INTERIOR—"VOGUE" OFFICES—DAY—SUMMER
Carrie is with Enid (60), her stunning, icy "Vogue"
editor.
ENID: We're putting together our annual "Age Issue"—and we'd like
you to do 40.
CARRIE: Great. Who am I interviewing?
ENID: No. You. You are 40. I want you to be featured in the magazine as
the 40-year-old—and here's the brilliant
twist—bride.
INTERIOR—THE REAL VOGUE FASHION DEPARTMENT, TIMES
SQUARE—7:30 A.M., LATE SEPTEMBER
Somewhere beneath an ethereal mass of tulle and lace in the Vogue
closet, Devon Schuster, junior Vogue-ette and, unluckily for her,
the same minuscule size 0 as a certain fictional Vogue-ette,
Carrie Bradshaw, is being zipped into a strapless Vera Wang wedding
gown. Devon has bravely agreed to model a delicious haul of
wedding-inspired couture dresses, just picked in Paris by Anna Wintour,
the real editor of the real Vogue, for the makers of Sex and
the City: The Movie (which henceforth shall be referred to as
SATC: TM, or I shall never get to the end of this story), soon to
be worn by Sarah Jessica Parker (henceforth SJP) for her star turn as
Carrie Bradshaw, being photographed for a fictional Age Issue of
Vogue in the chick flick of the summer. Let me
explain.
When Michael Patrick King (MPK), writer-producer of the TV show
SATC, wrote SATC: TM (which he is also directing), one
thing he knew was that the desperate, SATC-starved audience of
millions of women needed a wedding. Finally. There must be a wedding for
Carrie. But how? SATC was a clever, groundbreaking satire of the
New York girl and her sex life, and there wouldn't be much clever about
a meringue-clad Carrie walking the aisle at the end of the movie. But
still, he owed them a wedding. Or perhaps, thought Michael Patrick King,
a wedding dress. "I was like, They want a wedding. So give them nine
wedding dresses! Right at the beginning! Why not?" He dreamed up the
Vogue shoot of Carrie in bridal. Being something of a fashion
fiend, and depressed by "fake" television fashion like Ugly Betty
and Project Runway, King wanted the real thing. He called
Vogue.
INTERIOR—EDITOR IN CHIEF'S OFFICE—8:00 A.M., SAME
DAY
Michael Patrick King, plus assistant; producer John Melfi, plus
assistant; Wardrobe, plus assistant; Vogue Editor at Large
André Leon Talley, plus assistant; Senior Accessories Editor Filipa
Fino, plus assistant; stylist Lawren Howell, plus assistant; and myself
(minus assistant) await the arrival of Devon. Our Editor in Chief, just
back from Paris, discusses the SATC: TM film shoot, which has
been going for a month already with King. "I think there's been a little
too much exposure," he says, referring to the crazed media coverage
every time the girls debut a new outfit, "but the weather's been
lovely," he sighs gratefully, thinking of the Indian summer New York has
been blessed with this past month.
Devon finally appears, surrounded by Vogue fashion editors,
blushing vigorously in the Vera Wang dress. A few minutes later she
changes into a corseted Oscar de la Renta gown with cream lacework. Next
she tries a sublime marshmallow-pink silk Lacroix couture dress, which
is swept into bubbles by black velvet bows. This is followed by a parade
including a Dior couture "shepherdess" look with a Bo Peep hat; a tiered
net Lanvin minidress with golf ball-size pearls; a strapless Carolina
Herrera; and a feather-trimmed Chanel couture, deemed "too mother of the
bride" by the SATC: TM style committee. Hanging at the front of
the rack is a sorbet-pink satin corseted, crinolined ball gown. It's
fantastical, dramatic, vast. "That's the dress for the wedding," says
MPK. "Vivienne Westwood. Designed to cause Carrie the most
embarrassment." (Believe me, I am not giving anything away by mentioning
a wedding here. "Everyone knows there's a big wedding moment," says
King. "But no one knows what happens.")
EXTERIOR—PARK AVENUE BETWEEN 80TH/81ST STREETS—11:00 A.M.
THE SAME DAY
I am dispatched to the latest SATC: TM location. The scene
resembles a rock concert rather than another day's shooting in
Manhattan. There is security. Crew (identifiable by black baseball caps
emblazoned with the words SEX WORKER in pink). Police. Publicists.
School-uniformed tween girls squishing themselves onto the island in the
middle of Park to watch the action. They are squished further by
paparazzi, videorazzi, tourists. Occasionally someone is edged off the
island, dangerously close to the path of a passing taxi.
