And Just Like That…

Is this a SATC essay? Abso-fucking-lutely.

In a way, Sex And The City was my introduction to womanhood. Miranda Hobbes, Samantha Jones, Carrie Bradshaw and Charlotte York (in that order) candidly discussed red flags in sex and dating before the women in my real world did.

It was through watching the show that I saw my first reference to contraception (yes, the diaphragm story), depressed vaginas, HIV tests… even pansexuality, because Samantha Jones lived in the future and the gaping hole of her absence could be felt in every episode of And Just Like That… I mean, she wasn't even in the show and yet a text from Sam to Carrie concluded the season finale, because that’s the impact Samantha's character has. But we are here to appreciate SATC, not marvel at the captivating disaster that was AJLT.

SATC first aired in 1998 when I was too young to watch it - but over the years, I caught glimpses on TV of four women running around the city catching yellow cabs and trying on beautiful shoes, working in amazing jobs (PR boss, lawyer, sex columnist, art dealer), going for gorgeous brunches and talking about funky tasting spunk. 

Someone asked me recently, “shouldn’t it be called Sex IN The City?” and I went into a tirade about how New York City is the fifth character of the show. It is Sex AND The City, very much so - the show was a love letter to New York.

“If you only get one great love, New York may just be mine. And I can’t have nobody talking shit about my boyfriend.”

- Carrie Bradshaw in the episode ‘Anchors Away’

The iconic jazz that played over aerial shots of the city as CB strutted around like she owned it - smoking weed outside bars (“the day I got arrested for smoking-a-DOOBIE!”), ferries to Staten Island, coming home at dawn and getting robbed during a shopping trip in Soho (“it’s a baguette!”) - the show allowed us to step into her (very expensive) Manolos. It was visceral New York. It’s no coincidence that her relationship with NYC outlasted every other in the show, even in the reboot And Just Like That - New York City remains consistent in her life. I was obsessed, and Nadia and I got the SATC box set on DVD and we’d binge them, ignoring the chaos of West Croydon that was occurring outside. This was lux escapism, and I was enchanted - so much so that when I turned 21 I booked a flight to JFK and had my first solo vacay. I ordered a Cosmopolitan, walked over the Brooklyn Bridge, gawped at Starry Night and Warhol’s soup cans in the MoMA, got a ginormous pizza slice for a dollar, and cried the day I flew back to the UK because I hate it here.

We could talk about the lack of diversity of the show and how I didn’t necessarily see myself represented in it, but it’s been done. We know NYC was full of people of colour in the 90s and we know they were wiped from existence on mainstream TV, just like they were in Friends, etc. There are many essays on it. It’s actually exhausting, not being able to enjoy a TV show without considering if you even exist within their world. The only time a Pakistani was referenced on the show was when Ajay Mehta played a busboy. Oh, and all the South Asian cab drivers, of course… Look, sometimes you have to put things aside for your own sanity. Sidenote: Girlfriends, Pose, and The L Word are great shows that write the lives of intersectional / people of colour well.

Lack of diversity aside (remember when Carrie, a sex columnist, decided bisexuality was a lie?), SATC was undoubtedly revolutionary. The candid dialogue on sex, the wit, the intimacy of it all. Everything was laid out on the (brunch) table.   

Miranda squirting fairy liquid over a chocolate cake that she couldn’t stop eating… even after she’d thrown it in the bin. Her fear of being single and 30+, dying alone and being eaten by her cat. Miranda giving Steve a “mercy-fuck” and getting pregnant. Being sexually harassed by a sandwich. Carrie's powerful politician BF asking her to pee on him. Charlotte’s emotionally impotent husband, and many IVF struggles. Everything Samantha fucking Jones said. (“I love you, but I love me more,” is a favorite of mine.)

And just like that, I wonder - have I ever acknowledged how Big an impact SATC had on me? Carrie Bradshaw - newspaper columnist, freelance Vogue writer and full-time fabulous New Yorker - solidified my dream to be a writer. I wanted to tell cute jokes and write about love and you know what, if I’m really honest, I wanted my face on a bus. 

I started rewatching SATC recently in light of the new reboot And Just Like That, and it was a crazy different experience to when I first watched it as a teenager. In the pilot CB is 32 years old - the age I am now - so I watched the show with far more insight as my weapon. I have the emotional battle scars now, I can personally relate. I've met my Big, and I've had my Berger. I no longer look up to the ladies, per se, I am said ladies. When did that happen? Fuck.

