Sarah Jessica Parker, in garish make-up and a tutu, wanders around on the sidewalk, looking very much like a bag lady searching for her lost shopping cart. End credits.
The series begins with a long anecdote told by Carrie in voice-over. Seems a blonde "English journalist" woman came to New York. We see the lady in a cab filled with Louis Vuitton luggage. Carrie says the lady, called Elizabeth, hooked up with one of New York's "typically eligible bachelors." We see the chubby guy who plays Mike McQueen on Popular walking around his corner office with a view, blathering about investments into a phone headset. Carrie lets us know that he makes about "two million a year." We see Elizabeth and Mike meeting each other at a gallery opening, where Mike, a la Rico Suave, tells Liz that "London is my all-time favorite city." Then we have a montage of Liz and Mike golfing and playing footsie while having dinner and having sex in silhouette. Then Mike takes Liz to check out a "townhouse for sale," where he hints to her that they might be having children to fill up some of the home's bedrooms, and asks her to have dinner with his folks later that week. Mike then calls Liz to postpone dinner since his mother is sick. Cut to two weeks later, where Liz harshes to Mike on the phone for not calling her anymore. Then we see Liz talking to a smoking brunette woman in a coffee shop. Liz's sleek blonde chignon has unraveled, she looks about ten years older, and her English accent is in shambles. Carrie voice-overs that Liz has found out about "the end of love in New York." What, Liz couldn't have gotten played like that in London? Whatever!
Cut to Carrie's apartment. Turns out she was the brunette. She's chain-smoking in front of her laptop, elaborating on "The Age of Un-Innocence" in New York. She tries to make some witty plays on the titles "Breakfast at Tiffany's" and "An Affair to Remember," but I'll spare y'all from the lameness. As a cynical saxophone bleats on the soundtrack, Carrie warns us, "Self-protection and 'closing the deal' are paramount. Cupid has flown the co-op." From this scene, its established that Carrie a) smokes more packs a day than Patrick Swayze, b) lives in a cramped, trendily-decorated studio-type flat, and c) is a terrible, untalented, cringe-inducing writer.
Then we see yuppie New York women walking toward the camera on a crowded Manhattan sidewalk. Carrie worries in voice-over about their dating hardships, which she finds unjust because these women are "great." Um, why are they great, Carrie? "They travel, they pay taxes, they'll spend $400 on a pair of Manolo Blahnik strappy sandals." Oh. Then Carrie whines that although these great women have so much disposable income, they are "alone." Owen wipes away a solitary, invisible tear.
Cut to Carrie in a gray trenchcoat. Her hair is cropped to her shoulders, in mousy-brown frizzy curls and parted in the middle. She grabs a New York Post-looking rag out of a sidewalk box and continues wailing, "Why are there so many great unmarried women and no great unmarried men?" She turns the newspaper pages to her column, "Sex in the City," in which she "explores these issues" by using "great sources -- [her] friends."
Cut to a camera confessional scene of a middle-aged guy on a Nautilus machine at a busy gym. He prattles that women ignore and/or try to control men in their twenties until the point when they're "established" in their thirties, and the guys suddenly "own all the chips." He calls this the "mid-thirties power flip." The frame freezes him in mid-smirk and a title tells us he's "Peter Mason, Advertising Executive, Toxic Bachelor." Uh, if "power flip" is the best witticism he can come up with, I suspect that his professional work is equally toxic. Then the camera unfreezes and pans over to another sweaty middle-aged guy who's wearing a very gay, loose, nipple-baring tank top and doing standing dumbbell flies in exactly the best possible way to promote back and arm injury. He further confirms his idiocy by telling the camera, "It's all about age and biology. You want to get married to have kids, right? But you don't want to do it with someone who's older than thirty-five, because then you'll have to have kids right away. And that's about it. I think these women should just forget about marriage and have a good time." The frame freezes his cap-toothed smirk, and he's labeled, "Capote Duncan, Publishing Executive, Toxic Bachelor."
Cut to Miranda, who's a dark brunette here. She's wearing a business suit, standing at a salad bar and complaining into the camera, just like the guys at the gym. She tells an anecdote about a woman she knew who just dated guys to "have a good time." Then the woman woke up one day and discovered she was forty-one and couldn't line up any more dates. I'm thinking, could this woman be Samantha? But Miranda tells us that the woman eventually moved back to Wisconsin to live with her mother. The frame freezes and we're told that we've been listening to "Miranda Hobbes, Esq., Corporate Lawyer, Unmarried Woman."
