetering around on three-inch heels?” While
it would be easy to dismiss what I term, “the Manolo
factor,” to fetishism, masochism, or woman-as-slave-to-fashion,
I instead argue for a more nuanced reading, one in which
shoes, specifically those like Manolo Blahnik, serve as
symbolic representations of postfeminine female independence.
Using semiotics and postfeminine theory to analyze the
episodes “The Good Fight,” “Ring a Ding
Ding,” and “A Woman’s Right to Shoes,” I
will show how this motif is established and developed throughout
the series, specifically through the main character, Carrie
Bradshaw.
More than just its title suggests, Sex and the City is
a television show about women – their friendships,
their sex lives, and their experiences living in New York
City. Carrie Bradshaw, played by Sarah Jessica Parker,
is the main protagonist of the show, the central character
linking together her three, distinctive friends: Miranda
Hobbes, Charlotte York, and Samantha Jones. Carrie, the
aforementioned lover of Manolos and fashion, is a sex columnist
for the fictional paper The New York Star. It is through
the lens of her columns that each episode is shaped. A
quirky mix of style and the-girl-next door, Carrie, through
her honesty and imperfections, is the character with which
audiences can most readily identify. Cynthia Nixon plays
Miranda, a cynical attorney who asserts her independence
as a woman almost to a fault, yet is ultimately able to
reconcile that independence with motherhood and even marriage.
Charlotte, in sharp contrast, is a hopeless romantic who
believes in the fairy tale version of love. Played by Kristen
Davis, Charlotte develops over the years to realize that
fantasy rarely matches reality, and that appearances don’t
count for nearly as much as substance. Rounding out the
quartet is Kim Cattral’s sex-loving, PR executive,
Samantha Jones. Slightly older, and certainly more promiscuous
than her friends, Samantha is a self-proclaimed “tri-sexual”;
she’ll try anything once.
Before we look at specific episodes, I want to situate
Sex and the City within third wave, or postfeminist, discourse.
In its representation of strong, independent single women,
Sex and the City shows us the results of the feminist movement
and women’s liberation. These are women who have
sex freely; enjoy stable, rewarding careers; and have reinvented
the notion of family with a focus on female friendship.
As described above, these are very different women, yet
each in her own way is an embodiment of feminism. Having
entered adulthood well past the 1970s women’s lib
movement, they are a reflection of an era of women who
have been told they can be whomever they want to be. As
Astrid Henry reminds us “with this focus on individualism,
feminism becomes reduced to one issue: choice.” The
concept of choice is a cornerstone of postfeminism, seen
as both a well-deserved right and an easy to use scapegoat.
Deprived of choice for centuries, American women were often
forced into lives and situations that they did not want.
In light of this fact, choice appears a very positive thing.
However, postfeminism has often been criticized for this
very concept. “Choice,” as the argument goes,
is merely a convenient excuse to explain and justify any
situation or behavior.
Perhaps, then, as Jane Gerhard notes, “a more useful
model of understanding postfeminism, both historically
and in the present, is to see it as a negotiation of antifeminist
and feminist thought in and through popular representations
of women.” Using this definition, I would like to
examine postfeminist negotiations of independence and fashion.
Beginning with independence, Ashley Nelson states that
Sex and the City “makes a persuasive case for single
life, but also for the need to expand notions of the family
in ways that accommodate recent changes in women’s
lives.” Although by the time the series ended both
Charlotte and Miranda were married, throughout most of
the series, the emphasis was on the singleness of the characters.
While their independence was most obviously demonstrated
by their lack of husbands, more subtly it was reinforced
by their lack of traditional family. Parents were never
seen, and only barely mentioned; their family was not of
blood, but of friendship, one they created.
Setting the characters up this way gives them both a sense
of security and freedom. Security in the sense that they
know there will always be someone there for them, and freedom
in the sense that they are not bound by the traditional
notions of family (i.e., husbands and children). An obvious
result of this situation is sexual sovereignty. In looking
at this freedom in relation to choice, the series explores
the meaning of women’s sexual
equality in the wake of the social and cultural achievements
of second wave feminism. Modern women like Carrie and her
friends, choosing to look sexy and flirt, are more innocent,
stylistic, and “unrelated to the operations of social
power and authority.” Women, as Gerhard discusses,
can work, talk, and have sex “like men” while
still maintaining all the privileges associated with being
an attractive woman.
Here Gerhard neatly relates the three themes that I would
like to discuss in relation to Sex and the City:
postfemininity; independence; and fashion. As Gerhard states,
and with
which I agree, postfemininity allows women to choose the
type of relationships they want, and in doing so, represent
themselves in the ways they want, without there necessarily
being implications of politics or power. Or, put more bluntly,
women can have both brains and beauty. When issues of “social
power or authority” do come up, as in the episode “A
Woman’s Right to Shoes,” it is most often the
case that Carrie and her friends are seen resisting (as
in this case, through fashion) ideological pressure, rather
than succumbing to it. Before developing this theme more
thoroughly, it is important to note, following Astrid Henry, “that
while the program offers an important alternative to mainstream
media
images of female sexuality and sexual pleasure, its vision
of empowerment is severely limited by the fact that all
four of its protagonists are white, heterosexual, thin,
conventionally attractive and, importantly, economically
well off.”
Keeping this in mind, then, I would like to continue my
discussion with awareness that this particular form of
postfemininity is structured within the confines of cultural
distinctions of race and class.
For the women of Sex and the City who enjoy privileges
of race and class, matrimony no longer becomes an expectation,
but an option. Without the binds of marriage and motherhood,
women are free to act, dress, and consume, as they please.
With its emphasis on fashion, Sex and the City’s “postfeminism
is a manifestation of part of the spirit of capitalism
being displaced to the intimate life” argues Stephanie
Harzewski. As a result of this displacement, a heavy emphasis
in Sex and the City is on fashion, particularly clothing,
bags, and shoes. Since the goal of these women is not marriage,
fashion becomes less about dressing for a man, and more
about femininity as a masquerade. With each new outfit,
bag, hat, or shoe, the characters can take on a new identity.
