I went to New York for the first time in October. I found labels...
I went to the movies tonight for yet another slice of New York. Carrie, Samantha, Miranda, and Charlotte delivered in the new "Sex and the City" movie. The name dropping was to the max. Christian Lacroix, Diane von Furstenberg, Vivienne Westwood, Vera Wang, Dior...and of course Prada were among the names that made the list. And let's not forget the indomitable house of Chanel. Oh the purses and those Manolo's and Louboutin's! The producers of the movie do not disappoint their fans. Even hard to please movie critics will soften under the spell of this movie. This is no "Made of Honor." Even the lovelorn will find something to smile about. The great aspect of this movie though is just how relatable it is. Carrie's love affair with Mr. Big, Miranda's angst against a love affair, Charlotte's perfect life and you know Samantha...don't know what to say about that love-sex-love crazed matron. These scenes are not totally conjured. I participated. I saw past labels even though I enjoyed them.
The movie opens with Carrie's usual monlogue. True, people do move to New York for the labels, fame, and fortune, these days a college degree. I am not sure about the love aspect. I know of few people who've moved to New York and love was not a factor for any of them.
Seeing this movie was my cheap access to Fashion Week. I wanted to revel in every detail of fabric, bauble, and label. My eyes caught many a Chanel purse and I let a tear drop almost leave my eye when Carrie gives the Saintly assistant that much coveted Louis bag. Yet, the biggest label in the movie was love. I'm mad I was so into the plot. I felt Carrie's pain and oh the shame! Sure Mr. Big is a good man but that flower whacking was so well deserved. Why did Miranda have to endure the pain of an affair, and Samantha the emptiness of a life so full of labels? There are labels for everything, even love is so labeled. Love is defined by so many terms. It's so labeled it loses its spontaneity. It becomes reduced to meaningless terms to describe our fleeting emotions.
Love should have no labels. It should just be! It should not come with demands, prenuptial agreements or be confined to a box. It should be love. However, we insist that love better come in the right box. It could be a Tiffany blue or a Manolo blue encrusted with faux diamonds. Nonetheless it needs to be accompanied by a well tied bow. Surprsingly even Hollywood knows better, that love is more than labels. They know the biggest lesson is learning to forgive. Our humanity makes us frail and vulnerable. Learning to label love with the "f" word gives love meaning. It doesn't take away from it. Ask Miranda or Carrie; it's the biggest label on love. For those in love out of love or just so over love, forgive yourself, forgive and just love. No labels, no strings, just love.
I will return to New York.