It happened. We all watched it, mostly through our fingers. When HBO Max (now just Max) announced they were bringing back the most influential quartet in television history, the internet basically had a collective heart attack. The Sex and the City reboot, officially titled And Just Like That..., didn’t just try to recapture lightning in a bottle; it tried to shove that lightning into a designer handbag that cost five figures. It was messy. It was cringey at times. It was also, if we’re being totally honest with ourselves, exactly what a revival in 2021 and beyond needed to look like.
You can’t just go back to 1998.
The original series was a cultural behemoth that defined a specific brand of aspirational, white, third-wave feminism. But the world changed. Manhattan changed. Even the way we talk about brunch changed. So, when Carrie, Miranda, and Charlotte returned without Samantha Jones, fans were skeptical. Some were outright hostile. Yet, here we are, seasons deep into a show that people love to hate but simply cannot stop watching.
The Samantha-Sized Hole in the Room
Let’s address the elephant in the room immediately. Kim Cattrall’s absence was the single biggest hurdle for the Sex and the City reboot. Without the "sex" in the city—the character who provided the unapologetic, non-judgmental backbone of the group—the dynamic felt skewed. The showrunners handled it with a mix of realism and awkwardness. They wrote in a falling out between Carrie and Samantha, reflecting the real-life tension between Sarah Jessica Parker and Cattrall.
It felt petty. It also felt very human.
Friendships in your 50s aren't always the "soulmates" narrative we saw in the original run. Sometimes people drift. Sometimes they get mad about money or perceived slights and move to London. By leaning into the absence rather than recasting, the show maintained a shred of dignity, even if we all missed the puns and the vibrator jokes. When Samantha finally made her brief, digital cameo in the Season 2 finale, it felt like a peace treaty. A small one.
Miranda Hobbes and the Great Mid-Life Crisis
If there is one thing that polarized the audience more than the lack of Samantha, it was the "New Miranda." In the original series, Miranda Hobbes was the cynical, level-headed lawyer. She was the one we related to when the others were being too precious. In the Sex and the City reboot, she blew her life up.
She quit her corporate job. She started drinking too much. She left Steve. She began an affair with Che Diaz, a non-binary stand-up comedian and podcast host who became the internet's favorite person to dunk on.
👉 See also: Questions From Black Card Revoked: The Culture Test That Might Just Get You Roasted
People hated it. They felt it betrayed Miranda’s character. But is it really that unrealistic?
Think about it. You spend thirty years being the "smart one," the "stable one," the "cynical one." Then you hit 55 and realize you’re miserable. You’ve done everything right, and you’re still bored out of your mind. Miranda’s arc in the reboot is a messy, painful, and often embarrassing look at a mid-life identity crisis. It wasn't "pretty" television. It was uncomfortable. Seeing a woman in her 50s be completely lost is a rarity in Hollywood, where women that age are usually relegated to "wise grandmother" or "bitter divorcee" roles. Miranda was just... a mess. And that’s actually a bold choice for a show often accused of being superficial.
The Che Diaz Factor
We have to talk about Che. Rarely has a fictional character triggered such a visceral reaction from an entire fan base. Played by Sara Ramírez, Che was intended to be a catalyst for Miranda’s awakening. Instead, they became a meme. The "comedy" wasn't particularly funny, and the relationship felt forced to many viewers.
But here’s the nuance: the show didn't necessarily present Che as a hero. By the second season, we saw Che’s ego, their insecurities, and the spectacular failure of their sitcom pilot. The Sex and the City reboot wasn't asking us to love Che; it was asking us to watch Miranda deal with the fallout of loving Che. It was a lesson in how we often project our needs onto people who aren't actually right for us just because they offer a door to a different life.
Grief and the Big Premiere
The pilot episode of the reboot ended with a literal heart-stopper. Mr. Big dying on his Peloton was a choice that reverberated through the entire series. It was a "kill your darlings" moment that actually worked.
If Big were still around, the show would have just been Sex and the City: The Golden Years. It would have been a repetitive cycle of Carrie and Big having a minor disagreement and then making up over a steak dinner. By killing him off, the writers forced Carrie Bradshaw back into the world. They forced her to be a single woman in a city that had become unrecognizable to her.
Grief became the show's most grounded element. Sarah Jessica Parker’s performance in the aftermath of Big’s death was some of her best work. It wasn't just about the shoes anymore; it was about the empty space in the bed. The show explored the bureaucracy of death—the funerals, the will, the awkward interactions with the ex-wife (hi, Natasha). This is where the reboot found its heart. It proved that while the fashion is still there, the stakes have shifted from "will he call me?" to "how do I live without him?"
