Ever since that episode of “Sex and the City” in which Carrie Bradshaw made an argument for it, I’ve taken the WIDE liberty of considering myself something of an artist.

Hey! I can hear y’all laughing all the way from here. Unnecessarily hurtful. Ahem.

As I was saying, the fictional columnist defended herself (and me and all writers, really) as such when unexpectedly faced with her nemesis while trying on clothes at a dress shop.

Her ex-boyfriend’s new stylish, 5-foot-10-inch model of a wife emerged from a dressing room looking radiant and flawless, while little 5-foot-2, 30-something Carrie popped up out of the adjacent room half-dressed, her bleached blonde hair quite disheveled and appearing rather a mess on the whole.

Startled to see “Mr. Big’s” 20-something bride, the beautiful brunette Natasha, looking effortlessly flawless in a pricey gown while she herself appeared generally unkempt — and sporting only undergarments since she was between outfits — Carrie complemented young Nat on her very expensive dress choice.

“I need something for this ‘Women in the Arts’ luncheon I helped organize. I’m on the steering committee,” Natasha said.

“Really? I’m a member. You know, I write, so I am … a … woman … in … the arts…” Carrie stammered.

Darn tootin’. And everyone knows that we super-hip artists are always on the cutting edge of not only literature and film, but also pop culture, fashion and all things trendy.

Stop giggling; I can be trendy!

OK, maybe I DO frequent the JCPenny sales rack. What? They have great little dresses and suits that are always WAY more economical than Nordstrom’s or Neiman Marcus.

Honestly, the last time I was in a Saks Fifth Avenue store, I felt like Nemo gasping on the dentist’s counter after catapulting out of the fish tank — I couldn’t breathe.

I spied a Navy blouse to pair with my JCP clearance rack sapphire satin skirt and thigh-high pleather Target boots. Don’t judge.

It was simple, stunning and … $225. Need. Air.

“Wow, for one lousy little chemise?” I thought aloud to some disapproving glares from women clearly NOT suffering from sticker shock.

I was totally not cool, though the sweat I broke into was as the surrounding suits (etc.) suffocated me.

Maybe I’m not so chic after all. I mean, there are about 14 bazillion current crazes that completely escape me.

Like, eyebrows today confound me. I thought the point was to wax them right out of existence, ladies? When did we start wanting them as thick as squirrel tails — and why, when they’re being drawn into semi-permanent place, do they look like pointy McDonald’s arches?

Am I the only one who thinks this fad makes people look constantly crabby? Hmm.

While we’re in that general region, what is up with the whole eyebrow threading thing? Sounds way too close to getting stitches, if you ask me. And isn’t it diametrically different than the whole bush league look?

Also, did you know some people apply fake freckles? I had a fair-skinned pal in third grade who prayed novenas every night that she’d wake up without all those blotches on her face and arms!

And what’s the deal with glitter in eyeshadow and lip gloss? Who are we, Gloria Gaynor circa 1978? I’m glad that she will and has survived, but I’m sorry this trend did.

Ditto anklets and leather pants. 1981 called for them back, please.

Sigh. Well, I STILL think I might be the fashionista of the 20s … just last century’s, capisce?

Kimerer is a writer whose fashion radar is off by about 100 years or so. Send her JCPenney coupons via www.patricia kimerer.com.