If the abysmal failure of Sex and the City 2 in U.S. theaters last year and the outright dismissal of the Sarah Jessica Parker-led I Don't Know How She Does It this year made one thing clear, it's that recession-rattled Americans are done with Carrie Bradshaw, even when Parker's not playing her. The Sex and the City series, The Devil Wears Prada and Confessions of a Shopaholic aren't even a decade old and yet they've already become dated period pieces that will be analyzed by future generations wondering how Americans spent themselves into so much trouble. The self-indulgent, conspicuous-consumption-obsessed culture that followed HBO's original Sex and the City series reached its zenith on screen with Bradshaw planning and then calling off an extravagant, traffic-stopping wedding for specious reasons, Meryl Streep's faux Anna Wintour character dressing down an intern for dismissing haute couture and Isla Fisher's spendthrift Shopaholic hacking away at her last shred of self-restraint with an expensive heel to reach a frozen credit card. We understand that standing on line for a six-pack at Magnolia Bakery and sipping Cosmopolitans at Balthazar's was probably a blast and all, but it's a much different time. That same friend from college who'd put her American Express Centurion card down for the mojito tab and spent more on a Louis Vuitton baguette in an afternoon than you spent on rent in two months was last seen in Zuccotti Park holding this sign: "I am just slightly more than twentysomething. I am a former relationship columnist with no other bankable skills. I am $138,000 in credit card debt. I am tired of 1% of the population owning 100% of the cute brownstones I want to live in. I am the 99%."