I couldn’t help but wonder: were we still watching the show, or were we just watching a ghost of what we loved once?
I love Sex and the City. I first watched it when I was sixteen. I remember it vividly: Carrie Bradshaw strutting through the city in her Manolos, navigating romantic mishaps and the many worries of a writer; Charlotte’s unshakable determination and optimistic charm; Samantha’s unapologetic confidence and independence; and Miranda’s relatable cynicism and lots of sarcasm. I identified with them. I was inspired by them. I admired their personalities, beliefs, impeccable style, and sense of friendship. Now, in 2025, I’ve rewatched the show nine times — no skips, just pure joy. I can’t say the same about And Just Like That, though.
Initially, I was excited to experience firsthand the girls’ love affairs, adventures, and life’s ups and downs, unapologetically and fabulously, even as they aged. But, episode by episode, something felt off. Perhaps it was due to Samantha’s absence, or maybe it was because Miranda’s character arc didn’t really align with who she was in the original series. But people change, don’t they?
Holding onto that idea, I didn’t give up. I thought it would get better with time. Silly me. The old spark that shone through in Sex and the City had vanished. I had given up. But AJLT hadn’t given up on me yet. Online, the chatter was relentless: Lisa’s dad apparently died twice. Aidan was still the same old jerk who wanted to tame Carrie. And the show was boring people to death. But, somehow, the visuals still delivered. And Just Like That morphed into something else entirely: a lifestyle destination where high fashion, glossy real estate, and curated visuals weren’t just attractive highlights, but the plot.
But if you’re only interested in the visuals, why spend thirty minutes every week watching something when you can just browse Pinterest with far less cringe? Perhaps it all comes down to what the girls still represent in the cultural zeitgeist.
Luan, a fashion journalist and one of the creators of @archivesatc, has been documenting moments from Sex and the City since 2023. With his passion for fashion — he is still in awe of Carrie walking in slow motion wearing the Galliano-era Dior newspaper dress — and his sense of humor about the show’s unhinged moments — like when Carrie jokes to Miranda that Brady is anorexic for not breastfeeding — his heart has always belonged to the show. It was this passion that prompted him to watch And Just Like That. He doesn’t regret it — Luan loves the universe of Sex and the City and was very eager with the show’s fashion, from Carrie’s iconic Vivienne Westwood gown to Seema’s Birkin, which carried a bittersweet reminder of the legendary Samantha Jones and her unforgettable roller coaster with Lucy Liu over the bag.
Still, he was disappointed — whether due to Charlotte’s life revolving around her family, Miranda’s middle-age crisis and shift away from her workaholic persona, the lack of glamour, or the creators’ need to politicize everything. ‘‘I’m a gay man, so obviously I fight for my community every day, but I think it came across as very forced,’’ Luan says. ‘‘It’s not them [Carrie, Miranda, and Charlotte], they weren’t like that in the 90s and 2000s and they wouldn’t be like that now. It seems like it was more to protect their backs, like we brought in an Indian character and two black characters so no one could say we didn’t bring in POC.’’
When it comes to queerness, Luan feels the show barely scratched the surface — with Miranda having only two partners, the representation fell flat. “None of my LGBT+ friends, nor I, ever felt seen,” he shares. But then he makes it clear: no one really watched Sex and the City for that. “There are series that portray the LGBT+ community beautifully, like Pose, but not Sex and the City. I tune in to see these women navigating their problems while dressed in fabulous clothes, meeting men, and dealing with relationship dramas I sometimes identify with,” Luan tells me.
Luan acknowledges that the original show had some truly awful moments — from the transphobic “Cock a Doodle Doo!” to the biphobic “Boy, Girl, Boy, Girl…” — not to mention the bias displayed by the three women when Samantha dated Maria, played by Brazilian actress Sônia Braga. But there were also good moments, such as those that tackled friendship or explored thought-provoking situations that discussed sexual topics, fetishes, and dilemmas. He mentions instances such as when Charlotte cried because a man fell asleep while they were making love and when Samantha had an outburst because James, a man she liked, had a small penis.
