Me and Ms Jones



If you are not a fan of “Sex and the City” or heaven forbid, you have never watched a single episode of the show, this post will be very boring and sadly you won’t find it hilarious like I do.

I have loved SATC ever since the very first episode. More over, I have loved the snarky PR goddess that is Samantha Jones ever since she bossed around her first waiter. Among my girlfriends and die-hard SATC fans I have often been told that I am Samantha in real life form. Over the years, I thought it was enjoyable. The similarities are pretty strong. We are both ballsy, both are in Public Relations, we both have no filter, we are the oldest woman in our circle of friends and of yeah…we are both very sexual people.

The older I got and the longer I watched the show, the more I took pride in my ebony Samantha lifestyle. But then a few years ago, I noticed something. Those same “friends” who would playfully say “Oh Desiree, you are soooo Samantha.” , were now judging me and using it against me. Wait. I’m sorry? What exactly is the problem again? It was ok when we were all single and looking for love and complaining about men, but now that you are in serious relationships, or married or dare I say it…a mommy…it’s not cool to be Samantha?

What’s even funnier is that there was a similar story line in SATC. Two of the women were married, one was working on a family, the other was a mom and finally Carrie had a some what stable relationship. And where was Samantha? Living her life, of course! Being her fabulous self! But more importantly, she was staying true to who she was.


Samantha and I are very similar. But it isn’t the sexual side that defines us. It’s the sticking it to the man, balls to the wall, make it work in a male driven society, hard as steel with a heart of gold side. It’s almost like defining me just as a black woman, when I am so much more than that. So I say to the other Samantha Jones’ of the world…SCREW EM! Raise a glass to your strength, your vulnerability, your honesty and your wit. And then one day, one magically fabulous day, you will find a man worthy enough of our very important time. Now if you will excuse me, I have a meeting, Pilates and a fireman to do.

Chasing the illusive Silver Fox

I have a sick obsession over Salt and Pepper hair. Bonus if you are wearing glasses. Something about men that can carry it off and carry it off well says…Confident, Mature, Sexy. The Silver Fox. You know who I mean ladies. John Slattery, Anderson Cooper, Richard Gere. For the most part, men of the Silver Fox group are of a certain age. Handsome and over 50.

Ever since I was a little girl, I have always had a sweet spot for men that were older than me. Case in point. I am currently dating a man who is 17 years older than me. Yes, he is 50. When he revealed his age I had a moment of hesitation, but then I asked myself “Why should it be an issue?” He has a great body, good job and doesn’t look his age. The Silver Fox strikes again. But where does the appeal actually come from?



Most psychiatrists would say that the woman would suffer from some old unresolved Daddy Issues. But let’s be honest ladies. In all of the above men mentioned, they share one very distinct trait. Confidence. Think about it. If he can carry off the Silver Fox look, you can bet he’s a pretty strong, confident man. In a society that praises youth, men who walk head first gloriously into their 50’s are a different breed of man than the ones we meet at bars or sporting events.

I dated a guy once who was a fabulous Silver Fox. One day he decided to dye his hair. He was tired of the judgement he got from his peers about looking “too old”. Trust me…he was far from old. He ended up with a horrible dye job that made him look like a bad Superman impersonator. But the biggest thing I gathered from his stint into recapturing his youth, he didn’t have the confidence to embrace what he had. He felt the need to change based on other people. The end result? He had to endure a bad job dye for weeks and the chuckles from his co-workers.

So ladies, the next time you are out and you see a handsome gent with a bit of gray, sitting alone drinking a fine Scotch, don’t roll your eyes and pass him by. He’s not your dad, but I am sure he’d be happy to teach you a thing or two.