‘And Just Like That’ Ruined ‘Sex and The City’, And No One’s Talking About It Enough

When I first heard there would be a Sex and the City reboot, I was skeptical. Of course I was going to tune in, but let’s be real: the second movie was trash. Kim Cattrall wasn’t returning to reprise her iconic role as Samantha. And I just didn’t see how they could possibly recreate the magic of the original series.

And yet… I never could have imagined just how bad And Just Like That would be.

It’s not just bad — it’s a spectacular disaster. An abomination. It’s like the writers sat around and said, “Oh, you loved these characters? Just wait… because we’re going to make you hate them, one by one!” (Cue evil villain laugh.)

They’ve missed the mark so hard, it feels like a prank. Like we’re all being collectively Punk’d or punished for ever liking the original show.

I will give them credit for one thing: they’ve somehow managed to make each season worse than the last. It’s almost impressive. Every time you think the bottom can’t go lower, it does. Like… how?

Let’s break down all the ways they’ve butchered the legacy of this once-great series.

The Annihilation of Our Favorite Characters

What they’ve done to these women is criminal. They’ve stripped them of their essence — everything that made them powerful, relatable, and lovable — and reduced them to blithering idiots.

Carrie Bradshaw, Shell of a Woman

Say what you will about Carrie — she was always a little chaotic — but at least she had insight. Her literal job was to reflect and write about the human condition.

This new version of Carrie has nothing to say. Nothing. She’s an empty shell who speaks only in pithy one-liners, like Ryan Reynolds in every movie he’s ever done.

Case in point: In one scene, she’s having drinks with Lisette, the Gen Z jewelry designer, who’s venting about how hard modern dating is. This was a golden opportunity to explore the impact of social media, dating apps, and the evolution of love in the city. But what does Carrie say?

Absolutely. Nothing.

She just nods along. Later, she makes an unfunny quip about the psychiatrist Lisette had dated. That’s it. That was the moment I snapped. This show has nothing to say about anything.

Miranda Hobbes, Former Badass Turned Bumbling Mess

Oh, Miranda. Our strong, whip-smart, Type-A queen. Where art thou?

The Miranda we knew is gone. In her place: a bumbling fool who seems to have undergone a full-blown lobotomy. Can we reverse it?

Let’s talk about the lesbian storyline. Does it make sense for Miranda to be bi-curious? Sure. But Che is the person who awakens this revolution? CHE?! The exact kind of try-hard, self-absorbed chaos Miranda would’ve rolled her eyes at in 2002? No. Just… no.

And okay, fine — let’s suspend disbelief and say Che did spark something real. Even then, Miranda’s sudden, full identity shift into “desperate lesbian who hits on everything with a pulse” is absurd. It’s giving “barfly at last call,” and it’s not empowering, it’s predatory. And out of character.

Also, when did Miranda become a wide-eyed optimist who buys glitter balloons and a karaoke machine for a birthday party? This woman used to demolish courtrooms. Now she’s afraid of confrontation with Carrie over a banana.

Charlotte York, Human Cartoon

People say Kristin Davis forgot how to act. I disagree — I think the writers forgot how to write. Charlotte is now a cartoon character, bumbling through the Upper East Side like a confused cheerleader. And her storylines are absurd. Her dog being cancelled? Her kids (the kids she fought so hard to have) being obnoxious brats and letting them walk all over her? Terrible.

She chokes on dialogue so stiff, it feels AI-generated.

These women are unrecognizable. They’re shells of their former selves, and it’s so disappointing.

The New Characters Are Awful

Yes, I get the importance of diversifying the cast. But if you’re going to introduce new characters, at least make them interesting.

Lisa (LTW)

Charlotte’s new bestie has had one storyline in three seasons: she’s making a documentary and is attracted to her editor. That’s it. Over and over. They gave the storyline a break for one episode when her dad died… for the second time! He was dead in Season 1, resurrected in Season 2 for that dinner, then dies again in Season 3.

Apparently, it was actually her stepdad who died in Season 1. Convenient explanation… that no one remembers being set up. She’s not a character — she’s filler. A flat, tokenized role with zero development.

Seema

Oh, Seema. You could have been something. But instead, you’re just Samantha-lite. The Shein version of Samantha’s Chanel. She’s a walking cliché — all cigarettes and sexual innuendo, with none of the heart or depth that made Samantha iconic.

The Character Assassination of Aidan

WHY did they bring him back?

Everyone loved Aidan. We rooted for him. He was the safe choice. The sweet one. The one Carrie didn’t deserve. So why bring him back just to humiliate him?

The whole “Team Big vs. Team Aidan” debate is now settled. I’ll take emotionally avoidant Big over weepy, hand-licking Aidan any day. (Yes, he licks his hand during phone sex. I am still recovering.)

Also: what even is this “love story”?

Last season, Aidan cries over his kid and tells Carrie they can’t talk for five years. FIVE. YEARS. Then this season, he’s back. Then he’s gone. Then he’s back. Then she’s sleeping in the guest house. Then he’s sleeping with his ex-wife — and Carrie’s just like, “OK, Aidan.” Whatever he says, she does.

Carrie says nothing about any of it. She just goes along with whatever he says like a brainwashed Stepford girlfriend. Who is this woman?

The Erasure of Big

The erasure of Big is probably the biggest crime of all.

The writers spent ten years building this man up. Getting us to fall for him. Forgive him. Root for him. They gave us a whole movie about how devastated Carrie was when he left her at the altar — and now? Now he’s dead, and she’s like, “Maybe Big was a big mistake,” and moves on without a second thought.

No grief. No reflection. No anything. Just another lazy quip before she hops into bed with Aidan, the man she dumped multiple times, the man she rejected over and over again! And we’re supposed to believe this is really the great love of her life?

It’s insulting. To our intelligence, our time, and the original story arc.

From Soulmates to Strangers

One of the worst parts? The friendship.

These women barely seem to like each other anymore. They don’t challenge one another. They don’t connect. They relate like casual acquaintances at a PTA meeting.

Miranda was homeless for most of the season — crashing at Airbnbs and on couches— while Carrie was living in a six-bedroom mansion. And she didn’t offer her a room?! Are you kidding?

She eventually lets Miranda move in only after a naked man with a meat cleaver threatens her. And when she finally does, she’s a monster. Screaming over yogurt. Over bananas. What is this?

This friendship used to be the beating heart of the show. Now it’s just dead air.

This Show Is About Nothing

And finally, the biggest crime of all: this show has nothing to say.

No insight. No plot. No tension. No resolution. Just a bunch of half-baked “storylines” that go nowhere.

It’s nonsense soup.

Every time they brush against a real issue — modern dating, aging, grief, identity — they pivot to something absurd. A canceled dog. A TikTok dance. A dildo incident. It’s just chaos.

The only good thing about this show is the TikTok content that roasts it afterward. That’s where the true entertainment lives.

And Just Like That… they destroyed the legacy of Sex and the City.

And I may never forgive them.