Dressing for themselves, then, becomes an experiment in
identity, an identity independent of a man. According to
Harzewski, this model of “postcompulsory heterosexuality,
in which women question romance and often remain single
. . . marries into a new phase of capitalism, compulsory
style, wherein men are discussed in terms of accessories
and courtship in the idiom of business.” Aligning
men with fashion, and reducing them to “accessories,” plays
with the identification of the audience’s gaze and
assumptions of “to-be-looked-at-ness.” If the
power of the gaze is taken away from the man, then the
power is transferred to the woman, who can choose what
to do and wear for her own personal reasons.
In reading postfemininity and Sex in the City in terms
of “gaze,” Jane Arthurs argues:
It
assumes women in the audience are invited to share
this male gaze to the extent that it is internalized
in women’s
narcissistic relation to their own bodies. This objectifies
women’s bodies and renders them powerless. In
a counter-argument, feminine cultures of consumerism
and fashion have been
considered as a source of pleasure and power that is
potentially resistant to male control. Indeed they
can offer women
an alternative route to self-esteem and autonomy that
overcomes the damaging division that second-wave feminism
constructs
between feminism and femininity.
Here Arthurs demonstrates how postfemininity offers an
alternative reading to the classic argument put forth by
Laura Mulvey in her essay “Visual Pleasure and Narrative
Cinema.” Rather than identify with male viewers in
objectifying the female characters, or take narcissistic
pleasure in their images, female viewers can regard the
characters’ fashions as models of their individuality
and markers of their independence and wealth. As Anna König
phrases it, “Indeed, this attitude neatly exemplifies
post-feminist thinking within contemporary academic discussion
of fashion: dressing up equals fun, and fun equals empowerment.”
Therefore, Carrie and her friends, according to Helen Richards, “are
the post-feminist, postmodern version of femininity, where
economic, intellectual and sexual liberation has been achieved,
thus allowing them to engage in a glamorous consumption
of men and clothes.” More than this, though, fashion
becomes integral to the story as it both defines the characters
and symbolizes their autonomy. In this sense, states Arthurs, “the
clothes and shoes become expressions of the different moods
and personalities of embodied, empathetic characters in
an authentic setting.” For Stella Bruzzi and Pamela
Church, Carrie’s conspicuous consumption of designer
clothes, her violent yoking together of clashing sartorial
styles, and her fetishisation of Manolo Blahnik strappy
sandals not only define her personality but also illustrate
how fashion becomes an essential component of the series
as a whole.
The idea of a fetish becomes interesting when taken from
the female perspective. Historically fetishisation has
been linked with men, with the fetish being a symbol and/or
part of the frightening or unattainable (female) whole.
In objectifying the female body with a fetish, the man
takes on a role of power. In a reversal of this role, the
fetish acts as a substitute for the man. Hence, a designer
stiletto shoe, Carrie’s trademark obsession,
is different. It’s always there to be possessed,
offering a fetish substitute for the satisfactions denied
by men. For Arthurs, the autoeroticism legitimated by the
narcissistic structure of the look in consumer culture
offers the possibility of doing without men at all. This
line of reasoning offers a theoretical model of shoes as
a symbol of female independence. Taking this out of the
realm of the theoretical, I will now discuss how the show
supports this theory with textual evidence.
“The Good Fight,” episode thirteen of season
four, marks the first time Carrie has ever allowed a man,
her
fiancé Aidan, to move into her apartment. The first
scene immediately sets up Carrie’s anxiety about
the situation. The camera pans Carrie’s apartment – Aidan’s
boxes are everywhere, crowding the floor and leading straight
to the door. The camera pans up from the floor to Carrie’s
front door, and as Carrie attempts to enter, the door is
prevented from opening all the way due to the boxes. As
she struggles to enter, and attempts to ask what’s
going on, Aidan, who is sitting by the door says, “Hey
pop tart. Where ya been and whatcha been doing?” His
innocent interrogation of Carrie is his loving way of greeting
her, but it is also representative of the larger problem.
Carrie is not only crowded by Aidan’s things, but
she is crowded by Aidan, himself. She cannot get her body
or words past him, without his inquiry of where she has
been and what she has been doing.
As she answers Aidan’s question, the camera pans
down her body, highlighting her struggle to squeeze past
Aidan’s belongings in an attempt to enter the apartment.
The camera pauses when it reaches Carrie’s feet.
Clad in flip flops, an unusual and rare choice for her,
she gets up on tiptoes and navigates her way in. This shot
is significant as it uses synecdoche to visually show Aidan’s
encroachment on Carrie’s freedom. Her feet, a representation
of Carrie, and more significantly her independence, literally
have to distort themselves in order to make room for Carrie
among Aidan’s things. Further, Carrie is almost never
seen in flats. This suggests that there is something unnatural
about this situation, and it is no coincidence that she
has to get on tiptoes, the position feet take when wearing
heels, to navigate her space more comfortably.
Finally in the apartment, Aidan explains to Carrie that
he has made himself “an area,” a space for
his work papers and things. They continue to discuss the
cramped situation, with Aidan attempting to assuage Carrie’s
obvious angst, reminding her that the closing will take
place soon on the apartment next door, and that they will
then be able to expand. The premise behind the move is
that Aidan has purchased Carrie’s apartment and the
apartment next door, and that he will break down the walls
between the apartments, making a larger home for the two
of them. Of course, the tearing down of the walls of the
apartments is symbolic of Aidan’s attempts at tearing
down the walls of Carrie’s independence. As the conversation
continues, and Carrie makes her way through the apartment,
she relaxes, saying, “I mean,
really, what’s the problem, right, it’s just
boxes, right.” As the words leave her mouth, the
camera zooms in on a bright, green plant on Carrie’s
table. The camera focuses on the plant a second more, before
the scene quickly jumps to Carrie at lunch with her friends,
saying, “A plant. The man brought a living thing
into my apartment. I don’t do plants; I kill everything
I bring in there.” Although this exchange does not
relate directly with the theme of shoes and independence,
it is important in foreshadowing the next scene between
Aidan and Carrie, as well as foreshadowing the relationship
between Aidan and Carrie. If Carrie “kills” everything
she brings into her apartment, this does not bode well
for the fate of her relationship with Aidan.