Then we see Charlotte in her way spacious gallery office. She's wearing glasses and cute tan separates, and her hair is shorn in a flattering bob. She tells us that "most men are threatened by successful women. If you want to get these guys, you have to keep your mouth shut and play by the rules." The camera freezes when she says "rules," in case we needed extra emphasis on Charlotte living her life by the dating guide The Rules. Before we can ponder why Charlotte would even WANT to "get" these "threatened," immature men, the title labels her "Charlotte York, Art Dealer, Unmarried Woman" and her scene ends.
Nice balance, here, huh? The men are shallow and smug, and they're "toxic." The women are shallow and whiny, yet they're merely "unmarried." Whatever.
Then we see this nerdy guy in front of a computer. He's sporting wire-rim frames and disheveled corkscrew curls. He explains that "space" is missing in Manhattan. "Space for romance." The frame freezes and we find out he's "Skipper Johnston, Website Creator, Hopeless Romantic." And this guy hasn't already been eaten alive by the other New Yorkers because . . . ?
Cut to Peter talking to the camera again. He's working his way up a huge indoor climbing wall, and is for some reason wearing a big North Face anorak and a Hattie McDaniel-esque do-rag bandana on his head. He sneers that "women won't settle for what's available."
Cut to Miranda eating her salad while sitting on a park bench. Her hair looks kind of red here, and much softer and more flattering than I've seen in the second and third seasons. She feeds into Peter's argument by stating, "By the time you reach your mid-thirties, you figure, why should I settle?"
Cut to Charlotte, complaining that "the older we get, the more we keep selecting down to a smaller and smaller group."
Cut to the climbing wall again, where Capote is explaining that "women really want Alec Baldwin." Um, honey, with that name and that tank top, are you sure that you're not the one who really wants Alec Baldwin? And have you seen Alec lately? I mean, even three years ago when this pilot was first shot, Kim could have easily hidden her Oscar between his chins. Anyway, the camera pans down the wall to Peter, who tells us that Manhattan women have each rejected about ten guys because the men just weren't up to their standards.
Cut to Miranda, bitching that the "short, fat, poor" guys she's dated were "no different; they're just as self-centered and unappreciative as the good-looking ones." Hey, Miranda! I've slum-dated before, and I have to add: WORD. At this moment, I kinda started to dig Miranda.
Back at the chauvinist climbing wall, Peter suggests that "these women should just marry a fat guy. Just marry a big fat tub of lard." Well, free up a date for the ceremony sometime this June, Peter Piggy.
Luckily, before this Prattle of the Sexes gets UGLY, we cut to a restaurant where a group of drag queens are bringing Miranda a birthday cake and some downtown local color. The Fabulous Foursome is gathered around the table, singing "Happy Birthday." Carrie VOs that it's a birthday party (ya think?) attended by "unmarried female friends." We see Samantha for the first time, with longer, dirtier blonde hair than she's been sporting in later seasons. She explains, "If you're a successful single woman in this city, you have two choices: You can either bang your head against the wall and try to find a relationship, or you can just say screw it. Just have sex, like a man." Um, wouldn't that second alternative involve some "banging your head against the wall" also? Charlotte thinks that Samantha means "sex with dildos." Samantha explains, "No, sex without feelings." The frame freezes and she's labeled "Samantha Jones, Public Relations Executive, Unmarried Woman." Carrie VOs that Samantha's "a New York inspiration" because, although an older woman, she "routinely slept with good-looking guys in their twenties." I'm at a loss as to how "inspiring" Samantha's activities are, but whatever. Samantha tells the gang about a guy she used only for sex, then exults, "This is the first time in the history of New York that women have had as much money and power as men [YEAH, RIGHT], plus the equal luxury of treating men like sex objects." Miranda counters, "Yeah, except men in this city don't want to be in a relationship with you, but as soon as you want them for just sex, they don't like it. They can't perform the way they're supposed to." Samantha: "That's when you dump them." Then we see that Fran Lebowitz, in a low-cut black cocktail dress, has been tittering and downing martinis along with the other women at the table. Fran queries, "C'mon, are we really that cynical?" Oh wait, it's really Carrie, and she asks them to ponder the concept of "romance." Miranda tells a story about a poet with whom she had great sex, but didn't even want to "go there" when he wanted to share his poetry. Charlotte urges the girls not to "give up on love." Carrie tells Samantha and Miranda that they'll fold once they meet the "right guy." Samantha says the "right guy" is an "illusion." Carrie doesn't think "the women-having-sex-like-men thing" can be "pulled off." Samantha cites The Last Seduction as a successful example. Um, great flick, but also a work of fiction, babe. Miranda and Samantha praise Linda Fiorentino's character from that flick effusively. Charlotte, to absolutely no one's surprise, declares that she "hated that movie." From this scene, it's established that these women aren't the type to sip General Foods International Coffees and wax nostalgic about "that waiter -- Jean Luc!" I also note that the cameraperson needs to steady the apparatus and locate the goddamn focus setting. I know this is only the pilot episode, but jeez.
