All language subtitles for Sex and the City - S01E02 - Models and Mortals

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.