As the episode progresses, Carrie meet up with Mrs. Cohen,
the elderly neighbor from whom Aidan is buying the apartment
next door. As Carrie slowly helps the woman down the stairs,
Mrs. Cohen says, “Listen. You tell your boy that
I’m not leaving for thirty days.” Carrie, obviously
distressed by this new development, thinks to herself, “I
didn’t think Mrs. Cohen could move any slower.” At
this point there is a pause in the voiceover narration
and the camera pans down to Mrs. Cohen’s feet. The
scene ends focused on the feet of Mrs. Cohen, Miranda,
and Carrie, with the voiceover continuing to say, “But,
apparently, she could.” Although Mrs. Cohen is old,
and walks with a cane, she is still walking. She asserts
her right to stay in the apartment an additional thirty
days, and this, juxtaposed with the images of the women’s
feet, nicely continues the metaphor of independence.
This metaphor carries over to the next scene. Cutting from
the shot of Mrs. Cohen’s feet, the next shot is Carrie’s
heeled foot trying to squeeze into the apartment. Similar
to the first scene of the episode, Carrie’s struggle
coincides with Aidan saying, “Hey gal. What’s
up? Where you been and what do you know?” Again,
Aidan’s good natured questioning is in contrast to
Carrie’s displeasure at being unable to enter the
apartment.
After Carrie delivers Mrs. Cohen’s message to Aidan,
he too expresses his displeasure at their current living
situation. Thrilled that she is not alone in this, Carrie
and Aidan embrace over their shared misery. This is short
lived, though, as Aidan suggests that a remedy for the
problem would be for Carrie to clean her closet to make
room for him. With this suggestion, the camera zooms in
on Carrie’s panic-stricken face. A nondiegetic gong
sounds in the background, further highlighting Carrie’s
distress at this situation. Moving in is one thing, but
messing with Carrie’s closet is entirely another.
The scene cuts from Carrie’s panicked look to Aidan’s
feet coming down a stepladder. The casual look of Aidan’s
black Converse sneakers not only serves to highlight the
difference between his shoes and the shoes of Carrie that
he is taking down from the closet, but highlights the bigger
differences between the two of them. The camera pans up
from his feet, revealing Aidan struggling with a tower
of shoe boxes. As he makes his way down, a shoe falls,
and Carrie screams out “careful.” She is, of
course, referring to the safety of the shoes, not of her
boyfriend, as is made clear by the looks on both her and
Aidan’s faces.
The next scene that takes place is the pivotal scene of
the episode. One of the longest continuous scenes in the
entire series’ history, it uses Carrie’s love
and obsession regarding shoes to highlight the differences
between her and Aidan, and to represent how Aidan and his
lifestyle are a threat to Carrie and her independence.
Carrie begins by explaining to Aidan, “Listen to
me. I have laid out clean towels on the floor of the bathroom.
Gently, place the shoes and boxes on them.” Aidan,
although he looks less than pleased, does as he is instructed.
Aidan is the quintessential “good guy.” He
loves Carrie, not in spite of her quirks, but because of
them.
While he is dutifully doing what he is told, Carrie picks
up the shoe Aidan had dropped, and says, “Oh wow,
I forgot I had these. Things are looking up.” She
then takes off the shoes she is wearing and tries on the
fallen one. Aidan, meanwhile, asks, “How many pairs
of shoes does one person need?” Carrie responds, “That
is not the way to get out of this alive.” For Carrie,
shoes are a matter of life and death. Aidan leaves the
bathroom, going back to Carrie and the closet. As he comes
toward her, Carrie kisses the shoe she is holding. While
this gesture is quick and seems off-hand, it actually says
a lot for the scene. By kissing the shoe, and not Aidan,
Carrie is showing her love for the object and not the man.
However, as she quickly puts the shoe down, it is also
symbolic of her kissing the shoe goodbye, and the lifestyle
it represents.
The conversation between Carrie and Aidan turns away from
the shoes on to the topic of Carrie’s clothes. Aidan
wants Carrie to get rid of some of her clothing to make
room for his things. Carrie is reluctant to do this and
the two begin to bicker over an outfit. Aidan walks past
Carrie and she thinks, “That’s when I realized
I was holding onto a Roberto Cavalli outfit and throwing
away my relationship.” Struck by the poignancy of
this, Carrie concedes and puts the outfit in a bag to throw
away.
Immediately after doing this, she walks toward the bathroom.
As she gets closer, the look on her face becomes increasingly
anxious, and the camera quickly cuts from Carrie’s
face to Pete, Aidan’s dog, lying on the bathroom
floor, chewing on one of Carrie’s strappy heeled
shoes. Carrie becomes visibly upset and starts screaming,
her voice escalating as the camera zooms in on the dog’s
mouth, with the shoe in it visibly marked as a Manolo Blahnik.
As the camera cuts back and forth between Carrie’s
anguish and the dog’s continual chewing, Aidan rushes
into the room. He scares away the dog, and Carrie, near
tears, says, “Don’t show it to me, don’t
even show it to me. That better not be the pair I think.” Aidan
picks up the shoe, as Carrie looks at it and yells, “Oh,
God damn it.” Savvy viewers will recognize that this
is a shoe that Carrie wore in the first episode of season
three. This not only establishes history, but lends credibility
to the scene. Carrie’s sadness quickly turns to anger
and she snatches the shoe from Aidan, telling him, “That
dog owes me $380.” Aidan, slightly exasperated, but
trying not to show anger, responds, “Fine.” Carrie,
still upset, replies, “You can’t buy it. It’s
circa 1996.”