Martine Davis, the founder of Meet My Paws but once a writer of a dating column in a local paper in the UK and Germany, has always had a deep devotion to Darren Star’s show too. But with And Just Like That, her heart said otherwise. Aside from the inconsistent details — from Miranda’s sudden economic downturn as a lawyer to the underdeveloped storyline of Carrie’s neighbour — Davis felt that And Just Like That leaned more into couples-lifes, losing the spark of the women meeting at lunch to dissent their lives. ‘‘SATC was glamorous but grounded in [women’s] connection and the struggles of city life. AJLT has lost that balance,’’ the entrepreneur explains. Davis, who was once married to a New Yorker, also believes that the reboot missed a huge opportunity to reflect how notoriously tough the city can be for dating. But most importantly, in Meet My Paws’ founder eyes, the show completely skipped the general realities of dating today: online apps, ghosting, one-night-stands, and the difficulty of making genuine connections.
Indeed, the TV show has many inconsistencies. Not only in regard to the economic pursuits of some or the love lives of others. Consider Carrie, our modern-day knight in shining armour — or occasionally a tutu —, who got over her husband, Mr. Big, quickly after his death. “Carrie just forgot Big and barely mentioned him. Even at one point saying to Anthony that she was never married,” Catherine Balavage Yardley, author of Where The Light is Hottest, remembers.
After being stood up at the altar by Mr. Big in the first movie, Carrie is a complete mess. She can’t even enjoy her honeymoon-turned-girls-trip. Then, as Balavage Yardley pointed out, a few episodes after his passing in the 2021 TV show, she is fine. Thriving, even. Charlotte cries more than she does — remember that cringe scene where she’s trying to arrange a wake, and Charlotte collapses while Carrie just stands there? Yep.
Instead of exploring grief while simultaneously seeing Carrie dipping her toes on dating life back — after losing someone she loved, mind you —, the show’s writers opted to re-introduce Aidan Shaw back, only for in the end, he — the one that was against cheating and could never forgive Carrie for it — cheated her with his ex-wife, Kathy. Nothing made sense.
‘‘In the original series, even the lighter episodes carried a sharp observation or a memorable emotional beat. In the reboot, the writing often seemed focused on stretching time rather than deepening character or plot,’’ says Maiia Krylova, founder of @carriebradshaw_outfits. As a long-time fan of Carrie’s style who curates it on Instagram, Krylova couldn’t just let the reboot play in the background. She needed to see how the story and the costumes evolved over time.
Although the curator was fascinated by the shift in Carrie Bradshaw’s wardrobe, which reflected a different stage of her life, she wasn’t as captivated by the show itself. ‘‘It [And Just Like That ] felt less sharp, less witty, which is perhaps why it didn’t fully capture the same magic [as Sex and the City],’’ Krylova states.
Disappointed by the storylines and dialogue, she was also let down by the costume design. ‘‘The costumes didn’t reflect the individuality of the characters the way they used to,’’ the curator explains. ‘‘In the original series, every outfit told us something about who they were.’’ Think Carrie’s tutus and Fendi baguettes that oozed whimsical high fashion; Charlotte’s romantic gowns and Ralph Lauren sweaters that exuded WASP energy; Miranda’s polished suits; and Samantha’s sultry looks that shouted independence. Patricia Field’s work was raw and intimate, so her absence from the reboot was undeniably felt.
Despite her mounting disappointments, Maiia Krylova continues to carry on with her passion for Carrie. And instead of looking forward to the reboot, she ended up rewatching Sex and the City again and again. ”That’s where the fashion, the wit, and the heart still live,” Krylova concludes.
For Tilly Smith, the co-founder of Creative Connections Community and a major fan of Darren Star’s show, Sex and the City worked because of its clever construction. It explored real, relatable themes and tapped perfectly into the zeitgeist of the ’90s and early 2000s. ‘‘SATC made you feel like one of the girls – drawn into their inner circle, sharing their highs and lows, and strutting the streets of New York right alongside them,’’ Smith tells me. ‘‘When I finally visited New York, it felt as though I’d already lived there.’’
