'And Just Like That...': The Franchise That Lost Its Way
In a move that surprised no one but still sent shockwaves through pop culture, HBO Max has pulled the plug on 'And Just Like That...' after three rocky seasons. For a generation that once relied on Carrie Bradshaw, Miranda Hobbes, Charlotte York, and Samantha Jones to explore love and friendship in New York City, this feels like a sad, awkward final chapter. The 'Sex and the City' reboot tried to recapture the old magic, but instead of evolution, what viewers got was a clumsy lesson in check-box diversity and forced cultural updates.
The original 'Sex and the City' knew exactly what it was: a glossy look at the lives of four privileged, mostly white women navigating dating and careers in a pre-social-media Manhattan. Its problems were obvious—episodes like 'The Caste System' made viewers wince even back in the day, and some of Samantha's comments were plain offensive. Still, the stories, for better or worse, rang true to the characters. They lived in their bubble, and the show never pretended otherwise.
From Edgy to Awkward: When Progress Feels Forced
Fast forward to 'And Just Like That…'. The attempt to retrofit the franchise with today's hot-button issues was about as subtle as a horn on a wedding cake. Miranda, once the snarky, overworked lawyer, drops her entire personality and family for Che Diaz, a non-binary comedian. Not only did it feel out of character, but Miranda’s attempts at racial and gender ‘awareness’ left fans more confused than inspired. In the original series, she dated a Black man without blinking; suddenly, now, she was awkwardly tripping over herself trying to act 'woke.' It just didn’t add up.
Charlotte's journey was also hijacked by trends. Her child Rock's decision to identify as non-binary was handled with all the subtlety of a public service announcement. Instead of a natural, meaningful family moment, it played more like a careful script drafted to avoid social media backlash. When Carrie attended a Diwali party, she gave a speech about Indian attire—only to get it completely wrong. Instead of insight, viewers got secondhand embarrassment.
The biggest absence, though, was Kim Cattrall’s Samantha. Her refusal to join the reboot may have spoken volumes: the tone had changed, but not for the better. In their quest for relevance, producers brought in new characters of color, including hiring Black writer Samantha Irby. Yet, instead of bringing fresh perspective, these additions felt ornamental—a bit of color to the dominant white landscape, but without agency or depth. Critics called it 'soft white supremacy.' The reboot wanted representation, but didn’t want to challenge the main characters. The result? Nobody felt authentic.
Viewers noticed. Ratings fell as fans started to tune out, tired of the inauthentic storylines and cardboard ‘growth’ moments. People came looking for the witty, raw honesty that made ‘Sex and the City’ worth watching. What they found was a show desperate to chase the headlines, not the heart of its characters. In the end, 'And Just Like That...' became a lesson in how not to do a reboot—if you’re going to update for modern values, it better come from the inside out, not the other way around.
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