Carrie continues to be upset, and at this point Aidan leaves
the bathroom in disgust, saying, “It’s a dog.
What’s he supposed to do with all your shit lying
around here?” Carrie, her anger rising, counters
Aidan by saying, “My shit wouldn’t be lying
around if we weren’t making room because your shit
is lying around.” This, of course, is what is really
at stake between the two. Carrie’s attachment to
her clothing and shoes is really an attachment to her single
life. Pete, chewing on her Manolo, represents Aidan’s
attempt to share Carrie’s apartment, and more importantly,
a piece of her life. The fight escalates between the two,
culminating with Carrie walking out and Aidan kicking a
pile of her shoe boxes.
As the episode progresses, the two eventually make up.
However, the last scene of the episode has Carrie leaving
the apartment, wearing the contested Roberto Cavalli outfit
she was supposed to throw out. Instead, in her hand she
holds the plant that Aidan brought to the apartment which
is now dead. The voiceover narration concludes, “As
our thirty days wore on, Aidan and I miraculously managed
to not kill each other. But, as I predicted, the plant
was not so lucky.” As the audience hears this, the
visual is of Carrie walking down the steps of her apartment,
in heels. She stops to drop the plant into a nearby garbage
can and continues down the steps. The episode closes with
the image of Carrie happily strolling down the street,
alone. The contrast between the outfit and plant highlights
the struggle between single Carrie and relationship Carrie,
with single Carrie appearing to win. This will be confirmed
two episodes later, when unable to overcome their differences,
Aidan and Carrie call off their engagement.
The next episode I wish to analyze takes place immediately
after the breakup of Carrie and Aidan. The episode begins
with Carrie’s voiceover saying, “A girl in
pigtails once said, ‘There’s no place like
home.’” This sets up one of the themes of the
episode, the concept of “home.” Carrie, whose
hair is in pigtails at the beginning of the episode, sets
herself up in comparison to Dorothy from The Wizard
of Oz, highlighting her desire, like Dorothy’s, to return
to a sense of home, to safety. For Carrie, this thought
occurs as Aidan is leaving, moving out his final things
from her apartment. In losing Aidan, she has lost her emotional
home, her sense of security. As she soon finds out, she
is also about to lose her literal home. Aidan is giving
her thirty days to decide if she wants to buy her apartment
from him, or vacate.
Discussing this with her friends, Carrie declares, “Vacate?
I’m homeless. I’ll be a bag lady. A Fendi bag
lady, but a bag lady.” Here Carrie highlights her
problem that will be the theme throughout the rest of the
episode. Carrie has invested all her money in fashion,
so while she may have a magnificent wardrobe, she’ll
have no place for it because she has no money, no savings,
to put a down payment on her apartment.
As the discussion moves away from Carrie’s apartment
problems, she tells her friends that she gave Aidan back
the engagement ring, “It was the right thing to do,” and
asks Charlotte if she ever thought about giving her engagement
ring back to her estranged husband. Charlotte replies, “No,
I love that ring.” Carrie continues to speak, but
the camera stays focused on Charlotte’s confused
expression, as the viewer infers she is mentally questioning
her decision to keep her ring.
From this, the scene quickly cuts to Charlotte at a jewelry
store getting her engagement ring appraised and learning
about different options for resetting the stone. Deciding
to leave the ring as is, she exits the store, telling the
clerk, “I just don’t think I’m ready
for this.” This action is important in setting up
a dichotomy between the characters Charlotte and Carrie
and will also figure heavily in with the plot as the episode
progresses.
The juxtaposition of these two characters continues in
the next few scenes, as Carrie is deemed an “undesirable” candidate
for a bank loan, and Charlotte has difficulty finding a
job. After we see Charlotte hanging up the phone, having
failed to obtain a position at an art gallery, Carrie’s
voiceover narration states, “Meanwhile, a woman with
far fewer financial worries was also contemplating her
worth.” Charlotte takes her engagement ring out,
putting it on her finger and admiring it, with the voiceover
continuing, “Charlotte knew the ring didn’t
mean as much now that she was no longer with Trey, but
on that particularly low Thursday, she put on her 2.71
carat diamond and wandered around her 2.71 carat Park Avenue
apartment.” The scene concludes with Charlotte aimlessly
walking around her apartment, finally pausing again to
stare at the ring on her finger. Here, the comparison between
Carrie and Charlotte expands to show how Charlotte received
her apartment in her separation agreement with her husband,
whereas Carrie has to pay for hers. Charlotte, wandering
around looking aimlessly at her ring, reflects her unease
at her situation and confusion over what to do now that
she is no longer married. While Carrie’s dilemma
is financial, and in that sense more urgent, Charlotte’s
problems are emotionally as heavy and equal to Carrie’s.
The next scene with Carrie shows her shoe shopping with
Miranda. As she longingly wanders the store, lingering
over the shoes, she laments, “Oh, this is torture.
Why are you doing this to me? I can’t buy shoes.” Highlighting
her obsession, she picks out four pairs of shoes to try
on, but tells the salesman, “Under no circumstances
am I to buy these. I’m just trying them on for fun.” Although
she claims it is “just for fun,” which for
Carrie, shoes are, it is also obvious that Carrie’s
love of shoes is something more serious. If there is any
doubt to this, her subsequent conversation makes it clear.
As the two sit down to wait for their shoes to try on,
Carrie tells Miranda how the bank called her an unattractive
loan candidate. She asks Miranda, “Where did all
my money go? I know I made some.” As she is saying
this, she is examining yet another high heel. Miranda,
talking the shoe from Carrie, asks, “Uh, at four
hundred bucks a pop, how many of them do you have? 50?” Carrie
makes a face of indignation, saying, “Come on.” The
camera cuts back to Miranda, who counters, “A hundred?
