Sex and the City

A powerful female ethos set the tone before the film even began to roll. Women everywhere...and of all ages. Some came in same-age groups, others in mixed-age groups, but groups...women came out in droves of groups. I came with a group too. It wasn't necessarily my group, but one into which I was invited for the evening. Before the movie, we had met at the lounge right across from the theater. It's a modern courtyard expanse and the chicest spot in town, and wouldn't you know it...filled with groups of women going to the same sold-out showing of Sex And the City.

Inside, I immediately noticed a definite age-related dress code. The twenty-somethings arrived in full Carrie Bradshaw attire of super-short dresses, chunky necklaces and high-heeled shoes and perky bodies. Their hair was stylishly cut and coiffed. The thirty-somethings and over came clad in a more laid-back jeans and glitzy top garb, possibly with a heeled-shoe, but certainly not as high as the twenty-somethings and carried quite a bit more weight. Their hair was also well cut, but showed slightly less energy had been exerted in glamming it up for the evening. People from different groups would seek out volunteers from other groups to take their pictures on multiple cameras, and then immediately scroll through their digital memory to examine the shot and remark about it. This was clearly a night to remember. It was sort of the Harry Potter release party equivalent for women. A woman from one group had brought a bundle of tissues and indiscriminately handed them out exerting "We know we're all criers; anyone need Kleenex?" In seconds her handful had been entirely distributed to thankful anticipators. (I think there may have been a sum total of five men in the entire theater. Sucks to be them. Or not.)

I sat there in my wide-legged linen pants, fitted tee and flat Easy-Spirit sandals, with neither readied camera nor anticipatory Kleenex, wedged between my forty-something friend on the fringe of her group and a twenty-something stranger on the fringe of hers feeling remarkably tweenerish, when the lights dimmed.

The theater was abuzz with excited high-pitched voices of such mass and volume that when the screen projected the usual "Please silence your cell phones and refrain from talking" message, I immediately thought out loud, "Ya, good luck with that."

As we watched the movie, the collective viewing experience began. An interactive 2.5 hours of entertainment ensued as individual women from the audience would take turns loudly flinging advice to the characters on the screen as they maneuvered through the ups and downs of the plot... and then the rest of us would join in, either in unison or with affirmative background laughter.

So there we were. Uniquely different. Completely together, empathizing with the archetypal characters on the screen who represented our individual life experiences and our collective womanhood. We laughed, we cried, we shouted, we ahhhed.

The ending scene focused on four friends around a table together, which gave me pause to reflect on my dearest friends, and how important they are to me, how important collective participation in a common group identity is to us all. Come what may in our relationships to the world, our work, our families, we must laud the presence of our most profound gift, our womanfriends! I drove home in a spirit of gratitude.