Sarah Jessica Parker is known for playing the fashionable character Carrie Bradshaw in the HBO show “Sex and the City.” However, the “Footloose” star often faces criticism for her real-life fashion choices.
Sarah Jessica Parker is famous for playing the stylish Carrie Bradshaw on the HBO show “Sex and the City.” During her time on the show, she became a fashion icon, inspiring women all over the world with her glamorous looks.
Many women looked up to her as a trendsetter, using fashion to express themselves and their feelings. However, in real life, Parker has never been as passionate about fashion. In a 2012 interview with People, she said that she doesn’t relate to her character’s fashion sense. She explained:
“It’s not how I think of myself, and I think it’s probably the healthier approach.”
Parker likes nice clothes and beautiful things, but you won’t catch her in a tutu at the grocery store. She believes that fashion takes a backseat to life, especially since she has three kids. She stated:
“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.”
People have often noticed her style choices. In an interview with Vogue, she mentioned that she finds it funny when people criticize her looks.
Over the years, she has faced backlash for her fashion choices, including a much-discussed outfit at the Met Gala. Parker said that people borrow styles that resonate with them at different times, but some will always dislike them. She doesn’t understand why people criticize her choices. “So, what’s the point of the criticism?” she asked.
Parker has learned to ignore her critics. For her everyday outfits, she chooses what she likes without worrying too much about whether it matches.
“Unsexiest Woman Alive”
Parker also faced tough times when Maxim magazine named her “Unsexiest Woman Alive” because she doesn’t fit certain beauty standards, like getting Botox or having fuller lips. She felt that this title was harsh and hurtful, affecting her and her husband, actor Matthew Broderick.
Things got worse when paparazzi took unflattering pictures of Parker having lunch with TV host Andy Cohen. She was makeup-free with her gray hair showing, leading to negative comments about her age. Cohen defended her, pointing out that he has gray hair too and called the comments “misogynistic.”
Parker did not stay quiet about the criticism. During an interview with Vogue, she spoke about how people seem to enjoy seeing others struggle with aging. She said:
“It almost feels as if people don’t want us to be perfectly OK with where we are, as if they almost enjoy us being pained by who we are today.”
She added, “I know what I look like. I have no choice. What am I going to do about it? Stop aging? Disappear?”
However, this was not the last of the harsh comments. In 2018, she faced ridicule again after wearing an ornate headpiece to the Met Gala. People mocked her looks online, calling her a senior citizen.
In June 2023, during a chat with Howard Stern, she discussed Hollywood’s obsession with cosmetic surgery and aging. When asked how she views herself, she said, “I’m presentable,” but added that she doesn’t enjoy looking in the mirror. She acknowledged that she thinks about cosmetic procedures but has never had plastic surgery, although she has tried skin treatments like peels.
Parker reflected on potentially getting a facelift at 44 but was uncertain about it. Stern expressed relief that she hadn’t gone through with it. She understands why some people choose procedures but knows that there is societal pressure about aging. She recalled the viral photo with Cohen, where people criticized her but ignored his gray hair.
Now in her late 50s, Parker remains unbothered by her critics and has clear thoughts on aging. She said in an August 2023 interview:
“I just don’t spend that much time [thinking about appearance]. It’s not that I don’t have an ego, that I don’t have a decent, healthy amount of vanity, but I just don’t want to spend that much time really deconstructing it all.”
Choosing Family over Fashion
Despite facing criticism over her fashion choices, Parker prioritizes her family. During New York Fashion Week in 2006, while others rushed to find the perfect outfits, she chose to stay home with her family. Her son James had just started school, and she wanted to be there for him.
Now, attending events is challenging since she has three kids. She and Broderick welcomed their first child, James Wilkie, on October 28, 2002, and he is now a student at Brown University. Their twins, Tabitha and Marion, were born on June 23, 2009, through a surrogate.
Though some fans criticize her, Broderick remains supportive. He often praises Parker’s beauty and feels lucky to be with her.
They married in a surprise ceremony on May 19, 1997, and have been happy ever since. Parker mentioned that their relationship thrives because they spend time apart and then come back together. She said on a podcast:
“I know this sounds nuts, but we have lives that allow us to be away and come back together.”
Broderick often shares how much he admires Parker, recalling their first date and how he remembers her clearly walking toward him.
