Ranking the Character Assassinations on ‘And Just Like That’
What happened to the characters on And Just Like That feels less like development and more like demolition. Somewhere along the line, the writers decided the best way to update our beloved crew for the modern age was to strip them of everything that once made them compelling.
For the sake of everyone’s sanity, I’m sticking to characters who actually appeared in Season 3. The damage runs deep across the board, but this list would be endless if we started digging into characters who were already off-screen. That said, Shoe the cat might genuinely be the most well-written character left.
Here’s how the character assassinations rank, from mild bruising to full-blown massacre.
10. Steve
We only got one episode with Steve, and somehow that was more than enough. Gone is the goofy charm, the warmth, the twinkle in his eye. Instead, he’s a grumbling shell of a man who feels like he wandered in from a completely different show. Yes, the actor has hearing loss in real life, but since when does that come with a full personality wipe? The real kicker: Steve, who became a father because he accidentally got someone pregnant, is now yelling at his son for… accidentally getting someone pregnant. He only ranks this low because he barely appeared—if he’d stuck around, I’m sure they would’ve found new ways to humiliate him.
9. Herbert
There wasn’t much character to ruin here, but they managed anyway. What began as a well-dressed, respectable man devolved into a walking punchline. By mid-season, Herbert’s biggest conflict was yelling at his wife over snack purchases and blaming her because he gained one pound. One. Pound. That’s where we are. Another man stripped of any backbone, complexity, or dignity. And Just Like That is where male characters go to be neutered.
8. Lily
Charlotte’s daughter was once the sweet little girl we all rooted for. The child Charlotte prayed for, cried over, and fought so hard to bring home. And now? Lily is a self-involved, entitled brat who treats her mother like an assistant. It’s not even rebellion—it’s just unpleasantness. If you’re going to write the next generation, at least give them some dimension.
7. Harry
Once a fierce, confident lawyer with unexpected charm, Harry was the perfect mix of soft and strong. He didn’t exactly win the genetic lottery, but he had charisma, success, and a quiet confidence that made him one of the best partners on the show. And now? He’s just another old, neutered guy who’s been reduced to endless penis jokes. First, they humiliate him by having him desperately try to take a cool selfie, then he needs Carrie to help him buy jeans, and then he pees himself in a club because he can’t get the jeans off. When he’s diagnosed with prostate cancer, you think maybe they’ll give him a meaningful storyline—but from that point on, every single line he delivers is about the size of his balls or his malfunctioning penis. What exactly did Harry do to deserve this level of humiliation?
6. Anthony
Even Anthony wasn’t safe from the slow character takedown. He used to be bold, confident, and fully aware of his value—a successful stylist to New York’s elite. So why is he now running a struggling bakery that sells bread in a city that fears carbs? The career downgrade makes no sense, and the gimmick of hiring hot guys in tight clothes to push “baguettes” feels desperate.
Now he’s insecure, constantly apologizing, and completely disconnected from who he used to be. When he calls Carrie out on her bizarre Aidan situation and she snaps back, he folds instantly. The real Anthony Marentino would’ve held his ground. And the storyline with Giuseppe’s mom? He’s suddenly broke and begging for approval, saying they’ll live off love? What happened to the guy who threw a multimillion-dollar wedding with Liza Minnelli? Nothing in this show’s universe adds up anymore—not the relationships, not the finances, not the characters.
5. Charlotte
Charlotte used to be the emotional anchor of the group—romantic but grounded, idealistic but with a strong moral center. She believed in love, family, tradition… and had no problem speaking up when her friends went off the rails. Now she’s been reduced to a shrieking, wide-eyed cheerleader with nothing of substance to say. She blindly supports Carrie’s five-year waiting plan for Aidan (which the real Charlotte York would never co-sign), gets steamrolled by her obnoxious kids, and spends most of the season looking like she has no idea where she is.
She had a few real moments—breaking down over Harry’s diagnosis, tearing up at Rock’s school play—but everything else felt like comic relief at her expense. The vertigo storyline? Just an excuse to make her fall face-first onto a bed with a used condom. Truly. That happened.
4. Big
No, he’s not in the season—but that’s exactly the issue. Not a memory, not a passing reference, not even a ghost of a sigh. Carrie speaks as if Aidan was her lifelong love story, casually claiming they were together for “over 20 years,” as if her entire marriage to Big didn’t exist.