"There go the flowers!" yells a crew member as a huge tray of peonies,
gardenias, and garden roses is ferried by florist Tess Casey into the
foyer of a white-glove apartment building. There are four possible
bridal bouquets, she says, and thirteen "backup" bouquets "in case they
want something more contrived." There is palpable excitement in the
crowd when they spot the flowers: We are here to film the scene where
Carrie departs for her wedding, attended by her three now 40-plus
bridesmaids.
King is perched around the corner, squinting at several monitors from
his high, black director's chair. He's wearing a nondescript sweatshirt
and jeans, but he's buzzing, his pixieish face and blue eyes sparkling
with excitement. Glancing at the crowd of gawkers, he says, "It's nice
to know that when you are filming a scene there are 300 people on the
street cheering you on, but the flip side is you can't get to the
actors, because there are 300 people in the way."
Meanwhile, round the corner, the scene's extras and bridesmaids—Kim
Cattrall as Samantha, Kristin Davis as Charlotte, and Cynthia Nixon as
Miranda—arrive from their trailers, all dressed in Zac Posen gowns.
They are shepherded by costume queen Patricia Field, who is wearing
flashing red devil horns on her head; five hair and five makeup people;
seven from Wardrobe; and six from Costume. As the crowd yells the
actresses' names, Mario Cantone, who plays Anthony Marentino, grabs a
loudspeaker and squeals at them, "Please be aware of the cars! Don't you
people have a life? You all look so pretty, but the cameras are on
us!"
Suddenly SJP, as Carrie, emerges from the building dressed in the
Vivienne Westwood. Floating toward the limo waiting on Park, fluffed by
her friends, she resembles a delicious, airborne Pavlova. The girls try
to force a giggly Carrie into the limo as Cantone works his line: "It's
like pushing a cream puff through a keyhole!" As that drama plays out
and is filmed over and over again from different angles, another one
begins on the corner of Park and Eighty-first: Two female photographers
start pushing and shoving. One crew member shrieks, "Paparazzi
catfight!"
INTERIOR—STEINER STUDIOS, BROOKLYN—10:00 A.M., EARLY
OCTOBER
Stage 2 inside Steiner Studios resembles a giant aircraft hangar. When I
arrive the crew is dashing hither and thither, putting finishing touches
to the set for the Carrie "Vogue" shoot. In the center a boudoir
has been created, modeled on a Dorothy Draper-esque drawing-room
fantasy. It has powder-pink walls, silver potted palms, and huge fake
French windows looking onto a painted fake view, which looks very like
the gardens at Versailles. A giant peacock in a cage is suspended from a
wire in the ceiling. All around is the fashion: the rack of wedding
dresses; two trestle tables laden with 81 pairs of shoes in Sarah
Jessica's size—37. There are pink pumps by Roger Vivier with
sparkling rhinestone buckles, feather-trimmed satin stilettos by Manolo
Blahnik, sky-high showgirl shoes decorated with pearls by Louboutin, and
divine sandals with bows by Bruno Frisoni. The purse table boasts 73
ornate clutch bags in every color and shade imaginable. There are
seventeen trays of diamonds and pearls on the jewelry table. There is
even a table piled with headpieces, hair bows, and ribbons.
André Leon Talley, who has been requisitioned to appear in the
movie, is already on set. (Just to confuse things, André, like all
the other Vogue-ettes here today, is playing himself as well as
styling the film sequence for real.) As ever, André is impeccable:
charcoal-gray Ralph Lauren Purple Label suit; Charvet shirt and tie;
diamond-and-gold Cartier Balon watch; an immaculately folded silk pocket
square; midnight-blue alligator brogues by Manolo. He is installed in a
director's chair bearing his name and has a Louis Vuitton vanity case
monogrammed with the initials A.L.T. on his knee, which he pats
anxiously every now and again. Stylist Lawren Howell, who is wearing a
tulip-shaped Thakoon dress with a belted cardigan, bare legs, and
Balenciaga's open spectator heels, is directed to sit next to
André. Photographer Patrick Demarchelier appears, along with Pascal
Dangin, his retoucher, makeup artist Gucci Westman, and hair legend
Serge Normant.
MPK, chirpier than ever, appears from behind a bank of monitors in a far
corner. "I know!" he exclaims when he sees me. "Let's have you in the
scene! Reporting the Vogue story!" Five minutes later I find
myself in a trailer. My face is made up in seconds, and my hair is
rapidly put in hot rollers. (Thank goodness I wore a pretty Oscar de la
Renta day dress today.)