Then we see Carrie in bed, leaning over her laptop, noshing on a pint of Ben & Jerry's and making the first of her many massive thesis generalizations about women in New York (i.e., natch, all of the women in THE WORLD). Her voice-over ponders, "Was it true? Were women in New York really giving up on love and throttling up on power?" Carrie drops her spoon and grins into the camera, declaring, "What a tempting thought!"
Cut to a restaurant. Carrie's having lunch with Stanford, who's sporting a gray suit with a green shirt and tie. He's blathering that he's come to believe that the last bastion of love and romance in New York is the gay community: "It's straight love that's become closeted." I forgive Stanford the wrong-headedness of both the ensemble and the comment, because he's, well, Stanford. As the frame splits and freezes so Stanford can leer at a waiter, Carrie grabs the left half of the screen to explain that Stanford's one of her "closest friends," as well as the owner of a talent agency which currently only has one client. Carrie asks Stanford if he's in love. Stanford argues that he can only concentrate on his client's career at the moment. Carrie reminds Stanford that Derek, the client, is an "underwear model." Stanford then spots one of Carrie's exes at the bar of the restaurant. Carrie turns around and sees that this cheesy guy with spiky gelled hair, wearing a Eurotrashy suit and a tacky silver thumb ring and blowing cigarette smoke out of his nostrils is "Kurt Harrington -- a mistake [she] made when [she] was twenty-six. And twenty-nine. And thirty-one." Thus we find out definitively that Carrie has a) limited time on the green side of forty and b) shamefully bad taste in men. Stanford demands that she not go over to Kurt, because he "doesn't have the patience to clean up this mess for the fourth time." This marks the moment when I really started to like Stanford. Carrie tells Stanford to relax, because she's "not a masochist." Then she proceeds to excuse herself from the table to go to the restroom. Instead, she goes directly up to Kurt (after telling us on-camera that he is a "self-centered, withholding creep and still the best sex [she] ever had in [her] life") and sets up an afternoon tryst with him at his apartment, although Stanford is waving his hands around and mouthing, "NOOOO!!!" in the background. She returns to the table and informs an apoplectic Stanford that she's just "doing research."
In Kurt's apartment, we pan past the discarded clothes on the floor and onto the bed where Carrie is yes, yes, yessing. Kurt's head appears above the sheets, and he informs her that it's his "turn." Carrie apologizes and tells him she has to go back to work. She'll call him; maybe they can do it again sometime. Kurt's face falls. Or maybe he was just relaxing his sore jaw. I couldn't tell.
On the sidewalk, Carrie struts out of Kurt's building and VOs her victory at having sex like a man; she "felt powerful, potent, and incredibly alive. Nothing and no one could get in [her] way." Cue a passerby to knock into her, making her drop her purse and spill its contents on the ground. Carrie scrambles to gather her stuff. A handsome guy in a suit picks up some of her condoms (she seems to keep about a caseload in her purse at all times) and hands them to her. Carrie notes that the guy is good-looking, not wearing a wedding ring, and now knows that she keeps Trojans in her handbag. She thanks him for his help. He smarms, "Anytime," and waves goodbye at Carrie as she nervously runs a hand through her hair and adjusts the asymmetrically cut hem of her black wrap dress that's ridden up her ass as she stumbles down the sidewalk. Thus meeteth Carrie and Mr. Big.
