There was a time when Carrie Bradshaw was more than a character; she was a cultural compass. For a generation of women, she was the rare reflection of a stylish, independent, thirty-something woman navigating life and love on her own terms. During her reign in Sex and the City, she was the one who famously walked away from Mr. Big at his own engagement party, declaring in a voiceover that resonated across the world, “Maybe some women are not meant to be tamed. Maybe they are supposed to run wild until they find someone just as wild to run with.” She was the one who, in the show’s final moments, taught us that “the most exciting, challenging, and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself.”
That woman, the headstrong, witty, and unapologetically flawed icon, is gone. In her place, walking the streets of New York in the reboot And Just Like That…, is a stranger. As the show’s third underwhelming season comes to a close, fans have been left with the ghost of Carrie Bradshaw, a woman so unrecognizable that her story now feels less like a continuation and more like a character assassination.
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The evidence of this decline is damning. The new Carrie is a woman whose personality is defined by petty grievances and baffling passivity. This is a character who gets acid reflux from mutton stew, who retracts an offer for her newly divorced best friend, Miranda, to stay in her home because she ate the last yogurt, and who barely musters a shrug after learning her supposed soulmate, Aidan, has slept with his ex wife. In one particularly egregious scene, she agrees to take off her high heeled shoes to appease a grumpy downstairs neighbor, walking around her own apartment barefoot. A barefoot Carrie Bradshaw? It feels less like character development and more like a betrayal.
This character assassination is a symptom of a much larger disease ailing And Just Like That…. When the revival was announced, fans were euphoric. Here was a chance to see women in their midlife years explored with the same technicolor glory that made the original series a phenomenon. Instead, the show, now masterminded by Michael Patrick King without original creator Darren Star, has been a catalog of missteps. The glaring, Samantha Jones shaped hole in the friendship, a result of the well documented feud between Sarah Jessica Parker and Kim Cattrall, has left the group’s dynamic permanently off balance.
The show’s handling of major plot points has been equally clumsy. After Mr. Big’s shocking death in the first episode, a storyline that could have provided a profound exploration of grief and starting over, Carrie seemed to forget about him within a few episodes. By season three, the great love of her life is barely a footnote. The show squandered the opportunity to delve into the realities of dating after loss, instead choosing nonsensical and boring story arcs, like an entire episode devoted to the “bad behavior” of Charlotte’s dog.
The problems extend behind the camera. HBO was forced to issue a statement after a baffling continuity error saw Lisa Todd Wexler’s father die twice, once in season one and again in season three. Even Sarah Jessica Parker, an executive producer on the show, has admitted to a strange detachment, revealing she filmed a cringe worthy phone sex scene she disagreed with because she didn’t have a strong defense to refuse. More tellingly, she has admitted she doesn’t even watch the show.
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The result is a series that fans now admit to “hate watching.” Viewership figures for the third season are down significantly from the first two, and a fourth season has yet to be announced. It seems the well of ideas has run dry, leaving many to wonder if it would be kinder to let these characters rest. One fan told a reporter it’s “easier to pretend this is a separate show entirely…it’s less depressing that way.”
In her prime, Carrie Bradshaw once mused, “Maybe the past is like an anchor holding us back. Maybe, you have to let go of who you were to become who you will be.” It’s a classic Carrie-ism, full of hope and introspection. But watching the reboot, one can’t help but wonder if that quote now applies to us, the viewers. Perhaps it’s finally time for us to let go of Carrie Bradshaw, to preserve the memory of the icon she was, rather than watch the stranger she has become.
