Becoming Miranda Hobbes

I’ve always been the Miranda of the friend group. No friend has actually confirmed that, but as much as I’ve dated my share of Mr. Big’s and the St. Marks Place boys, still never considered myself to be a Carrie, because I don’t put my problems out on the table for all to dissect and judge upon. Imagine having a Carrie man-problem waiting for you at brunch every weekend. Definitely not a Charlotte, although of the four, she is my favorite if not only for her gallerist Prada loafers worn in Season 1 (the one where she pretended to be a lesbian in order to escape Carrie’s whining about Mr. Big but also she went dancing a lot and it was fun). Always strived to be like Charlotte who came with the unexpected plot twists of one liners such as “my hair hurts” to the “do you think my hair is too shiny today?” commentary. I think everyone wants to have a little bit of Charlotte charm within themselves. There are parts of Samantha in me, if you take out the collection of sexual innuendos every five minutes, I am a loyalist and defender of the people I love. Then there is Miranda. She works diligently hard, stands up for herself, exercises discernment when it comes to relationships and is fiercely protective of her friend’s well-being. Miranda taught women to stand on their own feet and take up space at the table where a man is expected to be seated.