Then Carrie has coffee with Skipper, the wimpy romantic guy from earlier. He whines that he's "too nice" and too "feeling." Carrie wonders if he's "gay." Owen has a good, cynical laugh over THAT ONE. Carrie has a brainstorm about hooking Skipper up with Miranda at a nightclub outing the evening.
Back at Carrie's pad, she VOs that Miranda will probably hate Skipper, because "she'll think he's mocking her with his sweet nature, and conclude that he's an asshole, the way she had decided that all men were assholes." The phone rings, and as Carrie goes to her bedroom-type alcove, I figure out that Carrie's pilot apartment has a completely different layout than her later seasons pad. It's Charlotte phoning. She begs off the nightclub plans because she's lined up a date with Capote Duncan. Does Carrie know him? Carrie tells the cameraman, "Did I know him? He was one of the city's notoriously un-gettable bachelors." From Capote's earlier sexist blatherings, I think Carrie's confusing the term "un-gettable" with "unfathomable," but whatever. Charlotte tells Carrie not to give her any dish on Capote, and reiterates her refusal to participate in the "women having sex like men" lifestyle experiment. Carrie decides aloud not to tell Charlotte about her afternoon of "cheap and easy sex." Good call.
Club Chaos. Everyone's wearing black except Carrie, who's shown up in a cheetah-print teddy. She VOs that the club was "just like that bar in Cheers where everyone knows your name, except here they were likely to forget it five minutes later." Um, honey? The bar itself was called Cheers. And shaddup, you're not funny. Then Carrie tries to crack wise about the "crème de la crème of New York" being "whipped into a frenzy." Yeah, whatever, Carrie. Ask Tama Janowitz and Jay McInerney just how much mileage you'll be able to get out of those tired observations of yours. Thankfully, the voice-over ends and the camera settles on Miranda and Skipper at the bar. She's bitching loudly about the preponderance of models at the club and how inadequate she feels. Skipper tries to make fun of the underfed models in order to please her. Miranda calls him "Skippy" dismissively. Skipper tells her that he believes that women who aren't beautiful can still be interesting. Miranda slams him for suggesting that she's "not pretty enough." Skipper tells her she's pretty. Miranda: "So, ipso facto, I'm not interesting?" Skipper tries to reassure her, but she busts on him for putting his hand upon her thigh. Oy. My heart hurts for Skipper.
Carrie walks towards the couple to try to rescue Skipper when she's suddenly accosted by Kurt. He kisses her and admits that he was pissed when she walked out on him following their afternooner, but he's glad now because he realized that she's "finally" seeking the relationship he wants -- sex without commitment. Carrie says she'll call him when she "feels like it." Kurt tells her he'll do the same. He leaves her to go neck with his date. Carrie looks disturbed and unsure, and wonders in voice-over, "I didn't understand. Did all men secretly want their women promiscuous and emotionally detached?" Um, secretly? And stop with the "all men" and "all women" shit, Carrie. Then Carrie ponders, "If I really was having sex like a man, why didn't I feel more in control?" File that one under "things that make you go hmmm," along with your other dated late eighties-early nineties club schtick, girlfriend.
Cue Carrie to wander up to Samantha, who's checking out Mr. Big. She tells Carrie that Mr. Big is the "Donald Trump, but younger and much better looking." And Samantha wants to be the Ivana, or even Marla for a night. Mr. Big spots Carrie and waves. Carrie tells Samantha that she doesn't really know him. Samantha checks herself out in a compact, straps on her courage and struts over to make a pass at Big.
Cut to Capote and Charlotte in eveningwear, leaving a gala. He asks her to come to his apartment to see his "Ross Bleckner." He named it Ross? How does he make it blecken? Charlotte demurs, because Ellen and Sherie told her in print that she'll never catch a husband that way. He pouts, and Carrie VOs that Charlotte didn't want to end the evening "too abruptly." Charlotte decides to check out his Ross, "just for a minute."
At Capote's apartment, we find out the "Ross Bleckner" is a painting that Charlotte appraises aloud at "a hundred grand." I thought Charlotte was supposed to be a classy dame who'd never talk about money so crassly, but whatever. Capote matches her in tackiness by calling her beautiful and trying to devour the side of the face. Charlotte thanks him for a wonderful night and stops him in mid-neck to tell him that she has to get up "really early tomorrow." Capote goes to get a cab for her. Charlotte grins. Carrie VOs that Charlotte "thought she played the entire evening flawlessly."
