I’d wait until the coast was clear. My parents and siblings sound asleep when, finally, I could press play on my (fantasy) world. Sex and the City. One so far removed from my own sleepy, sheltered and – crucially - virginal, teenage life, to the point of obscurity. I would take mental notes along the way, of what was to be waiting for me when I finally reached the gates of womanhood. A rolodex of flirty and thriving romances. Break-ups. Make-ups. Jobs you did not actively hate. Seriously enviable clothes.
It all seemed so beautifully chaotic. And sure, hindsight is a powerful thing. Recycling the late 1990s show with a 2021 lens - which I did recently, all 94 episodes in less than a month, in advance of its second coming on the small screen – will magnify problematic storylines and pervasive materialism here, there, and everywhere. Others who have done the same have given countless column inches to 'why Carrie doing X, Y, Z would never happen in real life' (to which I’d wager, isn’t the pure escapism part of its enduring appeal?) Despite this, though, you cannot deny the central glue that obviates most of the pitfalls - an omnipresent love shared between these female friends. With consistent declarations that may not be as grandiose as an engagement, say, but are still inherently romantic. As passionate and nourishing as the love affairs, if not even more so.
Strange really. Love is naturally undefinable. Almost impossible to fully express with any absoluteness. Yet we still put relationships which are sexual on a pedestal, as though this is when feeling reaches its peak, or is most transformative. It's a hierarchy that's really misaligned when you consider actual lived experience, surely? Personally, the greatest loves of my life have been platonic.
Falling into friendship love follows its own set of rules. Guided by intuition and curiosity, rather than an ideal inherited from a Nancy Meyers movie (guilty). I don’t remember our first exchange of 'I Love You' with one of my closest friends, Alex, whom I met at university. But I do remember that feeling unfurling during the early days of our courtship; knowing the world felt infinitely grander, more fun, funnier, in her presence (still does). Like we had invented time together.
Even in the dull moments. You know when you just feel at ease knowing somebody is nearby? Even if in total silence? Alone but together. It’s like getting into a warm bath, a safe and comfortable stillness where you can just be yourself. Naked. Free of judgement. And, when the talking does occur, there is nothing that feels too much. No joke too dark. No dream too big. No question off limits.
There is great strength in the dark moments too. In fact, especially those. Where one feels the sense of being lost and found all at once. As Alain de Botton writes in his novel, Essays in Love, 'Do you love me enough that I may be weak with you? Everyone loves strength, but do you love me for my weakness? That is the real test. Do you love me stripped of everything that might be lost, for only the things I will have forever?' I’ve strived for this level of vulnerability with men; attempted not to hide away the part of me weighed down by sadness or anxiety. But, even after all this time, it never has quite the same texture as the patience and radical tenderness received from dear friends. Those low ebbs – and, to be sure, there have been many of those this year – when they meet you in the mess. Until piece by piece, you’ve removed the rubble together and are back to factory settings.
It reminds me of a segment from one of my favourite love songs, 'I’ll be Your Mirror' by The Velvet Underground, where Nico sings:
When you think the night has seen your mind
That inside you're twisted and unkind
Let me stand to show that you are blind
Please put down your hands
'Cause I see you
I find it hard to believe you don't know
The beauty you are
But if you don't, let me be your eyes
A hand to your darkness, so you won't be afraid
Of course, this is not to say it's impossible for you to experience this with lovers. Rather, we should not downgrade the intimacy, sparks of attraction, and enveloping love that can constitute relationships sans sex. Running a bath for the other; sharing secrets over wine or WhatsApp; brushing each other’s hair in bed after a bad break-up, or a bad day, with the mutual understanding that words can wait until tomorrow.
Just maybe, then, we need to expand our concept of romance. To embrace deep and lasting connections beyond the traditional ‘happily ever after…’ model. Celebrate those people who render our imperfect lives still full of adventure and future glory simply by virtue of being part of it. Rid ourselves of the diagnosis that those who check the single box are ‘unlucky.’ I cast my mind to my girlfriends, old and new, and couldn’t help but wonder…if that isn’t a lucky strike, I don’t know what is.
