Did a takedown of this for laughs. That said, what our culture has become is a shame.

Dating columnist reveals how ‘Sex and the City’ ruined her life

{Something else} ruined her life. Because no Hamster accepts responsibility.

“Sex and the City” premiered on HBO 20 years ago this week, imprinting on a generation of women a love of fantastic fashion and dreams of their own Mr. Big. Among them was Julia Allison, who moved to New York in the early 2000s to live the Carrie Bradshaw lifestyle.

Move to NYC, ride a mile of cock, and find "Mr. Big" and live happily ever after?

Not so fast...

But her pursuits sent her, ultimately, down a path of unhappiness and unfulfillment. Looking back on how the show’s ideals negatively impacted her life, Allison, now 37, tells Doree Lewak: “If I could go back and do it all over again, I wouldn’t.”

A Carousel Rider's regret....

Ten years ago, on May 27, 2008, I was on top of the world.

Ten years ago, she was 27, not 37, and her pre-Wall^SPLAT! suppleness was not yet a distant memory...

I was riding in an Escalade en route to the “Sex and the City” movie premiere

Probably riding more than just an Escalade, generally-speaking.

When the SUV door opened, I stepped onto the pink carpet in my Allison Parris dress and Chanel bag. I felt like a star. I felt beautiful. I felt proud. I was rubbing shoulders with celebs and the goddess herself: Carrie Bradshaw, a k a Sarah Jessica Parker.

How does she feel now? Broken and Regretful.

I went to all the glam parties, was fodder for gossip sites, had signed a deal with Bravo for a reality show, and dated been used as a cum dumpster by more than my fair share of Mr. Bigs.

FTFH.

I was considered by many to be Carrie Bradshaw 2.0.

"Carrie 2.0 - the Trashier, Bravo TV Version". Not something to aspire to. At least she wasn't "Carrie 3.0 - Newark Hookers On The Edge". Not yet, anyway.

And I was happy to be given that identity for a while, but it was all a lie. At the premiere, I also felt like a fraud, insecure and embarrassed — like I didn’t belong.

And the lie rubs off and the truth shows through.

I grew up a nerd in Chicago, more likely to duck into the library than talk to other kids at recess. At 12, I thought I would never be kissed. (Boy, did I make up for that later.)

Translation: At uni, I was a Giant Whore.

I was a rising high school senior when “Sex and the City” debuted in 1998, and I was instantly enthralled. I wanted to be like Carrie and her friends: I wanted to be glamorous and beautiful and dress well and have lots of dates.

^ Note the destructive nature of pop culture. It fucks up guys, too, but men were mostly immune to "Sluts In The City"

The show was my road map. Of all the die-hard fans I knew, I was the most influenced by “SATC.”

/Facepalm

At Georgetown University, where I enrolled in 1999, I started to wear dresses and learned how to do my makeup and curl my hair. The newfound male attention I received felt exhilarating.

Remember that "Giant Whore" thing? Yeah, this is the payoff.

I even started a dating column for my college paper called “Sex on the Hilltop,” which was modeled after Carrie’s column in the fictional New York Star.

/Double Facepalm

Based on what I knew from “SATC,” I expected the city to sweep me off my feet. I envisioned nonstop brunching and shopping.

Translation: "I was retarded."

When {amNew York} finally hired me, I made $50 per weekly column. I later moved to Time Out New York, where I made $750 a week — a huge improvement, but still not enough to buy Manolos and barely enough to afford the $2,500 rent for my 400-square-foot apartment in Hell’s Kitchen.

This is important because....

I lived on food bought for me on dates and the occasional bodega tuna sandwich.

Reminiscent of Notorious Food Hooker Jessica Sporty. Jessica was "saving" $1200/mo, but evidently never saved up enough for a nose job.

Different men I dated gave me YSL shoes and status purses, just like Big did for Carrie on “SATC.”

Do.Not.Ever.Fucking.Do.This.

I went out with a prince: Lorenzo Borghese from “The Bachelor.” I even dated the British ex-boyfriend of “Sex and the City” creator Candace Bushnell — the original Carrie. He was one of a few men who comprised the composite character Mr. Big.

Didn't marry him, though. Gargled his splooge? Sure. Wifed up? lulz

In 2008, my two best girlfriends and I had just filmed a Bravo pilot for a show called “It Girls” (it wasn’t picked up). We were all invited by a 40-something billionaire to his Miami mansion; he even sent his private jet for us. It was just him, the three of us and his butler and chef. I don’t think this man was used to being told no, and he started chasing me around his mansion. I finally had to lock myself in the bathroom. The worst part: He sent us back on JetBlue.

