With the recent release of the “Sex and the City” movie, there have been wistful replicas of the Fab Four popping up all over the city. Imitation, of course, is the sincerest form of flattery.

I admit, I’ve indulged in a couple of “SATC”-ish renditions — and I wasn’t even a faithful of the sitcom when it was on HBO; I’ve caught enough reruns on TBS to hold a decent conversation on Mr. Big, and I haven’t even seen the movie yet. And I probably just got excommunicated from the Church of the Quintessential Ovary or something for the previous blasphemies. I’ll repent later.

But my point is, the flick has done more than garner $56.8 million at its box-office debut (that’s about 71,000 pairs of Manolos) — it has bumped up the BFF factor. Women now have an overwhelming, and often commercialized, desire to rendezvous with our girlfriends, sip on a Cosmopolitan (or two or three) and talk about our dreams, our careers, our crushes, our heartbreaks, our trysts, our fears.

Our sundress-and-stiletto outings become therapy sessions, albeit sometimes drunken, silly and nonsensical, but therapy nonetheless. Because it feels good and helps us see and learn a little more about ourselves in the reflection of our friends.

But, if you’re anything like me, sometimes you don’t want to just hang out with your girlfriends — you want to hang out with your girlfriends. You know, the Wills to our Graces.
No one can utilize or enunciate “fierce” like some of our beloved Wills, even when you’re not trying to find a husband and are going for the bad-girl look wearing a minidress with red stilettos and heavy eye makeup that another friend might deem the antithesis of Carrie-ness.

Your gay friends are the only ones who can tell you the guy you’re dating is really hot, and you feel like you have to keep looking over your shoulder when he flirts with said object of your affection. Well, unless you find out that said boyfriend goes both ways … that’s a whole different story.

I know this is sounding a lot like the stereotypical and absolutely fabulous match made in heaven between straight women and gay men. And though I don’t believe that the bond between the two is based solely on them wanting to dress us and redecorate our homes, there is something to be said of our relationships.

It’s refreshing to be friends with someone of the opposite sex without things getting all tangled by sexual interest and complicated by unrequited love. We can share our regrets and our lusts. And a few sex tips never hurt anyone.

So cheers to all of my girlfriends — here’s to convincing me I could have been a background dancer for Janet Jackson; here’s to wearing outfits I’d like to borrow; here’s to making me feel like I should be on the catwalk.

Often maligned, marginalized and misunderstood, here’s to you, all of the Wills of the world.