When I return to the set, my hair pleasingly waved, SJP, dressed in a
gray tee, skinny cords, and biker boots, appears. "I just wanted to say
hi," she says in her trademark cotton-candy voice. Although she is only
five feet four, her ballerina body and perfect poise make her seem much
taller. With wonderful translucent skin that belies her 42 years, SJP is
glowing, and she is instantly likable. "She is perfect-imperfect," King
says later. "She's not a model, but she's model beautiful—people
can imagine themselves as her." We discuss the "Vogue" shoot
within the movie (of which she is a producer), and she laughs: "It's a
sham of a mockery!"
Somehow, it's one o'clock, and King is ready to start shooting the
Vogue-ettes. We all sit in our chairs on the edge of the set, and
King tells André, Lawren, Gucci, and Serge that while Patrick
Demarchelier is photographing Carrie, they should chat among themselves
as though they were on a real Vogue shoot. I must take notes, as
though I were actually taking notes (which I actually am, so thankfully
there's no acting required of me). Only, SJP will not actually be there:
A body double and a wedding-dress double will take the place of the real
Carrie and the couture dresses.
Patrick starts shooting Carrie's double. "What is 'er name?" he asks, in
his heavily accented English. "It's Carrie. Carrie!" giggles
Michael from the sidelines. "André! Wave your hand! But not in
front of your face."
The takes without SJP last hours. My hair is put in hot rollers three
times. When André asks for lunch, he is told he has to work for
eight hours—till 5:00 p.m.—before he can eat. This is not what
happens on a Vogue shoot, he tells King, pursing and twisting his
lips in a way that says, I have better things to do than not eat
lunch.
Between takes I report around the set. Kim Cattrall, an extremely
youthful 51 and dressed in a very Samantha-esque vintage orange
asymmetric Halston dress, appears to work on a line with Willie Garson
(as Stanford Blatch) and Kristin Davis, perky as ever at 42, who is in a
little Prada skirt, Valentino top, and high white stilettos. "Their
lives have shifted, but it's the same DNA," says King of the characters.
In the story, all the girls have moved on: Samantha is living in L.A.,
Charlotte is settled with her adopted Chinese daughter, and Miranda, who
is not on set today, is married and living in Brooklyn.
"I was quite nervous because it had been four years and I had turned 50.
We did camera tests because all of us have aged," says Kim Cattrall of
reheating sexy Samantha. "I worried about being sexy enough again. But
up front I said to Michael, 'How can we do this? I want to look great
and not feel self-conscious,' and he always said, 'We are going to take
care of you.' "
Cattrall's nerves faded once she was back on set. She got between the
sheets again, explaining, "The best thing you need to look good naked is
good lighting." She also believes that the trials she had been through
in her personal life since the show ended—a bitter divorce, a sick
parent—enabled her to embrace the challenge. Now happily in a
relationship, she says, "I am not getting married again. I don't think I
am very good at it. That's something Samantha and I have in
common."
Kristin Davis says, "It's really hard to tell our fake selves apart from
our real selves sometimes. We've been playing these parts for ten years,
and they become second nature." In real life, Kristin has spent the last
few years building a house in Los Angeles and traveling with Oxfam in
Africa, raising awareness for women's issues. In the movie, Charlotte is
"less controlling," says Kristin. "Her house isn't all white anymore.
Her decor includes color now."
Meanwhile, Cynthia Nixon, 41, whose acting career has gone from strength
to strength, later tells me by phone that the Miranda character "has
given me more permission to speak up for myself than I used to." (She
came out as a lesbian in 2004.) Chris Noth, 52, who plays Mr. Big and
returned to his pre-SATC role as Detective Mike Logan on Law
& Order after SATC ended, has recently had his first
child, although when I ask about marriage, he says, with a rather
Big-ish grin, "I haven't gotten around to it yet…." He's adored
playing Big again, who he believes is deeply misunderstood. "I think
there's this perception that he was a playboy, but he was always there.
He was very honest about who he was. She had an affair. He did, too. But
why do they always blame Mr. Big?"
Just then, I notice a small person laden with bras heading toward SJP's
dressing area. The bra lady, as she is known on set, is bowed down with
120 bras pinned onto hangers: black with pink lace; gray stretch; blue
stretch; zebra with yellow rickrack; aqua tulle; flesh; tan; orange
satin. It's as though the entire sex life of Carrie Bradshaw has just
flashed past me.
