It started with a column in the New York Observer. Candace Bushnell was writing about her life, her friends, and the specific brand of chaos that comes with being single in Manhattan during the nineties. Then HBO got a hold of it. When Sex and the City premiered in June 1998, nobody really knew it would change how women talked about their lives forever. It wasn't just about the shoes or the cosmos. Honestly, it was about the fact that for the first time, friendship was the primary romance of the show.
People still argue about whether they are a Carrie, a Miranda, a Charlotte, or a Samantha. It’s a shorthand. A cultural litmus test. You've probably seen the memes or the TikToks dissecting Carrie Bradshaw’s financial decisions. They’re often brutal. But underneath the $40,000 shoe collection—which, let’s be real, was mathematically impossible on a weekly columnist's salary—there was something much more grounded.
The Reality of the Sex and the City Legacy
The show gets a lot of flak now for its lack of diversity and its dated takes on certain social issues. That’s fair. Looking back from 2026, some of those early episodes feel like a time capsule from a completely different planet. However, Darren Star and Michael Patrick King tapped into something that hadn't been seen on television: female agency.
Before this, female characters on TV were often defined by their relationship to a man—the wife, the mother, the pining secretary. Sex and the City flipped the script. The men were the recurring guest stars; the women were the protagonists.
Darren Star actually took a huge risk with the pilot. It was raw. It was cynical. It had characters talking directly to the camera, a device they eventually ditched because the chemistry between the four leads was so strong they didn't need the gimmick. Sarah Jessica Parker almost didn't do it. She was hesitant about the nudity and the "raunchiness" of the script. But once Kim Cattrall, Cynthia Nixon, and Kristin Davis were cast, the alchemy was undeniable.
Breaking Down the Archetypes
We should talk about the "types."
Miranda Hobbes was way ahead of her time. In the late nineties, she was often seen as the "cynical" one or the "harsh" one. Rewatching it today, she’s usually the only one making any sense. She was a partner at a law firm when that was still a massive glass ceiling. She bought her own apartment. She didn't wait for a man to validate her life.
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Then there's Charlotte York. She represented the traditionalist view, the gallerist searching for the "perfect" marriage. But even Charlotte had teeth. She fought for the life she wanted.
Samantha Jones, played by Kim Cattrall, was the revolutionary. She was unapologetically sexual. She refused to be shamed. There’s a famous scene where she says, "I love you, but I love me more." That line alone did more for the concept of "self-love" than a decade of wellness blogs.
And Carrie. The narrator. The flawed, often frustrating center of the universe. She was the one who asked the questions. "I couldn't help but wonder..." became the heartbeat of the show.
What People Get Wrong About the Fashion
Everyone talks about the Tutu. You know the one—the white tulle skirt Carrie wears in the opening credits. Patricia Field, the costume designer, found that in a five-dollar bin. It’s iconic now, but at the time, it was a weird choice.
The fashion wasn't just about looking "pretty." It was storytelling. Field used clothes to signal emotional states. When Carrie was depressed, her outfits were muted or chaotic. When she felt powerful, she wore Dior or high-fashion vintage. This show basically birthed the "high-low" trend—mixing designer labels with thrift store finds. It made the industry realize that a TV show could drive retail sales as effectively as a Vogue spread. Manolo Blahnik became a household name because of this show.
But the fashion also created a fantasy that was hard to maintain. Critics often point out that Carrie’s lifestyle was unsustainable. She lived in a brownstone on the Upper East Side, ate out every night, and bought designer clothes while writing one column a week. It was a fairy tale. A gritty, New York fairy tale, but a fairy tale nonetheless.
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The Big, Aidan, and Petrovsky Debate
The romantic interests were essentially foils for Carrie’s personal growth—or lack thereof. Mr. Big, played by Chris Noth, was the "unavailable man." He was the archetype of the New York power player who couldn't commit. Their relationship was toxic, let’s be honest. It was a cycle of pursuit and withdrawal that lasted six seasons and two movies.