The camera, with a counter shot back on Carrie, shows she
is unashamed, as she asks, “Would that be wrong?” Miranda,
who it is important to note, never judges in this scene,
hands the shoe back to Carrie, stating, “One hundred
time four hundred, there’s your down payment.” Carrie
takes the shoe, and replies “Well, that’s only
$4,000.” To which Miranda explains, “No, it’s
$40,000.” At this, Carrie is shocked. The camera
focuses in on her wide-eyed expression of surprise. She
inhales sharply and says, “I spent $40,000 on shoes
and I have no place to live. I will literally be the old
woman who lived in her shoes.” Here, Carrie is faced
with the very real implications of her shopping, a shopping
that may not be wrong in its existence, but in this instance
proves detrimental in its excess. Carrie is also forced
to examine, for the first time, the very real consequences
of the choices she has made in her life, which include
not only shoe shopping, but breaking up with Aidan.
Deciding she must take some sort of action, the next scene
cuts to Carrie apartment hunting. The scene opens from
the point of view of inside of a closet, with the real
estate agent, then Carrie, coming into view. It is a small,
reach-in closet, with a few bent hangers hanging from the
bar. Before Carrie speaks, or is even seen, it is known
that she will hate it. It is tiny, cramped, and dismal,
much like, we are to suspect, the apartment is. It is important
that this is the first thing we see in the scene, as the
closet is the first thing that Carrie would look at in
an apartment. She steps up to it, and asks, “That’s
a closet? Where do the shoes go?” The real estate
agent responds, “You get one of those racks that
hang on the door.” Carrie walks away, muttering, “I’ll
hang myself on the door if I have to live here.” Her
dislike of the closet, and ultimately the apartment, speaks
to her situation as a whole. To move, to leave the apartment
she loves, would be more than a loss of a space, but the
loss of a certain lifestyle, one in which she is in control
of her decisions and choices. The small apartment, with
its small closet, represents her being forced into something
that she does not want. Without the literal space for her
clothing and shoes, there is little room for the metaphorical
space for her personality and independence.
With seemingly nowhere else to turn, Carrie goes to her
ex-boyfriend, Big, for help. The scene begins with Carrie
as a vision in white, as she enters Big’s office
in a white Channel suite, with a white bag, and matching
gloves. Her outfit symbolizes her purity and innocence
when it comes to money, but also is a nice contrast given
Carrie’s situation, considering it is Channel and
probably cost at least two month’s rent. Carrie does
not go to Big asking for money, but rather for help in
acquiring money. The scene ends with Big saying, “Simple.
I’ll tell you how to get the money.”
The next shot cuts to Carrie out to dinner with her friends,
telling them, “Big offered me the money for my down
payment.” As the girls weigh in on whether she should
accept it or not, Miranda strongly advises Carrie against
it, explaining, “When a man gives you money, you
give him control.” She and Samantha, instead, offer
to give Carrie the money. Shocked that they would have
it, Carrie asks, “What, does no one else shoe shop?” For
Carrie, it is unbelievable to think that someone would
be able to save up that amount of money. Given the characters’ careers,
though, it is not out of the realm of possibility. Ultimately,
she decides to accept none of their money (including Big’s),
preferring to figure it out on her own.
Throughout the scene, there is visible tension between
Carrie and Charlotte. Charlotte, uncomfortable talking
about money, avoids Carrie’s glances and looks away
as the others talk. To verbalize her discomfort, she sips
her drink loudly and attempts to change the subject of
discussion. Her behavior contrasts that of Samantha and
Miranda. Miranda’s position is particularly important,
as she likens money with control. However, she only sees
this existing between men and women. She is more than happy
to loan her friend the money, as there would be no strings
attached, which would not be the case if Carrie accepted
the money from Big.
The next day, thinking about her situation, Carrie decides
to confront Charlotte about her behavior at the restaurant.
In Charlotte’s apartment, the women position themselves
on opposite sides of a table. This separates the women,
highlighting their opposing views regarding the situation.
After listening to Carrie’s accusations and complaints,
Charlotte takes a second to absorb it all, almost as if
she is swallowing anger. She then calmly proceeds to say, “Carrie,
I love you. But it is not my job to fix your finances.
You’re a 35-year old woman. You need to learn to
stand on your own.” As she is saying this, she is
moving her hands to emphasize her point. In doing this,
it becomes apparent to Carrie, and the viewer, that Charlotte
is wearing her engagement ring. Carrie, noticing, questions
Charlotte, circling the table, as if in an attack. Charlotte
goes around to the other side of the table, so that each
woman’s position is reversed. Standing where Charlotte
stood, Carrie questions why Charlotte is wearing the engagement
ring, saying, “And you’re telling me to be
more independent.” They continue to argue, with Carrie
finally saying, “You’re right, it’s your
ring, it’s your business. I just got all worked up
on the walk over here.” Charlotte is surprised Carrie
would walk all that way, to which Carrie states, “I
took a $5 cab ride seven blocks.” Pointing downward,
she continues, “These shoes pinch my feet, but I
love them. I am in a financial cul-de-sac, but I’m
going to take the bus.” With that she leaves Charlotte’s
apartment.
This scene is the culmination of the opposition between
the two women that has been building for the entire episode.
The table works nicely in the scene, separating the women,
and allowing them to move around it, changing the positions
of accuser and accused. Ultimately, Carrie realizes the
futility in the fight, and however insensitive Charlotte
might have been, it is not her responsibility to fix Carrie’s
problems. As they both come to realize in the scene, they
each have some steps to take regarding maturity and independence.
For Carrie, it is coming to terms with walking on her own
two feet, however painful that might be. For Charlotte,
letting go of her engagement ring means letting go of being
Mrs. Trey MacDougal, a representation and image of the
perfect life she worked so hard to create. One, of course,
that lacked any substance below the sparkle.