I follow the bras and find SJP having her hair teased into a messy bun
by Serge Normant. The dressing area is not what I expect—a mirror,
some black drapes for privacy, the wedding dresses and bras hanging on a
rack, and a fake Persian rug thrown on the floor to try to make things
more homey. We discuss the minimalist Marni wedding dress that has been
specially designed for today—a simple cream silk shift. "I wouldn't
wear it for my wedding. In my head this was what my mom wore all her
life. She made them herself," she says, referring to her now-well-known
history as the child of an Ohio family of eight kids who lived frugally
and started work young. (At eight SJP appeared in a TV production of
The Little Match Girl, and from ages thirteen to fifteen she
starred in Annie on Broadway.) When I tell her she seems
surprisingly unstressed, she declares, "Stressed? Oh, I'm stressed.
That's why I wear a bite plate at night. But we spent so many years
being tired on the TV show, this is what we know."
Soon the hair is ready to present to André. He declares it "not
soft enough," and Serge and SJP good-naturedly start over. Eventually
SJP is poured into the strapless, ruffled tulle Vera Wang wedding dress.
There is a glove discussion: "We want to see her putting them on," says
André. An earring discussion: "Not too big," orders André. A
few minutes later, SJP is on set and MPK is behind his monitor,
directing the cameras. I sneak a peek: On-screen, surrounded by huge
bunches of hydrangeas, lying on a velvet chaise longue, the dress draped
romantically, SJP is transformed. She looks like a duchess in a Sargent
portrait.
It's now past five o'clock. Still no hint of lunch. André, Lawren,
Patrick, and I are sent back to the set. While Patrick shoots the real
Carrie, and King shoots Patrick shooting Carrie, Pascal edits the
pictures on his computer screen. André darts in and out, styling
his subject, Lawren drapes the dress over and over again, while I
pretend to take notes. "Tense mouth! Tense mouth!" says SJP, trying to
relax. She smiles and giggles as the cameras roll, repeating the same
lines over and over, each time with a newly convincing joie de vivre.
"SJP is a star, but she is also a worker," says MPK later. "She's that
combination where she is the show pony, and she's also a circus
employee. She'll help you put up the tent." Chris Noth admits, "I get so
crabby on movie sets. She doesn't. I've only seen her get crabby if the
other actor isn't being a trouper."
SJP's energy doesn't falter until after midnight, when all the outfits
have been shot. King says, "When André was screaming, 'This is
fashion!' into the monitor, I felt I had achieved my goal of putting
fashion and Vogue into my movie."
INTERIOR—MORANDI TRATTORIA, WAVERLY PLACE—FEBRUARY
2008
Dressed in a cobalt-blue fur trench from Burberry's fall 2008 collection
that was used in the movie, a giant beanie-style hat from her Bitten
line, huge Tom Ford sunglasses, a Bitten tee, skinny Balenciaga pants,
and a pair of edgy slashed-leather Martin Margiela ankle boots, SJP
arrives in a rush. "Hiii!" she says, kissing me hello. She barely
has time to sit down before Isaac Mizrahi stops by to chat, swiftly
followed by a random diner who comes up to SJP and begins a ten-minute
fashion discussion that takes a distinctly weird turn before SJP
sensitively says, "Well, lovely to meet you!" As he leaves she turns to
me and says, "I thought he was going to murder me!" She lets out her
trademark squeaky, sexy laugh and settles down to a huge plate of
gnocchi.
SJP is so casual and chatty, so devoid of airs and graces, it's easy to
forget that her role as Carrie Bradshaw has turned her into one of the
most famous women in America. As Kim Cattrall says, "When we finished
the TV series it was just a show on HBO. Then it went on TBS, and it was
like wildfire. Now it's one of the biggest DVD sales out there." When
the series was over, it didn't die—it got bigger, partly because a
replacement never materialized. Women watch SATC reruns because
it hasn't stopped speaking to them. "The most important thing about the
show was it spoke for a voice no one had really put out there yet," says
King. The idea that a woman without a man attached could be legitimate
seemed revolutionary and liberating. Cattrall says, "The show picked up
on something that was never looked at, except from a negative point of
view, which is that to be single is to be unwanted, alone, unsexy,
unattractive, underweight, overweight, and here were women getting
together and saying, 'Screw it!' "
The Carrie Bradshaw–SJP phenomenon—because however much SJP
tells you she is not Carrie, and grown women like you and I know she is
not Carrie, it's hard to separate the two—is a powerhouse package.
The package reinvented itself after the TV show ended in 2004. SJP did
everything she could to get away from Carrie, including turning down
endless offers of comedic movies about single girls in Manhattan. She
set up a production company with HBO, took on roles in low-budget movies
like The Family Stone, launched her Bitten clothing line, and
created two perfumes, Lovely and Covet. Added to all this, there is her
husband of eleven years, actor Matthew Broderick, and son, James Wilkie,
age five, thrown into the mix. When I ask her how she does it all, she
says, "I'm tired Monday through Friday. I get maybe five hours' sleep a
night." She also says she grabs two hours' sleep on Saturday mornings
when her son is with a baby-sitter. "And I swear to God, that holds me
for the week." It wouldn't be incorrect to say SJP recast herself as a
character from Candace Bushnell's Lipstick Jungle.
