Carrie Bradshaw once said, “I will literally be the old woman who lived in her shoes.” But Sarah Jessica parker, the woman behind the sassy fashionista in the hit TV show Sex and the City, isn’t Jimmy Choo-obsessed, nor does she have a wardrobe filled with playful tutus and strappy slip dresses.Still, the confident 58-year-old actor is fielding hateful comments from the online population who can’t understand why her real-life persona is contrary to the modish character she plays.
Parker, who’s proudly aging naturally, gracefully and beautifully, answers back saying it’s, “just not a reality,” and “there’s no time to let vanity enter.” Keep reading to learn what the lovely Sarah Jessica Parker has to say about aging!
In her role as the beloved Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City, Sarah Jessica Parker served some iconic, oftentimes controversial, looks.
While her character was considered a trendsetter by women across the globe, Parker in real life, has never been an urban chic fashionista.
“It’s not the way I perceive myself, I’m so low on my priority list,” said Parker, who raised three children while she was at the height of her career. “I love beautiful clothes and am privileged enough to have access to a lot them…but they also are returned the next day. They are not mine.”
Keep reading to learn more…
In real life, the star admits that she prefers a practical style, which isn’t always popular with the demanding public.
Unsexiest woman alive
In fact, in 2008, she was named in a Maxim poll as the “Unsexiest Woman Alive.”
Shortly after she earned the unflattering title, Parker spoke with Grazia (through Daily Mail) and said, “Do I have big fake boobs, Botox and big lips? No. Do I fit some ideals and standards of some men writing in a men’s magazine? Maybe not.” The star of And Just Like That continues, “Am I really the unsexiest woman in the world? Wow! It’s kind of shocking when men…It’s so brutal in a way…”
Years later, the Family Stone star appeared at the Met Gala wearing a golden Dolce & Gabbana gown that she paired with an ornate nativity headpiece.
Though she was serving an incredibly unique and smashing look, the public only commented on her aging.
“Aye real quick, how old is Sarah Jessica Parker because [her] skin look like tree bark and I’m confused,” said one. A second writes, “Is that Sarah Jessica Parker? Oh gosh she looks so old and worn out.”
Then, in 2021, the Hocus Pocus star was lunching with Bravo star Andy Cohen. Parker was makeup free, her silvery hair tied back in a braided ponytail.
It didn’t take long for the online population to start spitting hate over her appearance. But, Cohen, who also has a head of grey hair, defended his friend.
“We were at lunch and there was a paparazzi, and she’s sitting next to me, white hair,” said Cohen, 55, of his own white hair. Speaking on The Drew Barrymore Show, he continued, “All the articles were ‘Sarah Jessica Parker, she’s going gray’ and ‘She looks old,’ and it was insanity.
Here she is sitting next to me, who’s gray, and people just missed the mark totally. It was so misogynistic.”
Following that, Parker spoke with Vogue and had a lot to say about unforgiving people and their unrealistic standards of beauty.
“There’s so much misogynist chatter… I’m sitting with Andy Cohen, and he has a full head of gray hair, and he’s exquisite. Why is it okay for him?” Parker continues, “‘She has too many wrinkles, she doesn’t have enough wrinkles.’ It almost feels as if people don’t want us to be perfectly okay with where we are, as if they almost enjoy us being pained by who we are today, whether we choose to age naturally and not look perfect, or whether you do something if that makes you feel better.
She adds, “I know what I look like. I have no choice. What am I going to do about it? Stop aging? Disappear?”
Influential woman
The title of “unsexist woman alive” was upstaged in 2022 when the Golden Globe winning actor was named by Time as one of its “100 most influential people in the world.”
Though she may not dress the part of Carrie, who’s the star of the TV series, two films and the reboot And Just Like That, Parker does own her own designer brand, SJP, which – not surprisingly – started as shoes.
The star of Honeymoon in Vegas is also a TV producer, the co-founder of the spirit “The Perfect Cosmo by SJP” (Carrie’s favorite drink), is involved with publishing, fragrances and has a wine label – to name a few.
And just like that
Also unlike Carrie and her hapless search for romance, the star of Footloose found love in the early 1990s with Matthew Broderick, the star of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.
The adorable couple – who starred on Broadway together – married on May 19, 1997, and have been together ever since.
When Broderick was asked to reveal his secret for a successful marriage, he answered: “I don’t know the secret at all, but I, you know, I’m very grateful and I love her. It’s amazing. I mean, I can’t believe that it’s been that long. It doesn’t feel like it.”
