Original subtitles

Last night, my friend Miranda got invited to a dinner party

by a man she hardly knew.

She was the date of Nick Waxler,

a fairly successful sports agent

who once told her she had nice legs.

Okay,

old movie stars you'd have liked to fuck

when they were young.

Alive or dead?

It doesn't matter, I'll start.

Veronica Lake,

the year she made Sullivan's Travels .

Dave?

Huh. I'd have to say Sophia Loren.

Probably 'cause my dad had this thing for her.

-Uh, we won't go there.

Montgomery Clift.

He was gay.

Oh.

Marilyn Monroe,

before the Kennedys got to her. Honey?

-Bing Crosby.

Ah! I stand by my choice.

Sean Connery,

yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

For a first date, Miranda felt like she was hitting it out of the ballpark.

Thanks.

So how long have you known Nick?

We've been riding the same elevator line for years

and then we had lunch a few weeks ago

and then he invited me here to dinner.

Well, we adore him.

He's very smart.

I guess he took our little ultimatum seriously.

Deanne.

What are you talking about?

They told Miranda

that Nick had this thing for models.

Okay, old movie stars

you would have liked to fuck when they were young.

I'll start.

Veronica Lake,

the year she made Sullivan's Travels .

Dave?

I'd have to go with Sophia Loren.

Probably, my dad had a thing for her.

Montgomery Clift.

Marilyn Monroe.

Bing Crosby.

Yvette?

Um, I don't know, Charlie Sheen?

They'd come to dinner, push their food around,

and pout.

Veronica Lake.

Sophia Loren.

Montgomery Clift.

Marilyn Monroe.

Bing Crosby.

Marissa?

She, um...

had to make a phone call.

It got to be a problem.

They decided to take action.

Can't you find a woman

who can carry on a decent conversation?

Yeah, Nick. And eat without purging.

-What are you saying?

You can't bring around any more of these so-called models, Nick.

Uh-uh, it's too depressing.

Okay, okay.

I'll see what I can do.

And then he brought you.

So obviously not a model.

In a good way!

Nick dates models?

Miranda confronted him,

and it didn't take him long to fold.

Well, it's true. It's true, okay?

I'm obsessed.

Obsessed with models.

-Correct. -So what am I?

Your intellectual beard for the evening?

Look, don't be pissed, all right?

You got to admit, you met some nice people.

All right, you had a good time.

You were on a date with a modelizer

and you didn't even know it?

If men like Nick are dating models,

what chance do ordinary women have?

I mean, do you have to be a supermodel to get a date in New York?

Modelizers are a particular breed.

They're a step beyond womanizers

who will sleep with just about anything in a skirt.

Modelizers are obsessed,

not with women, but with models,

who, in most cities, are safely confined to billboards and magazines,

but in Manhattan, actually run wild on the streets,

turning the city into a virtual model country safari,

where men can pet the creatures in their natural habitat.

As if we didn't have enough problems.

They're stupid and lazy

and they should be shot on sight.

I've been out with a lot of guys

and they say I am just as beautiful as a model,

but I work for a living. I mean, I'm like, well,

I'm like a model who's taken the high road.

The advantages given to models

and to beautiful women in general

are so unfair, it makes me want to puke.

Sweetheart, you shouldn't say that, you are so cute.

Cute doesn't cut it in this town.

What's cute compared to supermodel?

There's nothing like raising the subject of models

among four single women

to spice up an otherwise dull Tuesday night.

They have this distant, sexy look.

That's not sexy, it's starvation.

That's starvation in the best restaurants.

Yeah. What I want to know is,

when did all the men get together and decide

that they would only get it up for giraffes with big breasts?

In some cultures, heavy women with mustaches

are considered beautiful.

And you're looking at me while you're saying that?

We should just admit that we live in a culture

that promotes impossible standards of beauty.

Yeah, except men think they're possible.

-Yeah. -I just know no matter how good I feel about myself,

if I see Christy Turlington, I just want to give up.

I just want to tie her down and force feed her lard,

but that's the difference between you and me.

What are you talking about?

