THIS IS TOR

I maintain that a little bit of navel-gazing now and then, the occassional bout of introspection, is healthy, even necessary, in a well-adjusted person. As a wise man once said, there's nothing wrong with being self-absorbed if you are interesting enough to justify it.

So it comes to pass that at some point in the lifetimes of every girl who is sufficiently self-aware, this question must be asked: which character am I in Sex and the City?

The other day five such individuals were making merry in a Holborn pub after a hard day's work. That entailed serious discussions on topics ranging from the most interesting place we've ever had sex in, to the nature of our desire to be like, or to live the lives of, television characters.

The answer to the first was a draw between 'under a weeping willow in a Montreal garden' and 'the backseat of a car on the Brighton sea front'. The answer to the other was slightly tricker.

Nick pointed out that for the boys, it was in fact not one question but two. Which girl would you like to be with, versus which girl you would eventually end up with. Unsurprisingly, they plumped for a night with Samantha but a lifetime with Carrie.

However, the girls as one said, 'Miranda'. Generally considered by men to be the least conventionally attractive of the group, yet the most intelligent and career-oriented, we identified with her the most.

But something struck me and I turned to nick-- girls have two levels also. Everyone wants to be Carrie but we can't say that that's who we are in case guys take one look at us and go, 'huh'. We all want to be pretty and fun, carefree and creative, effortlessly stylish and intelligent and strong.

But the bunch of us here, we've sold out. We don't dare say we're pretty and fun. We may say we're reasonably attractive (as indeed that's what I think of myself), and good conversationalists, but pretty and fun? No. We set store by our intellect, our ambition, our independence, our mannish qualities. Our confidence does not derive from our looks. We do not practise the art of the smile and glance, play the coquette, ask for lights for our cigarettes. We are to be men's colleagues, first, and their love interests second. They must know us for what we do, then, who we are. 'Carefree and creative' are not words to describe the image of the City lawyer we will all be. We're afraid to be Carrie. We might've been, once, or could be, in the future, but that is not who we are.

So he shakes his head, "ah! the fatalism of the young!" Why trap yourself in a self-fulfilling prophecy? I could hardly bear to tell him that this is all we know.