'Sex and the City' No Longer Lives Here: Season 3 of 'And Just Like That' Buries the Nostalgia
When you want to recapture the magic, but all you get is brunch and boredom in a townhouse.
Back in 2021, when HBO launched And Just Like That, it felt like we might be going back to the good old New York days — where Manolo Blahniks clacked on pavements and kitchen table talks meant more than any love drama.
But Season 3 has made it crystal clear: Sex and the City is long gone. What’s left is a glossy imitation of post-50s life, where the heroines seem exhausted by their own personas.
Carrie’s Still at the Centre — But No Longer Sparkling
Columnist Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker) mourned Mr. Big, tasted the freedom of life alone — and... fell right back into the arms of another man.
Her long-distance romance with Aidan felt like a missed chance for real growth, independent of love. Her monologues have lost their edge, her outfits lack flair, and that perfectly decorated townhouse feels miles away from the viewer’s reality.
Samantha’s Exit Took the Show’s Pulse With Her
Kim Cattrall’s brief 74-second cameo in the new season feels more like a tribute to past energy than a real return. Her absence isn’t just one less character — it’s a charisma vacuum the show can’t fill.
New character Seema tries to inherit her spark, but ends up a pale echo of the original.
More Friends, Less Soul
Writers are scrambling to fill the void: there's comic Che, realtor Seema, professor Nya, activist Lisa... But the more faces they add, the less connection we feel.
Dialogues are stilted, themes are checkbox-ticked, and lines feel more curated than lived-in. These aren't heartfelt conversations anymore — they're glossy narrative panels.
Glamorous Stasis Instead of Honest Ageing
Charlotte wrestles with school committees, Miranda’s lost again in love and career — but all of it’s served with soft edges and polite detachment.
The creators shy away from real crises, fears, or ageing — instead, they wrap their problems in designer gowns. Somewhere in this plush chaos, the core message fades: the women are no longer exploring life, they’re just trying not to disrupt it.
Time to Admit: This Isn’t a Sequel, It’s an Epilogue
With Mr. Big’s death went the intrigue. With nostalgia went the tension. What remains is an empty shell — and the bittersweet truth: the world where sex was a conversation and the city was the fifth lead is gone for good.
