So a day or two ago, rumors about Blake Lively playing young Carrie Bradshaw in a SATC prequel dominated my Twitter feed. And I sat there and thought, “Huh. That seems about right,” and ultimately agreed with the decision like everyone else, and then moved on with my life because there was nothing I could say about it that hadn’t been said already.
But then. Fucking Miley Cyrus comes out of left field and tells Access Hollywood that she’d love to be considered for the role. “I would love it,” Miley said. “I’m not attached, so I don’t want to say that, but that would be very cool.”
We have veered into dark territory, friends. And on behalf of New York women who begrudgingly care about the fate of a Sex and the City prequel, I must advise Ms. Cyrus to wake up from her dream of hopping off a plane at LGA.
You see, Sex and the City is like the dude you dated that all of your friends and family loved. Then you guys broke up, and your friends were like, “Oh, he sucked, what a tool,” and you’re like, “I know, right?!” except no one really believes that. Actually, everyone still thinks he’s an awesome guy. Even you. When no one is looking, you’re all up in his Facebook page, laughing at his status updates, remembering the good times. His ghost will linger. You will always care.
There was a time, post-series finale, when we turned our backs on SATC. We were like, “Duh, the only thing a writer with a once-a-week column can afford is a 4-bedroom share in Queens and a dog from Gray’s Papaya” or “That semi-attractive guy wouldn’t fuck Miranda in real life, come on.” We had to overcompensate; exhaustively acknowledge that SATC was bullshit. Because if we didn’t? We’d be aimlessly chasing an unattainable New York lifestyle. Hell, some people still are. A moment of silence here for your fallen girlfriends, the ones who are in their thirties and still don’t know how the fuck to ride a subway. Okay, that’s enough.
So we loved it, we hated it, and we moved on– our hearts housing the eternal glory of SATC, the television show that taught us what is (real life) and what never will be (everything that happened on SATC). We came to terms with our false hopes, and we moved on. Just in time for the Gossip Girl era.
There is a not-so-secret faction of NYC women who, despite knowing better, watch and enjoy Gossip Girl. Sure, perhaps we’re too old for the idea of Gossip Girl, but we’re gonna watch it anyway. We’re gonna watch the shit out of Gossip Girl until CW 11 pries it from our cold, dead, manicured hands. SATC prepped us for this type of delusional entertainment, and by god, we’re gonna enjoy it. No one is polishing shit and calling it silver, we know what we’re getting: monied, abnormally attractive people fucking with a NYC backdrop. I’ll take it. In fact, I’ll take two.
And thus, as the reluctant* star of Gossip Girl, Blake Lively is in a prime position to play young Carrie. We’ve already accepted her as a reasonable representation of a young New Yorker in a totally unrealistic New York. And I don’t say this as a fan girl, I despise Serena van der Woodsen. But tease her hair, mold her a silicone nose and throw a fanny pack on her– she is ’80s Carrie Bradshaw.
You know who is not ’80s Carrie Bradshaw? Miley Cyrus, who was born in 1992. Blake Lively, we’ve seen her walk down Madison Avenue, and we like it. She is fake New York enough for real New York me. Miley, on the other hand, is the equivalent of a Midwestern transplant; the type of girl who resides in Hell’s Kitchen and relies on nationally syndicated magazines to tell her where the local hot spots are. She is not New York. She is the Mall of America.
Unless the Sex and the City prequel takes place at a middle school in Oklahoma City, keep your barely-legal paws off of the script, Cyrus.
*My reluctance, not hers.