And Just Like That, Nothing Changed: Postfeminism and Subjectivity in the Sex and the City Franchise

Sex and the City has tried its best to overcome its bad rap over the past few years, particularly with regards to readdressing the show’s exclusive focus on the lives of wealthy white women in New York. When coupled with Carrie Bradshaw’s bizarrely unrealistic lifestyle – $4.50 a word at Vogue, anyone? – it became an almost insurmountable mission to try and place the Sex and the City franchise in a modern context.

When Carrie publishes a book of essays, in-universe critic Michiko Kakutani says of it: “Single women rule and the men are disposable” and the central thesis to the show’s lore is revealed. This isn’t a series set in the real world; it’s Carrie’s world and we’re just living in it (for twenty-five-minute intervals).

Everything we see is filtered through the writer’s privileged, flawed lens, a curveball case of an unreliable narrator in a sea of Patrick Batemans and Tyler Durdens. As a standalone show, Sex and the City rarely posits itself as a voice for all – it consistently remains the voice, literally and figuratively, of one. By tightly focusing on the exploits of the core four women, the thematic centrality of that week’s Daily Star column, and Carrie’s infamously corny voiceovers, you’re granted entry into the fantasy world of a select few women, and one in particular.

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The two films from the Sex and the City franchise largely followed this format too, stretching agonisingly to runtimes north of two hours. These days, the first movie is fondly remembered; As the kind of girl who watches Sex and the City video essays on YouTube, I’m often hit with a barrage of shorts featuring moments like Charlotte’s curse upon Mr. Big or Carrie’s wedding dress montage from their silver screen debut.

It isn’t unwelcome either – I wouldn’t be writing this article without a powerful love for the series, warts and all, but within the franchise’s films, it is notably harder than ever to immerse yourself into Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte’s aggressively consumerist mindset – the first words heard in the film are “Gucci, Fendi, Prada purses / Purchasing the finer things, rapped by Fergie, an icon of noughties excess.

The films also lack the novelty of its source material; brazen sexuality is the main defence against a core of postfeminist thought. Throughout Sex and the City: The Movie and Sex and the City 2, the idea being sold to us is that feminism is a moment that’s over; that women have reached equality through power in the marketplace. For instance, much of the first half of the first film is dedicated to Samantha’s frustration that the ever-lovely Smith Jerrod bought her a $50,000 (!) ring as a gift, rather than allowing her to buy it for herself – a typical girlboss dilemma.

An affection for the first SATC movie remains, likely because the follow up is unbearable. Sex and the City 2 is the absolute worst of what critics claimed the series always was.

Nonetheless, an affection for the first SATC movie remains, likely because the follow up is unbearable. Sex and the City 2 is the absolute worst of what critics claimed the series always was, spending the first half of the film marrying the only two gay men despite their hatred for one another. The second, much worse, half of the movie attempts to make a misguided, racist statement about the plight of Muslim women in Abu Dhabi who – shock horror – aren’t visibly in designer labels. The wearing of the niqab is explicitly equated with a lack of rights for women, with Carrie’s narrative reassurance to the audience that these new characters are fine after all, because they are wearing the latest in luxury design under their traditional dress. Sex and the City 2 casted a harsh light over the previous years of the franchise, and we couldn’t help but wonder – was Sex and the City just frivolous trash all along?

And Just Like That isn’t just an attempt at continuing the original series and lining the pockets of the three original cast members who chose to return – it’s desperately trying to answer for and correct the sins of its immediate predecessor. Many of the choices in the show feel like they were chosen in a panic – how do we make the show more LGBTQ+ friendly? Add two gender-nonconforming characters, one irrelevant and one insufferable, and write Miranda a messy bisexual awakening that led to fan outrage rather than meaningful discussions around coming out later in life. How do we make the show more racially diverse? Add three entirely new non-white characters, all wealthy, and ultimately crowd out any chance for depth to their stories by retaining a high degree of focus on Carrie and co. How do we address the cast’s obscene wealth? We don’t – and therefore, nothing truly changes.

The problem at the heart of the reboot is Sex and the City creator Michael Patrick King’s desire to have it all – the subjectivity, frothiness and sexy fun of the original show as well as the social awareness of media that came later. Symbolised best by the lack of a traditional Carrie voiceover, And Just Like That tries and fails ostensibly to move the show away from focusing on the lead, but remains tethered to her brand of postfeminism, the invisibility of the problem removing opportunities for meaningful critique. And Just Like That is stuck between a rock and a hard place, unwilling to leave its past behind and unable to give the newer cast members the screen time they deserve, resulting in a show that often seems ashamed of itself, split between too many hot button issues and unable to do a single one justice. Instead, a budget that could have been spent in the writer’s room, is blown on a $350k, 71 second long cameo from the show’s missing star, Samantha Jones.

The new characters introduced by And Just Like That are repeatedly short changed in exchange for nostalgia hits that mainly miss the mark. In the 90s, the franchise was an escapist glimpse into the lives of the women we wanted to be – in 2023, it only begs the question, why should we care about the excessive problems of life’s elite?

Words: Zoe Crombie