Hmmm. This is tough. Trashing "Sex and the City" is like saying you don't own one pair of great strap-on heels or a little black dress. It's like admitting to years of celibacy. Immediately, you're seen as less than a woman (the modern definition of one anyway), one with no sense, no taste, weird and undesirable. I can already hear the gates of sisterhood crashing in my face with a resounding, hostile bang.
In my defense, it's the movie version that's troubling, not the TV series, which, as it did for every other female on the planet, brought me incredible amounts of joy, laughter and fashion tips in many a sunless winter. At one point, my girlfriends were even saying they'd rather go home and watch "Sex and the City" than waste time on a date, which contradicted the essence of the program.
But hey, so what? We waited four long years, nursing on rental DVDs, for another season or at least some sense of continuity. And now, this movie.