SJP’s character got a lot of backlash over the years and fair play, she was quite often an asshole albeit with fabulously curly hair (your girl is lovely, Hubbell). But the fact that Carrie was deeply flawed - a deeply self-absorbed cheater with a victim mentality and an addiction to riding emotionally toxic rollercoasters with men (ok, mainly Big) - made the character relatable, it made her very pleasing to watch, and it made her real. We all love an anti-heroine, and it’s what she was. 

Back to the self-absorbed part. We all have experienced people who bring every conversation back to themselves. Example 1 of 100: when Charlotte got engaged to Harry on the day that Carrie was broken up with via the post-it, and Carrie SLAMMED THE POST-IT NOTE DIRECTLY ONTO CHARLOTTE’S ENGAGEMENT RING. The ‘cute’ line of “paper covers rock” can’t recover how appalling her behavior was, watching it back now. 

Or when she judged Samantha for giving head to the mailman, or when she severely let Miranda down after she injured herself and needed help. We all cheered as Miranda called out her bullshit (“THESE ARE BULLSHIT BAGELS!”). Or when Stanford Blatch (RIP) called her out for being a bad friend and not even asking him about his new relationship after she spent the whole episode talking about Nina Katz giving her a dirty look? Oh yeah, remember when she bullied Charlotte into giving her money to buy her apartment because she was going to be kicked out and had no savings because she’d spent all her deposit money on literally ONE HUNDRED pairs of $400 Manolos? Ok then, Caroline.

Miranda was the fucking hero of the show, right? Okay, joint first with Sam. But the way Miranda called it as she saw it, her absolute disdain for romance, her ambition, her honesty… She was the central character we all deserved. (“I’m no Mena Suvari, but I’m great in bed!!”)

All many of us can also relate to toxic love, and my God, the relationship Carrie had with Big made my heart stop at times. Like when he said he was moving to Paris so she tried to support the move, and he basically told her to fuck off? Her voice broke as she asked him: “Why is it so hard for you to factor me into your life in any real way?” and his bare minimal answer in return made me want to punch his face off. We’ve all been with someone who just won’t let you in. He kept her hanging on a string, giving her all the charm and charisma, but he would NOT FUCKING LET HER IN. He became her addiction. 

Speaking of Carrie’s addictions… the fashion, oh the fashion. It was more costume than fashion; everything they wore was pure theatrics, storytelling, lush and romantic, bold and Big Apple. Who doesn’t have a ‘Carrie’ necklace now? The clothes are the sixth character after the city. The pink and blue mismatched Louboutins Carrie wears when the girls go to LA?! CB might be a bad friend, but the girl knows how to elevate an outfit! God bless the show’s OG costume designer Patricia Field.

The Hollywood curls, square neckline and that choker… eurgh Samantha you are KILLING ME

No image I could find gave justice to The John Galliano newspaper dress, first shown on the autumn/winter 2000 Christian Dior runway show and made iconic by SJP the same year. 22 years later, the dress is still being recreated.

Also, this Vivienne Westwood skirt, ladies and gentlemen.

Obviously, the fashion of SATC requires a whole essay of its own.

*

Anyway, as I was saying earlier - one autumn morning when I was 21, I woke up in a grotty hostel (all I could afford) south of Central Park, on w 63rd street. The sun was blazing as I picked up a banana at the fruit cart at the end of the street and a filtered coffee from a humble diner next door, before hopping on the 1 line downtown to Christopher Street.

After strolling down the West Village I eventually got to Perry Street, and then I spotted Carrie Bradshaw’s apartment. Obviously, only people have watched the show (I doubt you would have made it this far if you hadn’t!) understand the significance of this walk-up. Despite the no-entry chain across the stairway that blocked any half-decent photo opportunity, I sat on the stoop - Carrie’s stoop, thee fucking stoop, and breathed it all in. Then I walked a block to the Magnolia Bakery which was featured in season 3, bought a delicious cream cake and returned to the stoop. I still remember the feeling now, sitting on the steps all alone in the middle of the city, eating that cupcake, surrounded by dead autumn leaves, and feeling like the anti-heroine I’d watched for so long. It might sound pathetic in its insignificance, but it was one of my favourite coming-of-age moments that I had for myself. 

After I finished my cupcake, I picked myself up off CB’s stairs. The street was absolutely silent that morning; peaceful, surreal. As I stared at her front door, I couldn’t help but wonder: what would Carrie do now?

So I walked back to the subway and made my way to Barneys on Madison Avenue. 

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