Wearing $400 high heels but unable to pay rent, sleeping around New York but yearning for true love, clearly a country girl yet desperately trying to act like a Manhattan socialite. The screenwriter's sharpness lies in not giving her a golden finger. She gets hit by pigeon droppings on her hairstyle, is stood up by her boyfriend in public, and even goes bankrupt from buying shoes, having to borrow money from her ex-boyfriend. These embarrassing moments tear open the 'urban female myth': look, behind the glamour is a whole lot of mortgage anxiety, age panic, and self-doubt.
Revisiting the symbol of 'Mr. Big':
He is not a traditional domineering CEO, but rather Kelly's 'touchstone of humanity.' When he first says, 'I may never get married,' Kelly's iconic scene of chasing after a car barefoot exposes all the vulnerabilities hidden beneath the Chanel coat of every independent urban woman. This character is called 'Big' precisely because he serves as a mirror—reflecting Kelly's vanity (her obsession with his old money background), cowardice (tolerating his push-and-pull), and ultimately her awakening (learning to be alone after leaving him).
The screenwriter's most biting design is:
Making Kelly truly understand herself only after turning 35. The men she has slept with are not trophies but pieces of her self-awareness puzzle. When she runs through the streets in a wedding dress, the audience suddenly realizes—this 'mess' is actually using her body to resist the entire society's discipline: why must a woman settle once she turns thirty? Why is having many partners considered a moral flaw? This rebellion is hidden beneath the glamorous plot, much more sophisticated than simply shouting feminist slogans.
Even more astonishing is the era's filter:
In 1998, allowing the female lead to say 'clitoral orgasm' and 'open relationship' on television was akin to a cultural nuclear explosion. While other shows were still shaping the image of the virtuous wife, Kelly and her friends discussed sexual freedom in backless outfits, essentially creating dreams for suppressed urban women—look, a chaotic romantic history does not prevent you from ultimately finding happiness, as long as you remain true to yourself.
So this show can be considered legendary, not because it creates dreams, but because it turns dreams into a prism: each viewer can see their own desires and struggles within it. When we laugh at Kelly's 'drama,' aren't we also concealing those Manolo Blahniks we can't afford in our own closets? This is the power of a classic—using the absurdity of fictional characters to reflect the truth of real life.