Carrie Bradshaw. Do we ever really know how old she is? Why does she leave Aidan for Mr. Big? And why does she pose such deep questions over brunch with her girlfriends?
If I could live the Carrie Bradshaw persona for the rest of my life, I would be surrounded by $40,000 worth of shoes and an appalling amount debt. But hey! Everyone says they’re totally a Carrie, so it can’t be that bad—right?
I started off planning my day as Carrie would, and the list went a little like this—
- Wake up with no alarm whatsoever. Us writers need our beauty sleep! Deadlines, who?
- Grab coffee and brunch with the girls. Get the low down on who had sex with who.
- Ponder life, proposing deep questions.
- Actually, write. Only if it’s late and I don’t have a date of course.
- (If date) Clubbing and an absurd amount of Cosmopolitans.
- Sex or sleep. (Depending on the night)
Sounds exhausting. I was also very unsure of what groceries I should be buying to get the Bradshaw bod, but Carrie once said she sometimes bought Vogue instead of dinner because it was more filling. I rolled my eyes and got Chinese takeout.
Carrie also (oddly enough) lives off coffee and pastries, yet still keeps that amazing body. How? I guess I’ll have to drink an insane amount of coffee and indulge in croissants and blueberry muffins to find out! And the insane amount of cigarettes she smokes? I’ll pass. I’ll pretend I’m living the Carrie who dated Aidan then gave up smoking for him—sounds more appetizing. (She also spends about $369 on cigarettes in one month)
Bradshaw writes for The New York Star. A sex column everyone just seems to enjoy and also freelance writes for Vogue. I’m minoring in Fashion Journalism, so it’s almost like I’m getting a degree in Carrie Bradshaw. I win! Vogue even says Savannah, Georgia is the new Brooklyn. Look at me living in an upcoming new, New York. Beat that Bradshaw.
On to my favorite part of the diet, Carrie’s outfits. I do give her a round of applause for pulling off the most ridiculous outfits and really taking chances in her wardrobe. Given I don’t have as many shoes as she, I did try and mimic some iconic outfits seen through the six seasons of the show. I had a blast, and also found a skirt deep in my closet similar to hers.
Oh, and her signature ‘Carrie’ necklace? I’ve always wanted my own, but I guess we’ll fast forward to when she supposedly lost hers in Paris and her ex-lover, Aleksandr Petrovsky, gave her a more elegant one. I have a necklace from an ex-boo, too.
As for her beauty routine, she keeps it very simple. You never see her with extravagant makeup, and her only change throughout the series is her hair. From lion’s mane to slick back straight; She even fights with Big about leaving a hairdryer at his place for her new do, it’s that serious.
So as I gallivant around the *new* Brooklyn, I hang with my girlfriends talking boys and wishing I had a gay best friend like Stanford.
I ended my night with leftover Chinese takeout, as Carrie does not cook, and had wine with my roommates. Time for the pondering deep life questions. Lines like, “I wonder if I’ll ever know what love truly is? I hope I so,” and “How do we know if we’re making a mistake by being with someone, or just taking a chance?” were tossed around. I was so deep in a Carrie mood, I almost ran to my computer and started writing for the nonexistent New York Star to submit my column before my nonexistent deadline. I needed to sleep.
After being Carrie for a few days I’m left with a headache from thinking too hard, and a feeling of overwhelming loneliness now that I don’t have an Aidan. (I’ll even settle for a Big!)
Why couldn’t you be more like a Miranda, Carrie? I already have the name down, now all I need is a degree in law—easy enough.
If you liked this post, check out the one time I tried living like Gigi Hadid.