No Sex, Just Prada

You have no idea how many times I've heard women say that they talk just like the characters from Sex and the City. And then proceed to talk nothing like them. Here's the deal: Carrie Bradshaw and friends speak like gay men. Apparently, this is aspirational for straight women.

The show is pure fantasy. Not many freelance writers can afford luxury New York digs and still support a designer-shoe habit. We secretly wish we had the accessorizing guts, but we play it much safer than the almost cartoonish runway looks on Sarah Jessica Parker. And as someone who has no Mr. Big in her life (Really, girls, do we actually throw around nicknames like that? Oh, wait. I did know a Muffinhead and a Mustard. Yeah. Small-town boys, obviously), I struggle to even slightly relate to the woes of the stiletto'd ones.

So I have my own fantasy-fashion resource. Sharing Sex's costume-designing wonder, the uber-famous stylist Patricia Field, my go-to flick about designer duds in New York is The Devil Wears Prada. Because I want that wardrobe. And because I relate to the whole "I'm done school and am now in quarter-life limbo as I dream of doing something fulfilling but still need to pay the rent, unfortunately sometimes at the expense of my soul" thing. It's eye candy that understands my angst.

But when I say I'm a Prada fan, I mean the movie. Not the book. It's a pretty rare phenomenon, but occasionally the original novel just lacks something. In this case, the book lacks character development. And Meryl Streep. And these outfits:


Head on over to MovieZen (you knew I was going somewhere with this), and check out my other picks that are better than the book.

P.S. I should wear more hats.
P.P.S. Both Sex and Prada will be atrociously outdated in approximately three minutes.