Aidan Shaw was the opposite. He was the "good guy." He made furniture. He had a dog. He wanted to get married and move to the country. Fans are still divided on this. Half the audience thinks Carrie was an idiot for letting him go; the other half realizes she would have been miserable in a cabin in the woods.
Then came Aleksandr Petrovsky, the "Russian." He represented a different kind of life—sophisticated, European, but ultimately isolating. The finale in Paris was a massive turning point. It showed that Carrie couldn't just "fit" into someone else's world. She had to be in New York, with her friends.
The Evolution into 'And Just Like That...'
You can't talk about Sex and the City without acknowledging the revival. And Just Like That... was a polarizing shift. It tried to correct the mistakes of the past, sometimes awkwardly. It dealt with aging, grief, and the reality that friendships change over thirty years.
The absence of Samantha Jones was a gaping hole. The behind-the-scenes feud between Sarah Jessica Parker and Kim Cattrall is legendary, and while the show tried to explain it away with "she moved to London," the chemistry felt off. However, the revival succeeded in showing that life doesn't end at fifty. Miranda's late-in-life sexual awakening and Charlotte’s struggle with parenting teenagers added layers that the original series couldn't have explored.
Why the Show Endures
Why are we still talking about a show that ended its original run in 2004?
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- The Writing: It was genuinely funny. The puns were terrible, sure, but the banter was sharp.
- The Location: New York City was the fifth character. It captured a specific era of the city—post-Studio 54 but pre-total gentrification—that feels nostalgic now.
- The Vulnerability: Underneath the glam, they talked about cancer, infertility, divorce, and loneliness.
- The Friendship: It prioritized the "chosen family" over the biological one.
It’s easy to dismiss it as a "chick flick" in TV form. That’s a mistake. It was a groundbreaking exploration of modern adulthood. It influenced everything from Girls to Insecure to Broad City.
Actionable Insights for Fans and New Viewers
If you're revisiting the series or watching it for the first time, there are ways to appreciate it without getting bogged down in the dated elements.
- Watch for the subtext, not just the plot. Notice how the lighting and costumes change when a character is feeling insecure. Patricia Field’s work is a masterclass in visual character development.
- Listen to the "I couldn't help but wonder" questions. Many of them are still relevant. How do we define success? Can you really have it all? Is there such a thing as "The One"?
- Acknowledge the flaws. It’s okay to love the show while recognizing its lack of inclusivity. Use it as a conversation starter about how media has changed in the last quarter-century.
- Check out the real-life locations. If you’re in New York, skip the tourist traps and visit the actual spots like Magnolia Bakery or the steps of the New York Public Library where Carrie (almost) got married.
- Read the original book. Candace Bushnell’s Sex and the City is much darker and more cynical than the show. It gives you a great perspective on how much the TV version "glamorized" the reality of 90s Manhattan.
The show isn't perfect. Carrie can be self-centered. The movies were... questionable. But the core of Sex and the City remains: the idea that your friends are the people who will be there when the men, the jobs, and the apartments fall through. That’s a universal truth, whether you’re wearing Manolos or sneakers.
To truly understand the impact, look at how the show handled Miranda’s decision to move to Brooklyn. At the time, it was treated like she was moving to the moon. Today, it’s where everyone lives. The show captured the shift of the culture in real-time. It’s a document of a city in flux and four women trying to find their footing in it.
Keep an eye on the fashion archives. Many of the pieces worn in the original series are now museum-grade vintage. The Fendi Baguette bag, which Carrie famously defended during a mugging ("It's a baguette!"), saw a massive resurgence in the 2020s directly because of the show's lasting influence. It’s a rare piece of media that continues to dictate retail trends thirty years after its debut.
Ultimately, the show taught a generation that it's okay to be a work in progress. You don't have to have it all figured out by thirty. Or forty. Or fifty. You just need a few good friends and a solid pair of shoes to get you through the day.