Another week, another Sex And The City premiere. If it had to be described in one word, it would be 'shiny'. VERY shiny. So very shiny and scary (Ms Fielding, you out did yourself. Even Candice looked at little taken aback). Then there was the anything but shiny. Yes, that is indeed Aunt Hilda from Sabrina the Teenage Witch. Kirsten Davis appeared to be doing some kind've ode to the lining of the Benson and Hedges box Cynthia Nixon arrived in. Kim looked hot... if a little boned. Whereas Sarah Jessica Parker, well, she managed not to let a hat hijack the proceedings. This time, the span of her dress was the main event. I'll let Jennifer Hudson convey some personal sentiments: "Daaang, you want me to get pictured beside this itty bitty thing?!" SJP: "I might be little but my dress sure isn't! Survey its majesty, WHEEEE!!" Jennifer: "Mmmmm hmmmm… Yeah, you may have the biggest dress her, girl, but have you got these babies?! Check it OUT, HEEEY! OK, OK, I'm moving."
All in all, the calibre of guest was far superior compared to the UK premiere. Those who managed to gain entry to the film (seemingly New Line issued far more tickets than Radio City Music Hall could accommodate, which resulted in 1,000 people being turned away... and issued with "vouchers to see the picture for free at cinemas tomorrow." Whoop) included Gerry Seinfeld (cause, you know, what else would he be doing), Fergie (who, dare I say it, looked stunning in that frock), Edie Flaco (Carmela would NOT be impressed with that hair, Edie) the Donald with a strop on (you'd swear he was just about to watch 2.5 hours of women's issues, or something) and a rather bandy looking Anna Wintour. One might expect the editor of Vogue, someone who no doubt looks at a lot of photographs containing models, would know how to pose. Instead, she was the embodiment of highly strung. She looked like she's preparing for blast off.