Later, over lunch, Carrie again apologizes to Charlotte,
who admits that Carrie was right. Both women admit that
they are scared for their future. After Carrie announces, “We’re
alone again,” Charlotte reaches down in her bag and
pulls out the box containing her engagement ring. In a
touching display of female friendship, Charlotte presents
Carrie with the ring, similar to the way a lover would
in an engagement. From here on, the scene reads as a type
of proposal and marriage between friends. Instead of asking
Carrie to marry her, Charlotte asks her to take the ring
for her down payment. Carrie initially refuses, but Charlotte
persists. Carrie looks at the ring, then the camera focuses
on her face, showing how overwhelmed and touched she is
by her friend’s gesture. Making sure Charlotte understands
that this would be a loan, she says, “I’ll
pay you back. You know that, right.” Like in a wedding
ceremony, Charlotte replies, “I do,” and taking
Carrie’s hands, continues, “It’s okay,
I trust you. Will you take the ring?” The camera
cuts from Charlotte’s beaming face, eyes nearly welling
with tears, to Carrie, who, with a loving and grateful
expression, replies, “I will.”
The next, and final, scene of the episode is back at Carrie’s
apartment. The camera focuses in on the hole in the wall
where Aidan had started construction between the two apartments.
In the background is a handyman, telling Carrie he will
have the hole fixed by tomorrow. Carrie, sitting happily
and assured at her desk, begins to think, “It wasn’t
quite as easy as clicking my Manolo Blahniks three times,
but it was worth it. I was home.” The camera focuses
in on the purchase contract on Carrie’s desk as Carrie
signs her name, signifying her independence. This ties
in nicely with The Wizard of Oz reference, with the twist
being, that for Carrie, the ruby red slippers that bring
her home, to safety, are her beloved Manolo Blahniks. Although
the episode took great pains to equate Carrie’s apartment
situation with her indulgence in shoes, ultimately the
episode reaffirms her choices. While it wasn’t quite
as easy as just clicking her heels, for Carrie, “it
[the shoes, the apartment, the lifestyle] was worth it.”
Jumping forward to season six, we see that the motif of
shoes as a symbol for female independence has not only
carried over to the show’s last season, but it has
developed more fully, encompassing third wave feminism’s
ideal of a woman’s right to choose. Episode nine, “A
Woman’s Right to Shoes,” begins with Carrie
commenting on the connection between singleness and consumption.
The opening scene begins with a shot of a busy New York
street, with cars and people everywhere. The camera focuses
in on Carrie in the crowd, then quickly zooms down to her
feet, clad in heels, lingers for a moment, then pans up
to Carrie’s face. Once again, Carrie is associated
with movement, walking, with her heels being her favorite
mode of transportation. In her arms are various shopping
bags, and a bouquet of flowers. As the camera rests on
Carrie, her voiceover states, “The single New Yorker’s
weekend is all about buying: the latest Vogue, fresh cut
flowers, and gifts for previously single New Yorkers.”
This statement is followed by shots of Carrie, presumably
week after week, at various stores buying various items
for previously single New Yorkers’ engagements, weddings,
and babies. The last shot of the scene is her buying a
baby gift, which jumps to the next scene, with Carrie and
said gift in an elevator, along with friend Stanford Blatch,
on the way to celebrate the birth of a friend’s new
baby.
Upon arriving at the party, Carrie and Stanford are told
they will have to remove their shoes, as the hosts “Kyra
and Chuck don’t like outside dirt coming in. The
twins are always picking things up off the floor.” Looking
at a pile of shoes haphazardly strewn in the corner, Carrie
is obviously distressed. Indignant, she lifts her arms
to display what she’s wearing and says, “But
this is an outfit.” Unimpressed, the hostess’ sister
replies, “Uh huh. They’d really appreciate
it,” and walks away. This exchange demonstrates the
differences between Carrie’s world and the world
of the party which she has just entered. Children, not
outfits, take precedence, and taking away Carrie’s
shoes, in this case a pair of new Manolos, is a way of
stripping her of her independence and identity in this
strange new world.
Slipping out of her shoes, the camera pauses for a moment
on the Manolos. They are silver and shiny, and set apart
from the other dull, dark shoes in the pile. They are standing
at attention, while the others are piled together at odd
angles, and the name Manolo Blahnik is clearly visible.
They, like Carrie, stand apart from the crowd. Entering
the party, Carrie’s voiceover informs the viewer, “Our
hostess, Kyra Bronson, had made a name for herself in the
early ‘90s taking pictures of anorexic actresses
on beds at the Chelsea Hotel.” The camera zooms in
on Kyra, played by real-life reformed party girl Tatum
O’Neil, mingling with a posh crowd, grabbing two
martinis, and heading over to Carrie and Stanford. As Kyra
reaches the two, Carrie’s voiceover concludes, “Now,
she took pictures of fat babies in buckets.” As Carrie
thinks this, the camera frames Kyra, Carrie, and Stanford
standing in front of a table filled with pastel wrapped
baby gifts and a giant portrait of a baby in a bucket.
The contrasting images of the crowd and the baby picture,
with Kyra walking away from the crowd into the shot with
the baby picture, provides a visual narrative of the shift
in Kyra’s life. She has left the life of parties,
where she originally knew Carrie, and has instead moved
to a world of domesticity.
As she prepares to leave the party, Carrie approaches the
pile of shoes, less now, but still all boring brown and
black, and discovers her shoes are missing. Kyra, coming
over to the shoes, says, “God, Carrie, I’m
sorry. I just can’t imagine where your shoes went.
You know, Jennifer was wearing sandals. Perhaps she took
yours by mistake.” Her attitude while saying this
is very nonchalant and off-hand. Carrie, taking the situation
much more seriously, replies, “Well, actually they
weren’t sandals, they were Manolos.” Shrugging
her shoulders, Kyra’s only response is, “I’m
sure they’ll turn up. I can loan you some shoes to
go home in.” As Kyra exits the shot to get Carrie
some shoes, the camera focuses on an exchange of glances
between Stanford and Carrie, with Carrie visibly aggravated
and annoyed by the situation and Kyra’s lack of understanding
or concern.