Street. Capote opens the cab door for Charlotte. He asks her to dinner Saturday. She accepts and gets in the taxi. He thinks for a second, then asks her if she's going to the West Side. She is. He tells her, "Scoot over, will ya." Capote gives the cab driver the address of another stop. Charlotte: "You're going to Chaos?" Capote admits, "I understand where you're coming from. And I totally respect that. But I REALLY need to have sex tonight." Charlotte gapes and rolls her eyes incredulously. At this moment I completely fell in love and empathy with Charlotte despite the more annoying aspects of her character.
At Chaos, Mr. Big is sitting in a conversation area, puffing on a stogie and crowing, "I've been smoking cigars for years. Back when they were terminally uncool." Have I mentioned yet how smarmy Big is? Were we supposed to like him initially? Because all I'm seeing in a pretentious braggart. Anyway, Samantha sits on the arm of his chair and asks him for a light for her "Honduran." Mr. Big, natch, drops the name of some (most likely ridiculously expensive) cigar brand and informs her that this status-symbol brand is the "only cigar [he] smokes." Samantha attempts to puff provocatively. She tells him that she does PR for the club, and has the key to the private room downstairs, if he'd like an -- ahem -- tour. He declines. Samantha petulantly takes a drag off her cigar, which unfortunately will have to remain just a cigar.
Outside the club. We see the doorman let Capote scurry in the door like the cockroach he is. Miranda and Skipper leave. Carrie VOs that he's "smitten." Miranda tries to blow him off, because/although he's "a really sweet guy." He grabs her and kisses her. She slams him against a building and kisses him back. Carrie VOs that Miranda thought he was too nice, but "she was willing to overlook [this] one flaw."
Cut to Capote's apartment. Carrie VOs that he found "his fix for the night." He stumbles into the foyer with a drunken, cackling Samantha. She asks to see his Ross Bleckner. He tells her, "Later," and slobbers all over her face. Then he stops to inform her that she can't stay the night, because he has to get up early. She hesitates for a beat (to let us know that Samantha does possess a bit of a yearning for an emotional connection along with wild animal sex, I guess) then tells him she has to get up early too. Capote goes down on her, and Samantha smiles with pleasure.
Street outside the club. Carrie is calling unsuccessfully for a taxi. She considers doing "the unspeakable -- walk home." But a limo pulls up. It's Mr. Big. He opens the window and smarms, "Well, get in, for chrissakes." Carrie beams at him. She tells him where her stop is. He pompously makes sure his driver "got that." Mr. Big asks Carrie what she does for a living. She flirts, "I'm sort of a sexual anthropologist." Mr. Big responds crassly, "Like a hooker?" Then he grins as if he said something exceptionally witty, like it just might not be true that this girl who wears lingerie on the sidewalk and carries enough condoms in her purse to stock seventeen convenience store bathroom dispensers is a streetwalker. Carrie explains that she writes a column called "Sex and the City." She reveals her current research topic, "women who have sex like men." Mr. Big is confused until Carrie adds, "You know -- without feelings." Mr. Big smarms knowingly, "But you're not like that." Carrie: "Aren't you?" Mr. Big declares. "Not a drop. Not even half a drop." Whatever that means. Carrie wonders what's wrong with him. Mr. Big smarms patronizingly, "I get it. You've never been in love." The film goes slo-mo as a sympathetic sax wails in the background, and Carrie bites her lip in close-up and falls for Mr. Big's gambit hook, line and sinker. Or as Carrie might write, "hooker, line and sinker." Carrie VOs that she felt the wind knocked out of her.
The limo pulls up in front of Carrie's building. She gets out and thanks him for the ride. Mr. Big smarms, "Anytime." Carrie thinks for a moment, then turns and knocks on the limo window before the car drives away. Mr. Big rolls the window down and appears again. She asks Mr. Big if he's ever been in love. He smarms, "Abso-fucking-lutely." Cut to Carrie whipping her head around toward the camera as the limo pulls away in the background of a canted angle shot. I guess the wind was knocked out of her again. Much like the crap needs to be knocked out of Mr. Big.