If ever I had to select a hybrid word to best describe
myself and my ideals, Feminista (feminist +
fashionista, for those of you who haven’t had your daily cup of coffee or green
tea yet) would definitely make it to the top three. Add to that the setting of this chick lit—New
York City, the mere mentioning of which incites some mild Pavlovian drooling—and the fact that Sydney, the main character, is a Lanvin -loving celebrity journalist, and it was all I could do to
not dance a jig in the middle of the fiction aisle at the library as I plucked
it off the shelf.*
Now, at the risk of reducing 358 pages of laugh-out-loud literature (which is dripping with celebrity references and witty
lines that could only be overheard in an eccentric city like New York) to a
written version of “Sex and the City ,” I’ll
offer a couple of differences between the book and the show/films:
1) Sydney, the multiracial heroine, is far from a
WASP. In fact, she admits to only having
been hired at her prestigious magazine in order to fill an affirmative action
quota (which, sadly, could be a reality in the publishing world).
2) As one of the few single and childless 30-year-old
professionals in Manhattan, Sydney lacks the core group of likeminded,
Chanel-donning sisters that form the foundation of SATC. Instead, Sydney’s main companion is her gay
best friend and makeup artist/stereotypically flamboyant diva,
Jeffrey-James. I understand that a
Carrie-Stanford connection can be made here, but I’m choosing to overlook it for the sake of argument.
3) Whereas Ms. Bradshaw (or Mrs. Preston, depending on
your preference) would rarely be seen in footwear with less than a 3-inch heel, Sydney conquers the streets of Manhattan in motorcycle boots, Adidas
high tops, and ballet flats. Needless to
say, she’s a woman after my own heart!
The story centers on Sydney’s growing fear that her
overpowering personality will turn her into a 30-year-old, feline-obsessed
spinster. She enlists the help of a
renowned matchmaker, who sends Sydney on a whirlwind of—for fear of giving away
too much information—“unforgettable” dates.
Meanwhile, Sydney’s non-arranged, organic relationship with Max seems
too good to be true. It is, but I’ll let
you find out why for yourselves.
What I really enjoyed about this novel (which I recommend
you throw into your beach bag with sunscreen and a chilled Vitamin Water) were
the dry humor and Sydney’s smarts; she doesn’t take shit from any man, and as a
budding feminista myself, I can only raise my glass to an attitude like that. Part Something New ,
part Pride and Prejudice …and okay, part Sex and
the City, this book is perfect for any independent woman who sometimes fears
that her fierceness may be too much for a guy to handle. I’ll give you a hint: it’s not.
*I promise, I don’t only read fictions about black female
journalists! These are actually the only
two that I’ve read; I’ve just been striking gold in the library.
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