The couple share three kids, son James Wilkie (born 2002), along with twins Tabitha Hodge and Marion Loretta Elwell, who joined the family in 2009, via surrogate.
The woman leads a busy life and should be applauded for her accomplishments, not criticized.
Speaking natural in real life, the actor said, “It’s not how I think of myself, and I think it’s probably the healthier approach.”
She continues, “It’s just not a reality – not when you have three kids, and you go to the market, and there are hungry people at home. You have a limited time to do it. There’s just no time to let vanity enter into that.”
My husband hired someone to teach me how to clean and cook – he wasn’t pleased with how I got back at him
I was floored when my husband, Jeff, brought in a maid to “teach” me how to cook and clean like the ideal wife. Rather than push back, I played along. What Jeff didn’t see coming was the lesson I had in store for him — one that would turn his perfect plan topsy-turvy.
I’m Leighton, 32, juggling a full-time job, a chaotic household, and a 34-year-old husband who’s lately become an expert on what a “perfect wife” should be.
Jeff and I both work demanding jobs: he’s in finance, constantly stressed about quarterly reports, while I’m in marketing, which means my brain is fried by the time I get home. You’d think we’d cut each other some slack, but lately, Jeff’s expectations have been through the roof.
It all started after that infamous dinner at his boss Tom’s place. Tom’s wife, Susan, greeted us with this warm smile, wearing a perfectly pressed dress that probably cost more than my rent in college. Her house? Spotless. Not a speck of dust, not a misplaced throw pillow.
And don’t get me started on the five-course meal she whipped up as if she’d been born holding a spatula. Jeff couldn’t stop gawking.
“You see how Susan keeps everything in order? Dinner’s ready the minute Tom gets home,” Jeff had said on the drive back, his voice dripping with admiration. “You could take a few pointers.”
I bit my tongue, staring out the window to avoid rolling my eyes but Tom wasn’t done yet. “Why don’t you try a little harder? I mean, how difficult can it be to keep things clean when you get home before me?”
The comparisons didn’t stop. Every day was a new critique. “Susan keeps her house spotless. Susan has time to make fresh pasta from scratch. Susan always looks put together.”
He’d say this while tossing his dirty clothes two feet from the laundry basket or leaving his dishes right where he finished eating.
One evening, he came home and immediately started inspecting the house like some kind of drill sergeant. He ran his finger along the windowsill and frowned. “You missed a spot. Are you even trying?”
I glanced up from my laptop, barely containing my frustration. “Seriously, Jeff?”
He shrugged. “I’m just saying, maybe you could put in a little more effort. It’s not like you don’t have time.”
That was his new favorite line. Not like you don’t have time. As if my workday and commute weren’t as draining as his. But the final straw came one Friday night.
I walked in, dreaming of a hot shower and some rest, but instead, I found a young woman in our kitchen. She was holding a mop and wearing an apron, her eyes darting nervously around like she’d accidentally wandered into the wrong house.
Jeff stood beside her, arms crossed, with a self-satisfied grin. “Leighton, meet Marianne. She’s here to teach you how to clean and cook properly.”
I blinked, trying to process what I was hearing. “I’m sorry… teach me?”
Jeff sighed like he was talking to a stubborn child. “Yeah, honey. I’ve tried being patient, but clearly, you’re not getting it. Susan suggested I get someone to help you get up to speed. So, here we are.”
Marianne glanced at me, then at Jeff, and back at me. “I usually just… you know, clean houses,” she said softly, almost apologetic. “He offered me double if I’d show you how.”
I turned to Jeff, barely keeping my voice steady. “So, you’re paying her to teach me to clean and cook?”
He nodded, still oblivious. “Yeah. This way, you can get the hang of it properly. Marianne, don’t hold back.”
I wanted to scream. This man, who never lifted a finger, had the audacity to hire someone to teach me how to clean? I could see Marianne’s discomfort too, like she was dragged into some weird reality TV show.
I forced a smile, seething inside. “I’m sure I’ve got a lot to learn, Jeff. Thanks for looking out for me.”
Jeff left, pleased with himself, while Marianne looked like she was ready to bolt. I leaned in, lowering my voice. “Listen, I don’t need lessons. But I do have a little idea that could use some help. Are you game?”
Marianne’s face lit up, intrigued. “What do you have in mind?”
I smiled, already plotting. “Let’s just say Jeff’s about to learn a lesson of his own.”
Over the next few weeks, I gave Jeff exactly what he’d been asking for: the perfect housewife. Every day, I woke up early, made his breakfast, cleaned the house until it sparkled, and cooked elaborate dinners that looked straight out of a cooking show.
