When HBO announced the Sex and the City reboot, And Just Like That, fans everywhere held their breath. Could Carrie Bradshaw and her Manhattan crew recapture the charm of the original series, or would this reboot be just another nostalgic cash grab? As a longtime fan, here’s my honest review of why And Just Like That ultimately missed the mark.
But before we get into this And Just Like That review, let me take you back to where it all started for me, because this show wasn’t just TV. It was a rite of passage.
There was a time, back when I was way too young to even get half of what was going on, when watching Sex and the City felt like my guilty little secret. Picture me, sitting dangerously close to the TV, volume turned down so low that even Samantha Jones whispering about her latest scandal would’ve been a risk.
But here’s the thing: it wasn’t the cosmos, the chaos, or even the sex that hooked me. It was Carrie Bradshaw.
Her messy, whimsical, borderline delusional but so relatable way of writing about life made me believe writing could be glamorous. Healing. Maybe even necessary. Honestly, if you ever catch me typing furiously on my laptop, pretending I’m wiser than I am, just know Carrie Bradshaw probably planted that seed.
So when HBO announced And Just Like That..., my inner fangirl was curious. Could the show that defined an entire generation get a glow-up without losing the magic?
Spoiler alert: nope. Not even close.
And Just Like That Tried to Modernize, But Lost the Magic
Listen, I wanted to like this. I really did. But somewhere between Miranda having an identity crisis (???), and Carrie trying to figure out what being “woke” means, I realized… this isn’t a reboot. This is a funeral.
The fashion? Still iconic (I'm ignoring those stupid hats, really).
The city? Still sexy in that post-pandemic, overpriced latte way.
The characters? Yeah… who are these people?
-
Miranda: once the smart, practical lawyer, now in a fever-dream situationship that felt like it was written by someone who just downloaded TikTok.
-
Charlotte: still crying, still exhausting.
-
Samantha: gone (and those WhatsApp messages? Girl, please).
-
Carrie: grieving, podcasting, floating through life like a bougie Airbnb host with no Wi-Fi password.
Forced Wokeness in the Sex and the City Reboot?
The whole show felt like your cool aunt suddenly saying “slay queen” unironically. Important topics like race, gender identity, grief, and aging were shoved in, but instead of blending into the story, they landed like a badly Photoshopped Instagram filter.
It wasn’t storytelling. It was pandering.
“Quick, add a podcast! Throw in a non-binary character! Did we check the diversity box yet?”
It felt less like Sex and the City and more like a Twitter thread written by an intern who got scared of cancellation.
Why ‘And Just Like That’ Failed to Recapture the SATC Charm
Here’s the thing: Sex and the City was never perfect. It had problems. But it had charm. It sparkled. It made you feel like you were out with your chaotic, messy-but-lovable girlfriends, drinking overpriced martinis you couldn’t afford.
And Just Like That... feels like being forced into a reunion dinner where everyone secretly hates each other, the food is bad, and someone forgot to make a reservation.
So here’s my unsolicited advice: if you loved the original, don’t watch this. Protect the memory. Rewatch the classics. Pretend the reboot was just one of Carrie’s weird dreams after too much Merlot.
Final Verdict: A Disappointing Reboot of Sex and the City
2/5 Cosmos.
One for the fashion, one for Seema Patel (because she actually brought some sparkle). That’s it.
The rest? Nostalgia gone wrong, forced “relatability,” and characters who deserved way better.
And honestly? I’m glad it’s cancelled. Because some things belong in the early 2000s, with flip phones, questionable outfits, and Carrie clacking away on her MacBook, asking the kind of silly-yet-wise questions that made us fall in love in the first place.
And just like that…
I’m done.
0 Comments