Look at you two, you're beautiful.

I hate my thighs.

Oh, come on!

I can't even open a magazine

without thinking, "thighs, thighs, thighs."

Well, I'll take your thighs and raise you a chin.

I'll take your chin and raise you a...

-What? -Oh, come on.

Hey, I happen to love the way I look.

You should, you paid enough for it.

Hey, I resent that.

I do not believe in plastic surgery.

Well, not yet.

I find it fascinating that four,

beautiful, flesh and blood women

could be intimidated by some unreal fantasy.

I mean look. Look at this.

Is this really intimidating to any of you?

I hate my thighs.

-Pass the chicken. -You know, I have that dress.

Suddenly, I was interested.

If models could cause otherwise rational individuals

to crumble in their presence,

exactly how powerful was beauty?

There are two types of guys that fall for beautiful women.

Either they're slimeballs that are just out to get laid,

or they fall in love with you instantly.

It's pathetic.

Why fuck the girl in the skirt,

if you can fuck the girl in the ad for the skirt?

Being beautiful is such a power.

You can get whatever you want.

You can get anything.

I've been offered trips to Aspen,

weekends in Paris,

Christmas in St. Barts.

A motorcycle,

juicer.

It's not like models don't have brains.

They have them.

They just don't need to use them.

Most guys just think you're dumb,

but I'm really very literary.

I read.

I'll sit down and I'll read a whole magazine

from cover to cover.

Some scuba gear.

A Herb Ritts photo.

A Bvlgari necklace. A breast job.

My friends think I'm shallow.

Sometimes I think they're right.

Other times, I think,

"Hey, I'm fucking a model."

Models are a lot looser than you think.

It's way easier to screw a model than a regular girl

'cause that's what they do all the time.

It's how regular people are when they're on vacation.

Barkley, a notorious modelizer,

was one of those SoHo wonders

who maintained a fabulous lifestyle,

despite never having sold a single painting.

So you're saying it's easy to meet them?

No, it's not so easy.

The trick is, you gotta treat them like they're regular girls.

You gotta be able to roll into a place,

walk up to the hottest thing there.

Otherwise, you're finished.

It's kind of like being around dogs.

You gotta show no fear.

Things?

You call them things?

Yeah.

Well, they are things.

They're beautiful things,

and that's what my life's about, you know?

Beauty.

Come here, I want to show you something.

This is my real art,

only I can't really show it to the public.

Well, not yet at least.

Sit down.

That's Vanessa.

That's Tanya,

Elana,

Katrina.

I couldn't believe it.

The man had slept with half the perfume ads

in September's Vogue .

Do they--

do they know about this?

Maybe.

Oh, look at that one.

She does runway now,

but I think she's gonna be huge someday.

I didn't know what to say.

There really wasn't anything to say except...

Do you have a light?

Yeah, sure.

Later that day, I was relieved to discover

that at least one eligible bachelor

got his kicks off the runway.

So I totally dig your friend, Miranda.

You're kidding. That's great!

Yeah, I think she is so sexy and smart,

and did she tell you that we made out?

No.

Yeah, it was totally hot.

Wow. So why don't you call her? You should call her.

-She would love that. -I did, like 100 times.

She totally won't return my phone calls.

I don't know. Did she say anything about me?

No.

I don't know, maybe she's just busy,

or I don't know, am I not cute enough for her?

Of course, you are. Skipper, you're adorable.

Well, I don't know. Find out for me.

I want to see if I still have a chance.

Right now, in front of you?

Go ahead. I can handle it.

Hi, this is Miranda. Please leave me a message.

Oh, it's her machine.

Hey, this is Skipper.

I'm in the street with Carrie.

I just told her how you won't call me back.

So now you have to call me back.

You better call me back!

No, I'm kidding. I'm joking.

Um, but seriously, I hope you call me back,

and, um, did I mention this was Skipper?

I believe there is a curse put on the head

of anybody who tries to fix up their friends.

Where better to find modelizers in their natural habitat

than a fashion show?

Luckily, my friend Stanford Blatch

had a client in the hottest show in town.

