[Ed. note: this column was originally published on August 12th, 1996.]

The neighbors had sex last week. You know how it sounds, like cats being thrown into the sky. “Temptation hangs in the summer air,” The New York Times recently reported. Welcome to August.

I met my colleague Candace Bushnell by the Chanel accessories counter in Bergdorf Goodman at high noon the other day. Her Sex and the City columns have just been published in book form by Atlantic Monthly Press. Shopping is, after all, vertical sex.  read more »

[Ed. note: this article was originally published in the December 23-30, 1996 edition of The New York Observer.]

The sculptor Dane Peen returned to his SoHo loft at noon. He stumbled into the kitchen where Sonya, the Brazilian nanny, was cooking his 2-year-old son, Sting, a hard-boiled egg.

“Oh, Mister Peen,” Sonya said, as Dane sat down at the kitchen table and put his head in his hands. “Everybody been looking for you. Mrs. Peen go to find you.”

“Where Mrs. Peen?” Dane asked.  read more »

[Ed. note: this article was originally published on December 2, 1996.]

Tyler Kydd enters the Ziegfeld movie theater three minutes before his new film, Gagged, begins. The lights are still on, but everybody is seated, and, as usual, the audience turns to stare at him as he follows his manager and the movie studio publicist down the aisle to his seats. Tyler sits on the aisle, next to the publicist, whom he knows he will not remember if he meets her in a different context. She puts her elbow on the armrest and leans toward him, turning her head in profile, as if to shield him from the audience.

“People magazine is here,” she says.

“Mmmm,” he says. “What about the critic from The New Yorker?” He says this knowing that movie critics do not usually attend premiers, knowing that the movie critic from The New Yorker has already seen the film two weeks or even a month earlier.  read more »

[Ed. note: this article was originally published on November 25th, 1996]

Tyler Kidd is in town and James Dieke is afraid. And excited.  read more »

There was an afternoon in September when Carrie was going someplace or another, and there was too much traffic and she got out of the cab and walked down the middle of Madison Avenue in an expensive pantsuit. Let’s face it, she thought: You own this town.

“Listen, sweetie,” Mr. Big had said, several weeks earlier, “people don’t like you as much as you’d probably like to think they do.”

“Yeah? So what?” She got a beer out of the refrigerator.

“They think you have an agenda. But they don’t know what it is.”

“Is that supposed to be my problem?”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Who are these ‘people,’ anyway?”

“I’m just trying to give you some advice,” he said. “I’m just trying to help you. You’re too aggressive.”

Carrie felt herself slipping into that bad place again in her head. For the umpteenth time in months.  read more »

For the past few weeks, Winnie has been spending a lot of time reminding herself of everything she’s achieved. Something is wrong.  read more »

“I’m Janey Wilcox, the model, and I’m spending the weekend with Zack Manners, the English billionaire record producer. So fuck you. All of you.”  read more »