Like every other 20-something-year-old woman who lives in a metropolitan area and owns a TV, I am continually, if subconsciously, attempting to recreate the glamorously upbeat yuppie lifestyle as portrayed on "Sex and the City." I wear four-inch patent leather pumps on the bus ride to work. I have candid conversations in public places with my girlfriends about sex. Even through college, before I had discovered the series, I often interspersed my usual hard news stories in the campus newspaper with snarky little dating columns that undoubtedly carried a bit of Carrie in them, even though I hadn't yet seen a single episode.Despite the fact that the show ended its run four years ago, the number of young women who continue to come across the series – myself included – via filtered broadcast reruns, a friend's DVD box set, or the ever-archival YouTube, fuels the neo-Manhattanite rapture as if it were still 1998. And the much-anticipated movie, to be released later this month, has done little to stem the frothy excitement that comes from talking about love, sex, and Louboutins. But as I've noticed several recent cycles of female college grads become increasingly disillusioned with the way life and love are turning out to be, I can't help but wonder: what kind of effect has "Sex and the City" had on the rising class of women? Has its fashionable whimsy and celebration of womanhood, in fact, ruined us somehow? Personally, there is no real reason why I should be able to identify with any of the four middle-class, near middle-aged women on the show. I am not single, I do not live in New York, and my allergy to alcohol goes quite beyond the usual "Asian glow" (drinking more than half a Cosmo would unquestionably send me to the ER seeking a stomach pump). I have never understood how the four women always had so much time to hang out at that coffee shop, or why Manhattan seemed to be devoid of any black people, save for Blair Underwood. And the only regular Asian American character, "the Korean," worked at the convenience store below Carrie's apartment and never actually appeared on-screen, let alone had a name. Yet I often found that their struggles were, and are, somehow similar to mine. Some of the questions they raised about love, sex, friendship, fashion – okay, they never really struggled with fashion – resonated, and continue to resonate, with me and an entire generation of women trying to figure ourselves out in a postfeminist society. Is independence really won by just learning how to "fuck like a man?" Is it ridiculous to still believe in head-over-heels-love? Is sexual freedom true freedom? If you find the seemingly perfect mate and still come out disappointed, does that mean you have to euthanize your idealism? Carrie, Miranda, Samantha, and Charlotte gave us four archetypical ways of dealing with these questions that neatly wrapped up by the end of the half hour, though for what it was worth, the answers were usually satisfying at the moment. For the most part, many of us thought that this revolutionary TV show genuinely changed the way we looked at ourselves and the way we lived as women in the new millennium. And, to some extent, it did. Carrie Bradshaw allowed us to partake in vintage romance again while simultaneously waving a flag of independence. She and her friends alternately possessed a retro-glam 1930s sense of romance and a refreshing sense of sexual self-ownership. But it also devolved back into the girl-meets-boy, girl-gets-saved-by-boy fairytale that we all grew up with: girl, no matter how feisty or strong, ultimately needs to be rescued by boy. Doesn't matter if she's making a solid middle-class income and lives on the Upper East Side, she's yet a damsel-in-distress under all those layers of Prada. Of course, as this recent Guardian article makes the case, you can be a feminist and love watching "Sex and the City." But how tightly does it ask us to keep holding on to the fairytale? The Guardian piece remarks that it is possible to yearn for a fulfilling relationship with a man and still be a fearless Samantha or Miranda, and indeed, all four women by the finale ended up with loving partners who often weren't the original versions Prince Charming they dreamed up. But take note: upon closer inspection, these perfectly imperfect "Sex and the City" men, bald and working-class and unexpected as they seemed, all continued to hold up the one-dimensional traits Prince Charming was always supposed to bear: unconditional love and perpetual understanding. The one fact most apologists for the series overlooked was how unrealistic these men were to the whims and outbursts of these women; no matter what, they were always there with a warm hug and affectionate words to pick up the pieces. This, more than any other part of the six-season HBO series – the outrageous outfits that no freelance writer could afford, the five-nights-a-week partying habits they never tired of, the bottomless martinis that never got anyone drunk, the rent-controlled apartment on the Upper West Side – was the most unebelievable aspect of the show. To think that a program devoted to exploring sex and love in never-before-seen ways would rest on the oldest cliche in the book of fairytales, Prince Charming (because even Big flew on a plane to Paris to save her), is what really has us set up to be devastated in real life."Where is he?" is often the resounding question I hear from women in my age bracket, though never voiced quite so directly. All the empowered single women out there are still just looking for their fairytale. Well guess what? Someone's going to be disappointed. The 2008 movie promises a few dramatic turns of events – abandoned weddings, cheating husbands, sexual boredom – that might hopefully add some dimension to these poor Patrick Dempsey-esque men. By now we should have realized that there is no Dr. McDreamy waiting to save our souls from drowning in our own neuroses. There is just the reality of the human condition and an outstanding invoice from Jean-Paul Gaultier.I understand that "Sex and the City" was not meant to be a catch-all for the struggles of being a modern woman. And for the sake of an entertaining story I will readily accept the fairytale of a fantasyland New York these women live in. But I cannot deal with the fact that in 2008 (or even 1998), we still let ourselves get suckered into wanting perfectly imperfect men to love us passionately for who we are and in spite of our flaws. If it happens, it certainly doesn't happen quite that easily."Sex and the City" was a revolutionary program in its day that raises some questions we have yet to answer. But there are still more questions we need to ask beyond the realm of romance, and questions within the realm of romance we could stand to frame with a little less fantasy and a little more reality. Otherwise, we're all just setting ourselves up for disappointment.