The camera cuts to the next scene, which is of Carrie’s
feet, clad in white tennis shoes. We only see the feet
and the bottom half of Carrie’s legs, which are covered
in brown and tan patterned leggings, with a grass green
skirt just coming past the knee. A more flamboyant representation
of Carrie’s fashion style, it is made to look even
more ridiculous when paired with the sneakers, and represents
another contrast between Kyra and Carrie’s lifestyles.
As the camera pans up Carrie, resting on her bemused expression,
she thinks, “They say you shouldn’t judge until
you’ve walked a mile in someone else’s shoes.
I made it six blocks.” Playing off this cliché,
it is apparent that Carrie, clad in her fashionable, if
not eccentric outfit, is uncomfortable and resistant to
a lifestyle of boring and pedestrian tennis shoes.
From Carrie standing in the street, the scene cuts to the
four friends in a restaurant where Carrie’s voiceover
informs the viewers, “The next day over dessert,
I was still not over the fact that my shoes had deserted
me.” Although this is a funny play on words, it also
likens shoes to men, the idea of a woman being deserted
by a lover, which for Carrie, is a shoe. Describing the
situation to her friends, Carrie bemoans the fact that, “These
were new Manolos. I hadn’t even done a full lap around
the party. And you know I don’t play favorites with
my shoes, but these were very special.” The fact
that Carrie is upset that she “hadn’t even
done a full lap around the party,” shows that she
wants to be looked at, and the idea of not playing favorites
with her shoes likens them to children. Here Carrie is
playing with conventional stereotypes, turning them around
to her advantage. Instead of being victim of the gaze,
she actively courts it. She wants to be looked at and admired.
For many women, their beloved possessions, the things they
could never play favorites with, is their children. For
Carrie, it is her shoes. They are not only stand-ins for
men, but for children, the whole heteronormative lifestyle
supposedly coveted by women.
As the characters continue discussing the situation, the
comparison between shoes and children is explicitly made,
and shifts toward the idea of children being allowed access
to places, restaurants, and stores that used to be strictly
for adults. Samantha and Miranda (a mother at this point)
both agree that a fancy restaurant is not the place for
children, bringing up the underlying theme of the episode,
which is that single and/or childless people have had to
make concessions for families and children, but that no
concessions are ever made for the single adult. Instead,
they are often trivialized or vilified. This point is apparent
when Carrie returns the tennis shoes to Kyra. The scene
begins with Kyra opening her front door. She is in the
center of the shot, the door only partially open, but enough
to reveal another large portrait of a baby on the wall,
which takes up the space immediately to the left of Kyra’s
head. Carrie takes up the left third of the frame, with
only the right half of her head and shoulder visible. The
shot quickly cuts to Carrie holding the tennis shoes out
in front of her. She takes up the majority of the frame,
this time with the left half of Kyra’s head and shoulders
visible. Taking the shoes from Carrie, Kyra says, “You
didn’t have to return these. I had forgotten all
about them.” Still not inviting Carrie in, there
is a slight awkward pause before Carrie asks, “So,
any news on my shoes?” Kyra, again not realizing
how serious this is to Carrie replies, “You know
what, no, it’s weird.” There is another awkward
pause, and Carrie continues, “So, this Jennifer,
did you ever find her sandals?” Kyra, still confused,
and now seemingly annoyed, asks, “What?” Carrie,
despite the uneasiness now evident in both women, presses, “Well,
if she took my shoes, she would have left her sandals.
Just being a bit of a shoe detective here.” Kyra,
missing the joke, only replies, “I haven’t
heard from her.” Carrie, obviously disappointed,
frowns and says, “Oh.”
Finally, it dawns on Kyra how rude she has been, saying, “Oh
my gosh Carrie. I am such a shit. I should have offered
to pay for them.” Carrie shakes her head, “No.
No, you don’t have to do that.” She is not
doing this out of forced politeness. For Carrie, the insult
is not in the lack of offering to pay, but rather in not
taking the situation seriously. Despite Carrie’s
protest, Kyra continues, “You have kids and lose
all sense of social decency. Come in.” Here her loss
of social decency is not only the situation with the shoes,
but that she hasn’t even invited Carrie into the
apartment up until this point.
Carrie enters, and there is another awkward moment where
Kyra glances at Carrie, admonishing her (without words)
to again, take off her shoes. Grabbing her checkbook, Kyra
asks, “So, um, how much were they?” Carrie
responds, matter of fact, “$485.” Kyra looks
up, laughing, “Come on, Carrie. That’s insane.” Carrie,
for the first time begins showing signs of annoyance, politely
replies, “Well, that’s what they cost.” Defiant,
Kyra offers, “I’ll give you $200.” The
conversation escalates, with the camera making shots/counter-shots
of Carrie and Kyra. Their dialogue continues as follows:
Carrie: “Okay, this is an awkward conversation.”
Kyra: “I’m sorry; I just think that it’s
crazy to spend that much on shoes.”
Carrie: “You know how much Manolos are. You used
to wear Manolos.”
Kyra: “Sure, before I had a real life. But Chuck
and I have responsibilities now. Kids. Houses. $485, like,
wow.”
As if to prove this, she picks up her daughter, positioning
the little girl between her and Carrie.
Carrie, keeping her cool, despite the insult she has just
suffered, counters, “I have a real life.” Kyra,
remaining self-righteous, replies, “No offense Carrie,
but I really don’t think we should have to pay for
your extravagant lifestyle. I mean, it was your choice
to buy shoes that expensive.” Here, it comes down
again to choice. More than just a choice to buy shoes “that
expensive,” it has been Carrie’s choice to
remain single and not have children. Carrie, wisely understanding
the nuances of choice, remarks, “Yes, but it wasn’t
my choice to take them off.” Kyra, still holding
her daughter, condescends, “They’re just shoes.” The
scene ends with a close-up of Carrie’s face, her
expression is a mixture of shock, embarrassment, and indignation.