I even dressed up every evening, greeting him at the door with a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.
But I was cold as ice. I didn’t nag or complain, but I also didn’t engage. No conversations about my day, no affectionate touches, not even a casual laugh. I became the picture of domestic perfection, but I was just going through the motions. It didn’t take long for Jeff to notice something was off.
“Hey, babe,” he said one evening, hovering at the kitchen door while I prepared a three-course meal. “You’ve been quiet lately. Is everything okay?”
I barely looked up, keeping my tone polite but distant. “I’m fine, Jeff. Just busy with the house, like you wanted.”
His brow furrowed. “You don’t have to be… this dedicated. I mean, it’s great, but it’s like you’re here, but you’re not.”
I shrugged, setting the table with precision. “I’m just focusing on what you asked me to do, Jeff.”
He nodded, but I could tell he was confused. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? A perfect house, perfect meals, perfect wife. But I wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of my usual warmth, and it was starting to bother him.
As the days went on, I kept up my act. Every task was done flawlessly, but our relationship? It was as cold and mechanical as a well-rehearsed performance. I knew Jeff could feel the distance between us, but he didn’t know how to fix it. And I wasn’t going to make it easy for him.
Then came the day I’d been planning for weeks. After a perfectly silent dinner, I cleared the plates and turned to him with a cheerful smile. “Jeff, we need to talk.”
He glanced up, a nervous smile twitching on his lips. “What’s up?”
I sat across from him, placing a neatly folded piece of paper on the table. “I’ve been thinking a lot about this whole ‘perfect housewife’ thing. Marianne really opened my eyes to how much work it takes to run a household like this. It’s a full-time job, honestly.”
Jeff frowned, not sure where I was going. “Uh, okay?”
“So, I’ve decided,” I continued brightly. “I’m going to quit my job and focus on this full-time.”
His jaw dropped. “You’re quitting your job?”
I nodded enthusiastically. “Yep! You wanted the house to be spotless, meals cooked from scratch, and everything just right. To do that, I need to dedicate all my time to it. But here’s the catch — I can’t do it for free.”
He blinked, baffled. “Wait, what do you mean ‘can’t do it for free?’”
I slid the paper toward him. It was a contract I’d typed up, outlining my new terms.
“If I’m giving up my career, I should be compensated. Susan doesn’t work, and Tom supports her. So, I’ll need you to pay me a salary. This is what I think is fair.”
He stared at me, his face turning from confused to outraged. “You want me to pay you? Leighton, this is absurd!”
I kept my tone sweet, but my words were laced with ice. “Oh, but it makes perfect sense. You wanted me to be a perfect wife, and I’ve been delivering. But perfection isn’t free, Jeff. If you expect me to maintain the household to your standards, I deserve compensation. And if you’re not willing to pay, that’s fine. I’ll just stop doing it.”
He gaped at me, the color draining from his face. “I never asked you to quit your job! I never wanted this.”
I leaned back, arms crossed, savoring every second. “Oh, but you did, Jeff. You wanted a house that looked like Susan’s, meals like hers, and a wife who dedicated herself entirely to domestic duties. I’m just doing exactly what you asked for. But I have my standards too, and if you want this level of dedication, it comes at a price.”
There was a long, tense silence. Jeff held the contract, his eyes fixated on the exorbitant salary. I could see the gears turning as he realized he’d dug himself into a hole he couldn’t easily climb out of.
Finally, he sputtered, “This isn’t what I meant! I work hard all day. I don’t have time to do everything around here!”
I stood up, keeping my voice calm but firm. “Exactly. And now you know what it feels like. If you’re not willing to pay me, maybe it’s time you start contributing more around the house. Or you could always hire Marianne full-time. She’s great, after all.”
I left him sitting there, flustered and speechless.
From that day on, Jeff’s attitude changed. He never agreed to pay me, of course, but he also stopped complaining. And suddenly, chores were no longer just my responsibility.
Jeff started picking up after himself, doing the laundry, and even cooking dinner a few nights a week. He never brought up Susan again, and I never saw him running a finger along the shelves in search of dust.
Turns out, when you give someone exactly what they think they want, they realize pretty quickly that the fantasy isn’t nearly as sweet as the reality. Jeff learned that the hard way, and I got the one thing I’d wanted all along: respect.
In the end, Jeff didn’t need a perfect wife; he needed a partner. And if it took hiring a maid and drawing up a fake contract to get there. Well, that was a lesson worth teaching.
What do you think?
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