Smith doesn’t feel the same way about And Just Like That, though. ‘‘Rather than being a part of the story, you’re left on the outside, watching from the margins or half-listening as it drifts into background noise, never gripping your attention long enough to matter,’’ Smith explains.
Stacy Jones, the founder and CEO of Hollywood Branded, shares similar views with Smith regarding the discrepancies between Sex and the City and And Just Like That.‘‘Carrie’s Manolos weren’t just shoes, they were shorthand for a certain kind of independence and aspiration. Magnolia cupcakes, Cosmos at the bar, the very streets of Manhattan, all of it became pop culture touchstones,’’ she states. ‘‘Even if you weren’t living in New York, you felt like you were part of that world.’’ As for And Just Like That, that magic didn’t work. Leaning heavily into nostalgia, Jones believes that the ability to convey ‘‘the cultural electricity,’’ turning a shoe, a city block, or a cocktail into a phenomenon that transcends TV has vanished.
Hayley Pegg, another Sex and the City fan, believes that not everything we once loved deserves a reboot. ‘‘If it’s not broken, why fix it,’’ she says. Pegg watched AJLT and looked forward to storylines such as the friendship between Che and Carrie. But she believes the show lost itself fully in season three. ‘‘Filler is the word that describes half of the storylines,’’ she confesses. Her impression was that the priority was to tell Carrie’s story, but there wasn’t too much to explore. Thus, the writers included ‘‘off-piste’’ storylines that were short lived. ‘‘It seemed a bit disjointed,’’ Pegg concludes.
Eugina Jordan, CEO and co-founder at YOUnifiedAI, shares different views from most netizens. ‘‘When the series [Sex and the City] first aired in the 90s, I was in my late 20s and early 30s, and every storyline felt like it was pulled from my own life: dating in a big city, heartbreak, building a career, the push and pull of friendships, all so very relatable,’’ Jordan chronicles. The sequel films to the show had pretty much the same effect on Jordan. Aged between her 30s and 40s, the movies’ portrayal of divorce, single parenting, and finding love again landed just right.
And then, came And Just Like That, which did not cease the relatability and specialness to Jordan. ‘‘Now in my 50s, I see myself in these characters all over again. Like Seema, I finally started my own business after years of men benefiting from my talents, and like her, I am betting on myself,’’ she explains. ‘‘Like Miranda, I’m still figuring out who I am, even at this stage. Like Charlotte, I’m managing health issues and the chaos of children. It’s messy, it’s imperfect, but it’s real, and that is what I saw on the screen.’’
Jordan believes And Just Like That it’s nothing more nothing less than an evolution. ‘‘I’m watching women my age navigate life, love, work, and family in ways that are still both painfully and wonderfully relatable,’’ she stated. The ending, Carrie dancing in her apartment in a fuschia sequined cardigan and tulle skirt, realizing that ‘‘she was not alone, she was on her own’’ was ‘‘chef’s kiss’’ to Jordan.
Sure, Carrie Bradshaw may have started and ended in a tutu. Still, this full-circle culmination doesn’t erase the many highs and lows of And Just Like That.
Because it is highly influenced by nostalgia, the reboot fails to create something as innovative as the original. And as Maiia Kryvola puts it, ‘‘When nostalgia becomes the main character, it’s hard for a show to truly move forward.’’ Hence, its cancellation after season three.
Luan believes that things could have worked differently, though. While recognizing that it was a new chapter in the beloved characters’ lives, the founder of @archivesatc thinks the reboot would be more successful if it were done like Gossip Girl — with a new generation of thirty-something women in New York enjoying Cosmos, fashion, love affairs, and the ever-present allure of the city shining through our screens.
Perhaps it would. In any case, fans were still tuning in to And Just Like That, either out of nostalgia or to get a glimpse of the iconic women who left such a profound mark on the cultural zeitgeist. Ultimately, that may have less to do with the allure of And Just Like That and more to do with how powerful the original show still is, convincing people to do things they don’t really want to do just to get a taste of the past.