Despite the negative comments and criticism, Parker feels secure in her relationship, partly due to Broderick’s constant support. He calls her “just a great, beautiful, hilarious person!”
I Returned Home to Discover My Kids Asleep in the Hallway — The Transformation My Husband Made to Their Bedroom in My Absence Drove Me Wild
After a week away, I came home to the strange and unsettling sight of my kids sleeping on the cold hallway floor. Heart pounding, I searched for answers, only to find my husband missing and odd noises coming from the kids’ room. What I uncovered next left me furious — and ready for a fight!
I’d been away on a business trip for a week, and let me tell you, I was itching to get home. My boys, Tommy and Alex, were probably bouncing off the walls waiting for me.
I mean, a week is practically forever when you’re 6 and 8. And Mark? Well, I figured he’d be glad to hand the reins back to me. He’s a great dad, don’t get me wrong, but he’s always been more of the fun parent than the responsible one.
As I pulled into our driveway at midnight, I couldn’t help but grin. The house was dark and quiet, just as it should be at this ungodly hour.
I grabbed my suitcase and tiptoed to the front door, keys jingling softly in my hand.
The lock clicked open, and I stepped inside, ready to collapse into bed. But something was… wrong.
My foot hit something soft, and I froze. Heart pounding, I fumbled for the light switch. When the hall lit up, I almost screamed.
Tommy and Alex were sprawled out on the floor, tangled up in blankets like a couple of puppies. They were fast asleep, but their faces were smudged with dirt, and their hair was sticking up in all directions.
“What the hell?” I whispered, my mind racing. Had there been a fire? A gas leak? Why weren’t they in their beds?
I crept past them, afraid to wake them up until I knew what was going on. The living room was a disaster zone, littered with pizza boxes, soda cans, and what looked suspiciously like melted ice cream on the coffee table. But no sign of Mark.
My heart was doing the cha-cha in my chest as I made my way to our bedroom. Empty.
The bed was still made, like it hadn’t been slept in today. Mark’s car was in the driveway, so where was he?
That’s when I heard it. A faint, muffled sound coming from the boys’ room. I tiptoed over, my imagination running wild. Was Mark hurt? Had some psycho broken in and tied him up?
I pushed the door open, inch by inch, and…
“What. The. Actual—” I bit my tongue, remembering the kids were just down the hall.
There was Mark, headphones on, controller in hand, surrounded by empty energy drink cans and snack wrappers. But that wasn’t even the craziest part.
The boys’ room had been transformed into some kind of gamer paradise. A massive TV took up one wall, there were LED lights everywhere, and I’m pretty sure that monstrosity in the corner was a mini-fridge.
I stood there, mouth hanging open, as the rage built up inside me like a volcano about to blow. Mark hadn’t even noticed me yet, too engrossed in whatever game he was playing.
I stomped over and yanked the headphones off his head. “Mark! What the hell is going on?”
He blinked at me, looking dazed. “Oh, hey babe. You’re home early.”
“Early? It’s midnight! Why are our children sleeping on the floor?”
He shrugged, reaching for his controller again. “Oh, it’s fine. The boys were happy sleeping outside. They thought it was an adventure.”
I snatched the controller away. “An adventure? They’re not camping, Mark! They’re sleeping on our dirty hallway floor!”
“Come on, don’t be such a buzzkill,” he said, trying to grab the controller back. “Everything’s under control. I’ve been feeding them and stuff.”
“Feeding them? You mean the pizza boxes and ice cream in the living room?” I could feel my blood pressure rising with every word. “And what about baths? Or, I don’t know, their actual beds?”
Mark rolled his eyes. “They’re fine, Sarah. Lighten up a bit.”
That’s when I lost it.
“Lighten up? LIGHTEN UP? Our children are sleeping on the floor like animals while you play video games in their room! What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” he huffed. “I’m just trying to have a little me-time. Is that so terrible?”
I took a deep breath, trying not to scream. “You know what? We’re not doing this right now. Go put the boys in their beds. Now.”
“But I’m in the middle of—”
“NOW, Mark!”
He grumbled but got up, shuffling past me.
I watched him pick up Tommy, who stirred a little but didn’t wake up. As Mark carried him to bed, I couldn’t help but think how alike they looked: one actual child and the man acting like one.