"The Bone" is like the human equivalent of the sable coat.

He's so beautiful that I find that sometimes

I have to look away.

Do you see him?

Right over there.

-Where? -Oh, my God, look at him.

It's like he travels with his own personal lighting director.

Derek, a.k.a. "The Bone,"

was the world's biggest underwear model

and Stanford's most important client,

as well as the subject of his single-minded obsession.

Hey, Stanny.

Um, Derek, I would like you to meet a very dear friend,

Carrie Bradshaw.

-Hi. -Hi.

Nice to meet you.

Carrie writes the column "Sex in the City."

Wow, that's great.

-Oh, have you read it? -Uh, no.

You know, the other day, Derek and I were walking past his billboard,

and he told me he'd like to get a piece of it

for his apartment, like maybe his nose.

And I said, "You should get the bulge in your pants,

that way, when woman ask how big you are,

you can say, '14 feet.'"

That would be very funny, wouldn't it?

Yeah. Yeah.

Everybody's talking about you.

You are so great.

You're gonna be a star, have I told you that enough times?

You're a star, you're a star, you're a star.

Well, we better let you get dressed.

I am dressed.

Oh.

We'll, uh, see you after the show.

Bye.

Okay, bye.

Can you believe anyone that beautiful can be that nice?

I keep dreaming that someday he's just gonna turn around and say,

"Stanford, I love you."

Is he gay?

He denies it.

How can anyone that gorgeous be straight?

Sweetie, over here!

Samantha Jones never missed a major fashion show.

She was one of the only people I knew

who thought that proximity to beauty

made her feel more attractive.

Hey, sweetie, so wait, what happened?

You couldn't find seats right on the runway?

Oh, you can see all the flaws from this angle.

Hey, Carrie.

Hey! Hi, Barkley, how are you?

You going to the party afterwards?

Um, I don't know.

Of course we are.

Hi, I'm Samantha.

Barkley.

Martini straight up or with a twist?

Straight up.

Really? He's very cute.

You're not dating him, are you?

Oh, God, no, he's a total modelizer.

Is he, uh, dating any one model in particular?

Actually, he's sleeping with all of them in general.

Only models?

Only models.

Later that night, we all went downtown for a party.

I was beginning to float away on a sea of sweet potato puffs

with smoked salmon and sour cream when...

It was Mr. Big,

major tycoon, major dream boat,

and majorly out of my league.

I thought I saw you on the runway.

Oh, hi.

I started reading your column after we met.

You did?

Yeah, cute.

"Cute."

Well...

Yeah, cute.

What are you writing about this week?

Um, well, I'm working on a story about...

men who date models.

Any thoughts?

Only that they're very lucky.

So what have you discovered about these men

who are dating models?

Well, I'm discovering

that some of them treat it as a competitive sport,

and others I think just need the validation.

And probably others just have a thing

for exceptionally beautiful women.

Exactly.

And there's something wrong with that?

No, there's nothing wrong.

I just think it might become a bit monotonous.

Puff?

Um, no, thanks.

Oh! Excuse me, baby.

So where do you, uh, write these stories?

My cute stories?

Yeah, I mean have you got an office or anything?

No. Well, about half the time I'm at my apartment,

and the other half I'm over at this coffee shop

on 73rd and Madison.

Oh, uh, Carrie, I'd like you to meet Misha.

Oh, hi.

You were great in the show.

Thank you.

Suddenly, I felt like I was wearing patchouli

in a room full of Chanel.

Well, it was nice talking to you.

Oh, see you around sometime...

I hope.

The truth was, I thought I had come to terms with my looks

the year I turned 30,

when I realized that I no longer had the energy

to be completely superficial.

Your friend Barkley,

he's really been coming on to me.

Do you actually think he believes I'm a model?

Well, whatever it is, you don't want to go there.

Why not?

He has this thing for secretly taping his conquests.

-Really? -Mm-hmm.

What a pervert.

As Samantha began to get ready for her close-up,

I felt it was time to call it a night.

I had never felt so invisible in my entire life.

Taxi!

Carrie.

Hey! Hi!

