We Wanted to See the Clothes

Ruth Pennebaker, in yesterday's New York Times:

...We went to a sneak preview of the movie version of "Sex and the City," which ran for six seasons on HBO, because it was a benefit for Austin's Breast Cancer Resource Center — and four of the five of us are breast cancer survivors. ... But I should tell you: We were also there because we wanted to see the clothes. The stilettos, the gossamer dresses, the floral splashes, the tight jackets, the outré hats, the clutch purses, the hair, the makeup, the dazzling jewelry. If half of “Sex and the City” is about sex, the other half is about what you’re wearing before and after you have sex and when you’re walking around the streets, heartbroken, certain you’ll never have sex again. Men come and men go, they die, they disappoint, they’re unavailable, they’re too available. But at least you’ve still got your three female sidekicks and a killer wardrobe to remind you life is worth living.

The "Sex and the City" movie or a slow death from cancer: which is worse?

This passage reminds me of a woman whom I dated in college: an intelligent, deep woman who longed to have been born stupid and shallow. If all you're living for is a killer wardrobe, why not just go ahead and pack it in?