Ouch

These days I work as a change activist, mounting summits for world leaders and serving as an adviser to startups and entrepreneurs looking to better the planet. I’m finally living a life of integrity, and I’m attuned to my values. I never heard about values on “Sex and the City.”

Um...Yeah. "Change Activist". Dafuq does that mean? She puts a lot of hashtags in her Twatter posts?

But dating is not front and center in my life anymore, although it was all I talked about in my 20s. That’s pretty one-dimensional.

Yeah, and also her dating life dried up, so....

Last year, I ended a two-year relationship with a man who ultimately couldn’t commit and wanted to be polyamorous.

Translation: "I wanted commitment as my vagina-odometer rolled over to the next century. He was like 'How about no.'"

Again, “SATC” and the “lessons” it taught me is the culprit.

"No Hamster Left Behind!!!"

The show wasn’t a rubric on how to find a lifelong partnership. If I was more grounded and had honestly assessed whether this man was a good partner for me, I don’t think we ever would have dated.

Someone hasn't quite figured out that she's unwifeable, yet.

Crushed and needing to regroup, I took a sabbatical and lived in Bali for eight months on a healing journey. I was also celibate during my time there.

Translation: "I couldn't even give it away for free anymore."

I do wonder what my life would have looked like if “Sex and the City” had never come across my consciousness. Perhaps I’d be married with children now?

And her prune-womb, forlorn and unused, cries out of the children she never bore.

Who knows, but I can say for sure that, as clever and aesthetically pleasing as the show was — and, as much as I agree with its value of female friendships — it showed too much consumerism and fear of intimacy disguised as empowerment.

The truth comes out.

It’s like candy: In the moment it feels good to eat it, but afterward, you feel sick. Whom you’re dating, what you’re wearing, or how good you look at that premiere — none of that s–t matters unless you genuinely love yourself. Solid relationships are what really matter.

And the Ginch thought of something she hadn't before.

The meaning of life isn't purses and shoes

Or film premieres with a list of "who's whos"

"Maybe I shouldn't have been a big, giant whore,"

"Maybe life was ... perhaps ... about a little bit more?"

Truth be told, I wish I had never heard of “SATC.” I’m sure there are worse role models but, for me, it did permanent and measurable damage to my psyche that I’m still cleaning up.

And there it is. The knife through the heart.

I want to be a different role model from the one I got. Two months ago, I started seeing someone I never would have dated 10 years earlier. Back then, I wasn’t looking to get married or seek a lifelong partner, and that was a mistake. This man is a very reasonable choice, and I’m at a place in my life where reasonable is very sexy.

How'd you like to be that guy. She's fucked the original "Mr. Big" and some fake prince but you, you're sexy 'make-do', because she's reasonable desperate. Hopefully, he'll wise up.

And "reasonable is very sexy"? Where have we heard shit like the before? Oh, right, from career shrike Sheryl Sandberg: “When looking for a life partner, my advice to women is date all of them: the bad boys, the cool boys, the commitment-phobic boys, the crazy boys. But do not marry them. The things that make the bad boys sexy do not make them good husbands. When it comes time to settle down, find someone who wants an equal partner. Someone who thinks women should be smart, opinionated and ambitious. Someone who values fairness and expects or, even better, wants to do his share in the home. These men exist and, trust me, over time, nothing is sexier.”

Riiiiiiight. You can almost hear: "these men exist, but whatever you do, don't start fucking them NOW!" Never never mind that the future husbands betabuxes were relegated jacking off and building their careers while the targets of Sandberg's advice were wasting the flower of their youth banging every Outlaw Biker, Drug Dealer and Escaped Mental Patient they could find, until they become emotionally broken hosebags with the Thousand Cock Stare, and then, and only then, are they to insist that said betabuxes wife them up, risking divorce rape, for what they gave away to losers for free.

Except that the betabuxes won't even be getting that. They will be getting the Queen of Whore Island. Further reading:

Saving the Best

and

Hats Off to the Bull

The Takeaways

-The Wall^SPLAT! is real. The Wall^SPLAT! does not negotiate. The Wall^SPLAT! is inevitable.

-Choices (and narcissism) have consequences, especially for women.