Sexed up or sexed out?


If you havent seen Sex And The City on the big screen, follow Dr. Styles prescription. Grab one girlfriend, go straight to the movies, and read me in the morning. Diehards who hit the theatres in droves this weekread on.

My week could be summarized in three simple steps, shop, emulate Carrie Bradshaw, repeat. How long had it been since I went to a real costume party? On my social calendar was a girls night out kicking off at a SATC cocktail party hosted by the pinky, chic Fornash in Georgetown with a crowd of Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda wannabes and culminating in a screening of the much awaited movie. It took one famed discount house, an Alexandria trunk show, and an exhausting trip to a certain trendy mall store with bumping bass and techno that made my Kate Spade stroller vibrate.

My real life Mirandaesque attorney and mommy girlfriend and I hit Chuck E. Cheese for her daughters 5th birthday party, exited in Saturdays blinding rain storm, and headed home to rest up and dress up.

The overwhelming humidity was a sign from the hair heavens. While my long locks respond like a trained seal to my trusty flat iron, I would step back in time, way back, to high school.  Channeling the one time mistake perm immortalized in my senior portrait against a teal green, cashmere, cowl neck sweater, I spritzed the Redken curl force 17 onto my hair with purpose and marveled at the transformation to total wild and wavy Carrie hair. A toned down version could actually be perfect after a long day at the pool. Something wasnt Carrie enough. I moved the part over to an uncomfortable angle. Perfect.

With one last survey of my three outfit options I went with the upscale Carrie at lunch look, forgoing street wise and party Carrie. My Cynthia by Cynthia Steefe black dress with lattice cut outs was stylish and also comfortable enough to sit in a stadium theatre seat. Accessorizing my look would be almost as fun as the party itself. First, I added a soft leather belt. Next jewelry. My gold chain with dipped leaf pendant purchased at a shopping event in DC from a NYC designing mom under the label Chameleon, my mother and grandmothers gold bangles, and a gold mesh clutch circa the 1980s felt right.  

My friend arrived and we did a quick check of her Miranda outfit. Her bag from an Italian vacation was sooo Miranda. But were her earrings too matchy matchy with her broach? Yes. A quick change to simple gold hoops. Her confidence and law degree gave her a great Miranda backbone.

As I slipped on my secret weapon, Gigi Favela BEA black patent crock platform sandals, I could hear Carrie whisper hello, lover. Check out this emerging Alexandria designer, Monica Favela George, sexy heels and sandles discounted at TREAT on Royal Street or her latest collection at The heels were high. But so were the stakes, a contest for the best Carrie. The showing time was 10:15. Could I stand it?

Joining other sexed up ladies, we sipped cosmos and champagne out of pink glasses. We shopped. We posed for a quick group photo. I couldnt resist sharing my Carrie Bradshaw fantasy turned reality writing this column. Smile for the Alexandria Times, ladies. We rolled out in mass to the theatre, took our seats with other decked out fans, and breathed a collective sigh of relief to slip off our heels.

We cried with a once again jilted Carrie, we cheered for Charlottes baby bliss and practiced speech to Big, rooted for Miranda to forgive, and gasped at the racy Samantha, all the while envying her declaration of her all important relationship with herself. We embraced Louise, rented bags and all. Truth be told, it was exhausting. It was fabulous to reunite with the girls, but summer Sundays left us begging for more. I loved every minute, but after 148 of them I just needed to slip into flip flops and go to bed.

While I didnt win the party contest, there were so many killer Carries, as I returned to Alexandrias city limits I reflected on my Charlotte and Carrie split personality. I could have been the perfect Charlotte wearing my day to day wardrobe. My daughter is even named Lilly. I was surprised how many Carries stepped out, especially in a town full of Mirandas. But as the girls night out ended, I went home to my Charlotte like family, minus the penthouse and bank balance, to wrestle in my mind with my choices, not unlike Miranda, and continue to work on my long-term relationship with myself (rated PG of course), as per Samanthas wise declaration. And as for Carrie, Ill forever envy her new, dream closet, relate to her vulnerability, and strive for success as a writer and stylish woman.

But by the time I crept into my bedroom, I realized I wasnt just tired and my feet sore. The shivers set in and the thermometer read 103 degrees. I was sick. I climbed into bed, took two Tylenol, and waited for the fever to break. I am Susanne Seidman, and I am sexed out in the city.

Susanne Seidman is feeling much better and can be reached at