Sarah Jessica Parker wants you to know it’ll take more than being named the unsexiest woman alive by Maxim, or having the appearance and gait of a domesticated equid, or being married to a paunchy Broadway-lover with a close friendship with Nathan Lane, or having absolutely no discernible talent or charm or fashion sense, or those crows feet she saw in the mirror this morning to keep her down. She’s the Sarah Jessica Parker, and that’s enough to make her happy.
You see, one day she’ll be – horror of horrors – fat. Maxim doesn’t know this will happen, but wait! it’s true. Sticks and stones may break her bones but words will never hurt her, which is her way of saying all of the above may be indisputable, but at least she has money. And she speaks for women. All women. Everywhere.
“I consider myself a working woman with a family, who is blessed enough to have the sort of job others would die for. How many women wouldn’t want to step into the Manolos that are waiting for me in the wardrobe department every morning?”
Women who’d rather have sex with their husbands than worship at the alter of overpriced shoes, for one. Women who don’t care what Manolos are. Women who prefer to wear Chuck Taylors. Women who are starving to death in impoverished continents where shoes are a rarity for the population at large. Women who subscribe to the communist belief system, and view Manolos as nothing more than the gross excess of our poisonous system of capitalism. Women who died long before Manolos were invented. Women of other species. Women who hate Sarah Jessica Parker.