Did, um, did Stanford leave?

No, he's in there giving a neck massage to a Versace model.

Oh.

So where are you going now?

Oh, I'm going home.

Can I come?

You want to come home with me?

Sure, if it's quiet.

I can't take these crowds.

The things you gotta do in the name of research.

Shouldn't you be spending the night

with some girl from the show?

No, I never date models.

I think they're stupid.

I wondered if there wasn't some kind of physics for beauty.

Maybe two models repelled,

Maybe models could only be attracted to ordinary humans.

So, I think it's so cool that you write.

Thanks.

I wish I could write.

I got all these intense thoughts,

but I can't keep them in my head long enough

to get them down on paper.

Well, that's the big trick.

The truth is, I'm totally neurotic.

One minute, I can be walking down the street, totally cool,

and the next minute I'm depressed for no reason.

I'm totally self-conscious.

Like before I say something, I say it in my head first

so it doesn't come out wrong.

Doesn't that seem like a waste of time?

It only takes a second.

And sometimes I get so distracted.

What's distracting you now?

Your nose.

Thanks a lot.

-I hate my nose. -No, it's just so cute.

I hate my nose, too.

It's too big, but I think it depends on my hair.

Yeah...

I see what you mean.

So what do you want to be when you grow up?

Oh, well, I think this might be it.

What do you want to be when you grow up?

I'd like to move back to Iowa and have kids,

and be a cop.

I felt like I was in my bedroom when I was 16,

and I used to hang out with this guy who was really beautiful

and my parents thought I was helping him

with his chemistry homework.

Do you mind if we just lie here?

I get so lonely in the city.

Sometimes it's just nice to lie with someone.

Sure.

We could do that.

It was hard to imagine that anyone so beautiful

could ever be lonely.

Meanwhile, somewhere below 14th street,

two ordinary Joes

were doing their own lonely late-night thing.

Anything else, miss?

No, that's it.

Just cat food?

Yes, just cat food.

Hey.

Oh, hi, Skipper.

So like, um, how come you haven't been returning any of my calls?

I'm sorry, it's been a really busy week.

I thought we had a connection.

Oh, I don't know.

Could I get my change?

You mean you get that way with every guy that you're with?

No, it's just...

Don't you want to go out with a girl your own age?

It's got nothing to do with age.

I-- I think you're luminous.

You think I'm luminous?

Totally.

Miranda couldn't resist the vision of herself

reflected in Skipper's slightly smudged lenses.

All right, let's get out of here.

Okay, yeah, let me just pay for my Cap'n Crunch .

There's cereal at my place.

Oh.

And Samantha found the ultimate validation,

sex with Barkley.

So, uh...

Where is it?

What?

The camera.

Your friend Carrie tell you about that?

Uh-huh.

Don't worry, I only tape models.

I won't mind.

Fine, I'll make an exception.

Samantha demanded nothing less than the same consideration

given every other model in town.

Hello.

Carrie, it's Stanford.

Do you have any idea what happened to Derek last night?

Actually,

you'll never believe it, but...

Yes?

It's Stanford.

Hi, Stanford.

Uh, uh, Derek?

Could you put Carrie back on the phone?

Sure.

Hello.

How could you?

I didn't.

We just talked.

Oh, I knew he was gay.

It's amazing what you'll do to be with these models.

I've got to retire soon.

They keep me from getting work done.

They make me fuck up my life.

Look at me!

I'm an old man at 34!

I began to realize that being beautiful

is like having a rent-controlled apartment overlooking the park,

completely unfair, and usually bestowed

upon those who deserve it least.

I'm not interrupting your work, am I?

Hey, what a surprise.

I can't stay. I'm late for a meeting,

but I've been thinking about that article you're writing,

about men who date models.

Yeah, what about them?

First of all,

there are so many goddamn gorgeous women out there in this city.

What an amazing observation.

But the thing is this,

after a while,

you just want to be with the one that makes you laugh.

Know what I mean?

Okay.

See ya.

I take that back...

beauty is fleeting,

but a rent-controlled apartment overlooking the park

is forever.