✨ Don't miss: The Reality of Sex Movies From Africa: Censorship, Nollywood, and the Digital Underground
Diversifying the Zip Code
The original show was famously, blindingly white. It treated New York City like a boutique hotel where the staff was invisible. And Just Like That... tried to course-correct this by introducing several new lead characters of color:
- Seema Patel: A high-end real estate agent who is basically the new "Samantha" in terms of confidence and style, but with her own cultural baggage and a vulnerable search for love.
- Lisa Todd Wexley: A documentary filmmaker and fashion icon who represents the "super-mom" trope taken to the Manhattan extreme.
- Nya Wallace: A Columbia law professor dealing with the complexities of IVF and eventually, a separation.
Did it feel forced at first? A little bit. In the beginning, it felt like each original character was "assigned" a friend of color to prove they weren't out of touch. However, as the seasons progressed, these women became more than just foils for the trio. Seema, in particular, became a fan favorite. Sarita Choudhury brought a gravitas and a "cool" factor that the show desperately needed. The expansion of the cast allowed the show to touch on microaggressions, racial wealth gaps, and different cultural expectations without feeling (too much) like a public service announcement.
The Fashion: Still a Character
You can't have a Sex and the City reboot without the clothes. Costume designers Molly Rogers and Danny Santiago had the impossible task of following in Patricia Field’s footsteps. They succeeded by leaning into the "more is more" philosophy.
Carrie is still wearing bird hats and carrying pigeon purses. Charlotte is still the queen of the uptown "Pritchett" look. But now, we see them repeating items. We see the archival pieces. It’s a nod to the fact that these women have lived lives in these clothes. The fashion acts as a bridge between the nostalgia of the 90s and the chaotic energy of the 2020s. It’s still aspirational, but it’s also a bit more curated. It’s a reminder that even when your life is falling apart, you can still put on a Dior tulle skirt and go for a walk.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Reboot
Critics love to say the show is "cringe." And yeah, it is. But the original Sex and the City was often cringe too! We just look at it through the hazy filter of nostalgia. Carrie was always a bit self-centered. Charlotte was always a bit neurotic.
The difference is that now, the characters are older, and our tolerance for their shenanigans has changed. We expect 55-year-olds to have it all figured out, but they don't. That’s the point. The reboot is a show about women who realized that "happily ever after" was just the halfway point. They are still making mistakes, still having bad sex, and still trying to figure out how to be a good friend in a digital age.
If you go into it expecting a 1:1 replica of the original, you’ll hate it. If you go into it as a messy, high-budget soap opera about the indignities of aging in a city that worships youth, it’s actually kind of brilliant.
🔗 Read more: Alfonso Cuarón: Why the Harry Potter 3 Director Changed the Wizarding World Forever
Why the Setting Matters Now
New York in the reboot isn't the gritty, post-punk playground of the early years. It’s a post-pandemic, hyper-gentrified, TikTok-filtered version of the city. The show captures that weird transition period where everyone was trying to remember how to be "out" again. It uses the city as a reminder that time moves on whether you’re ready or not. The bars change, the podcasts replace the columns, and the apartments get even more expensive.
Moving Forward with Carrie and Co.
So, where does this leave us? The Sex and the City reboot has been renewed for a third season. The show has found its footing by moving away from trying to "fix" the past and instead focusing on the weirdness of the present.
Carrie is dating again (and yes, Aidan came back, much to the chagrin of Team Big). Charlotte is navigating the complexities of raising Gen Z kids who challenge her traditional worldviews every single day. Miranda is... well, Miranda is trying to find herself in the wreckage of her old life.
It’s not a perfect show. It’s often loud, occasionally tone-deaf, and sometimes it feels like it's trying too hard to be "woke." But it’s also one of the few shows on television that centers the lives, desires, and friendships of women over 50 without making them the butt of the joke.
Actionable Steps for the SATC Superfan:
- Revisit the Original "Key" Episodes: Before diving deep into the next season, rewatch "An American Girl in Paris" (the original finale) and the first movie. It helps contextualize Carrie's journey with Big and why his death in the reboot was such a massive tonal shift.
- Follow the Costume Designers: If you're only in it for the looks, follow @andjustlikethatcostumes on social media. They break down every brand from the high-end vintage to the Zara pieces.
- Listen to the Writers' Room Podcast: The official "And Just Like That... The Writers' Room" podcast is actually fascinating. Michael Patrick King and the writers explain why they made the controversial choices they did. It doesn't make the cringe go away, but it makes it make sense.
- Acknowledge the Evolution: Stop looking for Samantha. She’s a text message on a screen now. Once you accept that the quartet is now a trio (plus a very large extended universe), the show becomes much more enjoyable.
The legacy of Sex and the City isn't about being perfect. It’s about the "labels and love." And as long as Carrie Bradshaw is still walking those Manhattan streets in shoes that cost more than a month's rent, we're probably going to keep watching. Even if we're complaining about it the whole time.