Sure, except…well, where to begin? Take Lori Gottlieb's manifesto, "Marry Him!"—first published in the Atlantic, now slated to become a book and film—which accuses any single, 30-plus woman who's not fretting about marriage of being either a liar or delusional. Or consider that the catty hearsay of The Women is now an all-media industry unto itself, while the anonymity of the Internet aids and abets the feral mudslinging on gossip and parenting sites. Or think of the heroines of Sex and the City: The Movie, who obsess over men and shoes and make the occasional slur upon a best pal's belly flab or unsightly bikini line. Or recall how Hillary Clinton's campaign brought out the Mean Girl lurking inside so many women. Amid this chorus of clucking and sniping and toxic status anxiety and unmitigated bitchiness (sorry, Ms. Crawford, wherever you are), a time capsule piece like The Women starts looking like timeless cultural satire. If the remake has even the smallest fraction of the original's malicious zing, it will have captured the zeitgeist, 70 years late and still on time.