Now, just to turn everything on its head, SJP has reinvented herself
again as Carrie Bradshaw. And what has happened to Carrie, in the years
since we have seen her, is not so unlike what has happened to SJP.
Carrie is much more successful, with three books to her name, and is in
a long-term relationship with Big when we meet her again. Fashion-wise,
Carrie's and SJP's style has improved immeasurably, and in
tandem.
In her early-eighties career, SJP was the actress with ugly-duckling
looks and dodgy outfits. "Aren't we all supposed to be a little bit the
victim of trends?" she asks. "I can look back at pictures of myself with
the great assurance that I will be embarrassed by about 60 percent of
them. This is the nature of fashion—admiring the wrong girl, you
know, looking at the wrong picture, wishing you were somebody else. And
that's the developmentally correct thing."
Carrie Bradshaw's story was inextricably linked to her fashion choices.
"I would wear anything as Carrie Bradshaw if I thought it would be good
for the story," says SJP. "She mixes up the bits and pieces, and the
stuff people object to. And that's Carrie—hits and misses mean
nothing to her." Somehow, the combination of ball gowns and bustiers
worked, because it was the authentic wardrobe of the single New York
girl. "Candace Bushnell [author of the original "Sex and the City"
newspaper column in the New York Observer] always said she had no
furniture; she had nothing in her apartment. No one ever saw that
apartment. She spent every last nickel on clothes and shoes. And what
she didn't buy, she borrowed. And what she didn't borrow, she held on to
with the tag and exchanged. That's who Carrie Bradshaw is, and that's
based on reality."
Still, no one could fail to notice that Carrie's wardrobe got chicer as
the series evolved. In the last two seasons the show's access to fashion
became extremely sophisticated. The short skirts, leopard-print jackets,
bare tummies, and hipster jeans disappeared, to be replaced by edgy
little dresses from emerging brands, jackets and coats from designers
like Marc Jacobs and Stella McCartney, and evening dresses from
couturiers like Valentino and Chanel. Who could forget the beauty and
poignancy of the pale-pink, frayed-chiffon Versace couture ball gown
Carrie wore for the series finale, set in Paris?
Sarah Jessica says that the only connecting thing between her style and
Carrie's is that "we will both try anything. I will try anything for
Carrie, and I will try anything for me." She adds that "in real life I
never dressed the way she dressed, nor would I." However, she does
concede that playing Carrie educated her sartorially. "I grew up in a
house of matching. You know, our hair ribbons matched our dress, and our
pinafore matched our socks. You didn't clash colors. What I learned by
being around Pat Field was there shouldn't be rules in fashion. Things
shouldn't go together. And that's the thing that really changed in my
own world and the way I choose to dress."
After a long fashion education, SJP is now the girl in the
dress, a Hollywood swan—a not inconsiderable feat at her
age—more often than not photographed at parties in impeccable Oscar
de la Renta gowns, the first of which she wore to an event in 2000. "It
was dark, dark, dark navy, and it had a big tulle skirt and this
beautiful belt with it…it was my ideal in my head of what a lady
wears because it looks like the Degas dancer, and to me that was the
epitome of femininity. I don't know what it is about a corset top, tiny
waist, and a big skirt; it just looks good on women." She had found her
fashion formula and has stuck to it.
It's three o'clock, and SJP has to run off to pick James up from school.
Before she leaves she says that after SATC: TM is out, she will
take the summer off to be with her son and start another film in the
fall. Another perfume is in the works, and the clothing line is
expanding. I wish her goodbye and pay the bill. As I wander home past
the brownstones and boutiques, I can't help feeling a little nostalgic
for the New York of the SATC years.
INTERIOR—PLUM'S GREENWICH VILLAGE APARTMENT—SAME
DAY
Plum mooches listlessly around her apartment, empty inside. She is
already missing Carrie Bradshaw. Maybe Michael Patrick King will cheer
her up, she thinks. She calls him in L.A.
PLUM: What about Carrie? Is it really, finally the end of the era we
thought had ended four years ago?
MPK: There is a "The End" to this, but the girls are alive. It's the end
of that era, but I have no idea what it means for the next era. You
never do until the next era starts. What is the end of an era but the
close of one thing and beginning of another?
"Rebel Romance" has been edited for Style.com; the complete story
appears in the June 2008 issue of Vogue.
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