From here the scene cuts to a close-up of Carrie on the
phone with Miranda. Recapping the incident, Carrie explains, “She
shoe-shamed me. I left there covered in shame.” The
camera then shows a quick shot of Miranda’s reaction,
then cuts back to a wide shot of Carrie. Here she is seen
sitting on the floor of her closet, surrounded by shoes.
Slightly left center, directly in front of Carrie, is a
bright white box with black letters that read “Manolo
Blahnik.” Carrie, organizing her shoes, explains
to Miranda, “No, it’s not about the money.
I don’t care about the money. I’m talking about
a woman’s right to shoes. Why did she have to shame
me?” Later in the conversation, she gets directly
to the point, asking, “Hey, is it bad that my life
is filled with shoes and not children?” The real
issue is more than just the right to shoes, it is the right
to choose one’s own lifestyle, which becomes an issue
when it is not the choice of the dominant ideal. For Carrie,
choosing shoes represents choosing to remain single, and
more importantly, not feeling guilty about it. The scene
concludes with Carrie looking at her shoes, and the empty
Manolo box (for the missing shoes), wondering, “When
we were young, Marlo Thomas sang to us about accepting
each other and our differences. But then, we got older
and started singing a different tune.” At this point,
Carrie gets up and goes to her computer, concluding her
thought, “We stopped celebrating each other’s
life choices, and started qualifying them. Is acceptance
really such a childish concept? Or, did we have it right
all along. When did we stop being free to be you and me?”
Later, discussing this idea of celebrating each other’s
life choices with Charlotte, Carrie recounts, “I
have spent over $2300 celebrating her [Kyra’s] choices,
and she is shaming me for spending a lousy $485 on myself.” Carrie
explains to Charlotte that after graduations, there are
no special occasions celebrating the life choices of single
people, saying, “I am talking about the single gal.
Hallmark doesn’t make a ‘congratulations you
didn’t marry the wrong guy card.’ And where’s
the flatware for going on vacation alone?” Looking
at the situation from this perspective, it is true. Society
qualifies life choices, celebrating monogamy, matrimony,
and childbirth, ignoring the fact that these choices are
not the best for everyone. Although women may live under
the influence of third wave feminism, clearly choice is
only celebrated when it lands on the side of the dominant
ideal.
Fed up with the situation, Carrie decides to take a bold
step. Picking up her phone, she thinks, “That night,
I decided, I couldn’t wait for a ring, and so, I
gave someone else one.” Calling Kyra, she leaves
the following message on her answering machine: “Hi,
it’s Carrie Bradshaw. I wanted to let you know that
I’m getting married. To myself. Oh, and I’m
registered at Manolo Blahnik. So thanks. Bye.” Hanging
up the phone, she smiles and thinks, “One giant step
for me, one small step for single womankind.” Sex
and the City, a master at double entendre, gives this cliché a
whole new meaning in the context of this episode, where
shoes and steps come together to represent independence.
Further, by playing with society’s standards of marriage,
Carrie makes a giant step forward by marrying herself,
validating her choices within the parameters of the socially
expected. If society demands she must get married to be
accepted, then fine, she will get married, to herself.
After an amusing scene in the Manolo Blahnik store (a setting
where Carrie’s, versus Kyra’s choices are validated),
where Kyra is told “Please watch your children. We
don’t want them touching the shoes,” Kyra purchases
another pair of the contested shoes and has them sent to
Carrie. The closing scene of the episode begins with Carrie
sitting in her apartment, opening the shoebox. The glee
evident on her face is not only about the shoes, but of
the small victory she won in proving her point. Taking
a shoe out of the box and holding it up, she thinks, “It
was my very first wedding present.” The scene cuts
to a busy NY street, similar to the opening shot of the
episode, and again the camera focuses on Carrie’s
feet, this time wearing the new Manolos. The camera follows
her feet for a few steps, shows her nimbly jumping over
a puddle, and then pans up to show the upper half of Carrie.
Her voiceover concludes the episode, saying, “The
fact is, sometimes it’s hard to walk in a single
woman’s shoes. That’s why we need really special
ones now and then. To make the walk a little more fun.” Carrie
is seen wearing the shoes with a casual pair of pants and
shirt. It is not a special occasion, which many reserve
fancy heels and Manolos for, but just an ordinary day.
The ease in which she walks, jumps, and jogs in the shoes,
dispels any thoughts of discomfort or restraint typically
associated with high heels. For Carrie and her fellow single
women, special shoes not only make their walk of life a
little easier, but they make it more fun.
This episode, as do the other two I analyze, works with
the themes of feminism, fashion, and choice, ultimately
landing on the side of celebrating women’s choices,
giving attention to those underrepresented in conventional
television programming and society. This reflects not only
postfeminist ideals, but also a shift in women’s
viewpoints about their lives. Freed from the constrictions
of second wave feminism and its essentialist views of men
and women, things become less about one or the other, making
room for a third model, where choice can include a reappropriation
of fashion and feminism into a functioning representation
of independence. By giving weight and consideration to
both sides of the issue, Sex and the City affirms this
model, without undermining other effective depictions of
femininity. At the same time, it reveals the deficiencies
inherit in all discussions of gender politics, proving
that no one way is the correct way to be a woman. The challenge,
then, is for women to find a way to cultivate an identity
that is both acceptable to themselves and accepting of
others. Perhaps Carrie’s last words of the series’ final
episode sum it up best: “The most exciting, challenging
and significant relationship of all is the one you have
with yourself. And if you find someone to love the you
you love, well, that's just fabulous.”
June 2006
From guest contributor Jenn Brandt |