I scooped up Alex, my heart breaking a little at how dirty his face was. As I tucked him into bed, I made a decision. If Mark wanted to act like a child, then that’s exactly how I’d treat him.
The next morning, I put my plan into action.
While Mark was in the shower, I snuck into the man cave he’d created and unplugged everything. Then I got to work.
When he came downstairs, hair still wet, I was waiting for him with a big smile. “Good morning, sweetie! I made you breakfast!”
He looked at me suspiciously. “Uh, thanks?”
I set a plate in front of him. In the middle was a Mickey Mouse-shaped pancake with a smiley face made of fruit. His coffee was in a sippy cup.
“What’s this?” he asked, poking at the pancake.
“It’s your breakfast, silly! Now eat up, we have a big day ahead of us!”
After breakfast, I unveiled my masterpiece, a giant, colorful chore chart plastered on the fridge. “Look what I made for you!”
Mark’s eyes widened. “What the hell is that?”
“Language!” I scolded. “It’s your very own chore chart! See? You can earn gold stars for cleaning your room, doing the dishes, and putting away your toys!”
“My toys? Sarah, what are you—”
I cut him off. “Oh, and don’t forget! We have a new house rule. All screens off by 9 p.m. sharp. That includes your phone, mister!”
Mark’s face went from confused to angry. “Are you kidding me? I’m a grown man, I don’t need—”
“Ah, ah, ah!” I wagged my finger. “No arguing, or you’ll have to go to the timeout corner!”
For the next week, I stuck to my guns. Every night at 9, I’d shut off the Wi-Fi and unplug his gaming console.
I even tucked him into bed with a glass of milk and read him “Goodnight Moon” in my most soothing voice.
His meals were served on plastic plates with little dividers. I cut his sandwiches into dinosaur shapes and gave him animal crackers for snacks. When he complained, I’d say things like, “Use your words, honey. Big boys don’t whine.”
The chore chart was a particular point of contention. Every time he completed a task, I’d make a big show of giving him a gold star.
“Look at you, putting your laundry away all by yourself! Mommy’s so proud!”
He’d grit his teeth and mutter, “I’m not a child, Sarah.”
To which I’d reply, “Of course not, sweetie. Now, who wants to help make cookies?”
The breaking point came about a week into my little experiment. Mark had just been sent to the timeout corner for throwing a fit about his two-hour screen time limit. He sat there, fuming, while I calmly set the kitchen timer.
“This is ridiculous!” he exploded. “I’m a grown man, for God’s sake!”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Are you sure about that? Because grown men don’t make their children sleep on the floor so they can play video games all night.”
He deflated a little. “Okay, okay, I get it! I’m sorry!”
I studied him for a moment. He did look genuinely remorseful, but I wasn’t going to let him off the hook when I had one last blow to deliver.
“Oh, I accept your apology,” I said sweetly. “But I’ve already called your mom…”
The color drained from his face. “You didn’t.”
Right on cue, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to reveal Mark’s mother, looking every bit the disappointed parent.
“Mark!” she bellowed, marching into the house. “Did you really make my sweeties sleep on the floor so you could play your little games?”
Mark looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. “Mom, it’s not… I mean, I didn’t…”
She turned to me, her face softening. “Sarah, dear, I’m so sorry you had to deal with this. I thought I raised him better than that.”
I patted her arm. “It’s not your fault, Linda. Some boys just take longer to grow up than others.”
Mark’s face was beet red. “Mom, please. I’m 35 years old!”
Linda ignored him, turning back to me. “Well, not to worry. I’ve cleared my schedule for the next week. I’ll whip this boy back into shape in no time!”
As Linda bustled off to the kitchen, muttering about the state of the dishes, I caught Mark’s eye. He looked utterly defeated.
“Sarah,” he said quietly. “I really am sorry. I was selfish and irresponsible. It won’t happen again.”
I softened a little. “I know, honey. But when I’m away, I need to know you’ve got things under control. The boys need a father, not another playmate.”
He nodded, looking ashamed. “You’re right. I’ll do better, I promise.”
I smiled and gave him a quick kiss. “I know you will. Now, why don’t you go help your mother with the dishes? If you do a good job, maybe we can have ice cream for dessert.”
As Mark trudged off to the kitchen, I couldn’t help but feel a little smug. Lesson learned, I hoped. And if not… well, I still had that timeout corner ready and waiting.
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