And Just Like That, It’s Back

Sex and the City for me was always a guaranteed fix of escapism and feelings. It was my post Ally McBeal treat, something I watched in my twenties, dreaming of a glamourous, and sassy life with an exciting career, great clothes, amazing friends, and interesting boys.

I was not a SATC early adopter. The initial buzz (unintended but relevant pun) about rampant rabbits and other, then unspoken of, sex things wasn’t the draw for me. Not for any prudish reasons, just because, it just sounded a bit silly and if I’m honest, I saw myself as over all that, having been to a few Ann Summers parties. But then I did watch it and was totally sucked in.

There were two things about it. Firstly, I’ll call it scenery. By this I mean New York, but also clothes, interiors, and voyeurism of cool people who I would likely never meet in human form. At the time I was working on hair colourant packaging for a company based in an industrial park in Basingstoke. Girls in Manolo’s and tutus just don’t tend to hang out there.

I loved all the outfits (not as personal suggestions but for what they were). I loved Carrie’s apartment. I loved Charlotte’s and the one Carrie ended up living in with Big. I loved the Russian suitor’s one, I loved the Hampton houses they went to for parties. I loved the houses Miranda lived in in Brooklyn. All of it was an escape from where I lived, went, and wore.

There was more though, beyond this scenery and that was the feelings. It was a guaranteed heart squeeze in every show. I’m an emotions girl. I cry at adverts. I see someone cry, I cry. But also, if I see someone happy or doing something lovely or brilliant or talented, my heart squeezes and a tear comes out. SATC, like Ally McBeal was a heart squeezer. Every show would have one, whether a little insight as Carrie reads out her article, a smile between friends or something bigger. To this day, I only need to think of Carrie running across the city in a white woolly hat to get to Miranda while Auld Lang Syne plays, to cry.

SATC was feelings, outfits, and experiences without consequence.

And this brings me to the new series, ‘And Just Like That’. By the time I got to watch it, I had read about 15 reviews (mostly bad) and probably the same number of headlines relating to the thing that happened on a well-known exercise bike. I was completely well versed in the criticism on the treatment of ageing. I was up to date with the Samantha situation. With all this in my armoury, I started watching the first two episodes completely expecting to be disappointed and pissed off about how 50+ women are portrayed – mostly because as of October this year, I am one.

But here’s the thing. The ageing thing was indeed odd. In all the trailers and social media hype, a photo of Carrie is used where, indeed, she looks old, haggard, and deeply unhappy. I feel lead to believe this was everyday Carrie. Nope, turns out this was Carrie at a funeral for flip’s sake! For pretty much the whole of the first episode, Carrie had waist length, gorgeous surfer girl hair, the waist circumference of a telegraph pole, amazing clothes, and heels as high as ever. OK, Miranda let her hair go grey and it was a point of discussion. That’s what this series is for in the way that everything that could possibly happen to a woman is for this programme. I did question the need for Steve to have a double hearing aid, and just in general, I question the need for lip fillers, but hey these are no biggies.

So, this is the thing. I feel the same about this new show as I used to feel watching SATC. Ageing is just a relevant issue up for discussion by some glamourous women who I feel like I know, just the same as rabbits, Brazilians, anal sex and being dumped by a ‘Post-It Note’ was 17 years ago.

My conclusion is that for those first 90 minutes I was laughing, nodding, cringing, and crying exactly as I did from 1998 to 2004. I think you can analyse and critique this as much as you like – about all the subjects it raises and yay… that’s a million conversations happening right now that aren’t about a virus. I, for one, am in.