Experiencing Single Stigma, Samantha Jones Style

When you're the only single friend you have to embrace your inner Samantha Jones.
















(Google Images)


Last week, Sex and the City was resurrected from the dead. Unfortunately, the show's revival left behind Samantha the proud singleton. Despite the iconic plot and characters, we can't forget its outdated scenes (like Carrie’s biphobia, “I'm not even sure if bisexuality exists, I think it’s just a layover on the way to Gaytown").


Aside from the occasional insensitivity, one episode lives in my mind rent-free; Carrie slut-shaming Samantha in front of their other friends. Samantha, the fucking fabulous singleton, is wrongly judged by sloppy ass affair having Carrie.


I think we’ve all had a friend like Carrie who gets selective amnesia about their party life.

I know I have. My best friend and I used to be equally wild. We’d go out to clubs with just enough cash to get us one drink and cab fare. Guys would buy us drinks and she’d disappear with one.


Now, we’re twenty-two and it seems like overnight everyone settled down with a profile picture partner. My friend lives with her boyfriend now. So obviously she doesn’t party anymore. Cheeseboards and wine replace tequila and regret. Our girl's trips are snubbed by hiking with his family.


Don't' get me wrong, he’s not a bad guy. But he hasn’t really made an effort with any of her friends.


So now I’m the single friend that the others live vicariously through.

I come to lunch with stories of awkward hookups and disaster dates. Every time we meet, I’m texting someone new. Sometimes I feel like the court jester offering tales of guys typing on Snapchat then stop so their name pops up.


It’s not like I get lectures from any of my friends, but there are subtle attacks against my single singleton lifestyle. They ask to flick through my Tinder, mix up the names of my dates, or assume I'm going out just to hook up.


Nothing feels quite as humbling as admitting, "Yeah, that guy Mike I kissed a while back is off on holidays with another girl."


*Not joking, I had a curse for over a year where every guy I kissed got a girlfriend immediately after. Love that for me.


Apart from this, I feel like we can’t have an open conversation about sex


I’ve asked my old friend only one question about her sex life, "Do you cum?" (her answer is yes if you are wondering). Other than that, things just get awkward. It’s like imagining your parents going at it.


So now there’s a strange dynamic where I want to confide in her but she has no embarrassing stories to share.


Basically I pour my heart out and just feel like a hot mess. Why can’t I be more like Samantha?

Samantha was fabulous in the 90s as a woman in her forties. She battled stigma singlism and fucked like a man. Amy Schumer tried to do the same in the movie Trainwreck as a woman in her thirties but ended up happily ever after. Same with Bridget Jones.


Currently, I’m in my early twenties. Why do I feel like your tragic co-worker getting way too excited for her niece’s bachelorette party?


We’ve made such progress in getting rid of the slut-shaming ideology but there’s a hangover of it. So, should I blame my internalized shame or my friends for rolling their eyes?


I can't help but wonder, in a world full of Carrie's we all need to be a bit more like Samantha. In the words of the blonde bombshell herself, “I love you, but I love me more.”




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