Yes, we know the actor who played Big had allegations against him. But John James Preston, the character, did not. If you want to write him out, fine…but then tell us why! Give us a line, a reason, a moment of clarity. Don’t insult our intelligence by pretending he never mattered. Especially when, for decades, he was the central axis of Carrie’s entire emotional arc.
Was he retroactively canceled? Was he revealed to have a secret family, a Ponzi scheme, a trail of mistresses? Give us something. . But the total erasure—the revision of history to make Aidan the great love of her life—is bizarre, lazy, and frankly disrespectful to anyone who watched the original series.
3. Carrie
It’s almost hard to put into words what they’ve done to Carrie. She used to be flawed, yes—self-involved, impulsive, overly romantic—but she was also warm, funny, magnetic, and painfully self-aware. That version is long gone. What we’re left with is cold, bitter, and oddly hollow. She speaks in empty one-liners, bites people’s heads off for stating the obvious, and carries herself like someone who doesn’t even like the people she’s surrounded by—including herself.
But the most baffling part is her dynamic with Aidan. She spends the entire season orbiting his emotional chaos, never asserting herself, never asking basic questions. She tiptoes around him like she’s scared to rock the boat. He says, “Let’s wait five years,” and she agrees. He changes his mind and reappears? She’s fine with that too. She’s scared to ask if she can stay at his place when she visits Virginia. He tells her to sleep in the guest house, and she just… does it. He SLEEPS WITH HIS EX-WIFE and she doesn’t even flinch. This is supposed to be the man she’s waited decades for?
Carrie used to be many things, but she was never passive. Now she’s written like a woman with no agency, no self-respect, and no memory. Literally—because she also claims she and Aidan had a 20-year love story, completely ignoring the fact that she was with Big for the majority of that time.
She doesn’t feel like a person anymore. She feels like a weird blend of defensive, disconnected, and delusional. And worst of all, she’s become dull, a shell of who she used to be.
2. Miranda
This one hurts. Original Miranda was the sharpest of the group—brilliant, sarcastic, grounded. She was a boss in court, a fiercely loyal friend, and the one who always had the guts to say what no one else would. That Miranda is gone.
What we have now is an insecure, bumbling mess of a person who seems terrified of confrontation and completely disconnected from who she used to be. She’s suddenly chipper and wide-eyed over things she used to roll her eyes at—like glitter balloons and karaoke.
Even worse is her dynamic with Carrie. Some of the best moments in the original series were when Miranda checked her—called her out, told her the truth. Now, anytime Carrie raises her voice or pushes back, Miranda completely shuts down. She stumbles over her words, backpedals, and practically apologizes for having thoughts. It’s hard to believe this is the same woman who once held her own in a courtroom and routinely roasted arrogant men for breakfast.
She’s lost her edge, her purpose, and most of her dignity. And for what? Some vaguely defined journey of self-discovery that seems to lead nowhere. This is not character evolution—they erased everything that made her compelling and replaced it with… nothing
1. Aidan
They should’ve just left him in 2004. Truly. Aidan was never perfect, but he served his purpose: he was the anti-Big—grounded, kind, emotionally available, a man who wanted commitment and a life with Carrie. They closed his arc perfectly when Carrie ran into him on the street with a baby strapped to his chest. He was happily married and got the life he wanted… that should have been it. We never should have seen him again after that. But no, they will not rest until everyone is destroyed!
This new version of Aidan is unrecognizable. He’s immature, erratic, and frankly hard to watch. He shows up out of nowhere, makes vague declarations of love, then decides he can’t be with Carrie because of his murderous-sounding teenage son. But then he changes his mind. Then he changes it back. Then he sleeps with his ex wife. He’s just awful!
But the worst part? He’s gross. The infamous hand-licking-in-the-car scene is still seared into my brain. Every time he speaks in public, Carrie looks like she wants to disappear into the floor. He swings between cold and controlling. There’s no emotional consistency, no depth, just cringe. And somehow, the show wants us to believe this is Carrie’s real love story. That she was with him for “over 20 years,” not Big.
The revisionist history is bad enough. But what they did to Aidan’s character is something else entirely. They stripped him of everything that once made him sweet and safe and turned him into a walking red flag with a southern drawl. This wasn’t a redemption arc—it was a full-blown takedown. He didn’t deserve this. And neither did we.
Final Thoughts
It’s not just that the characters changed. It’s that they were hollowed out and reassembled into barely recognizable versions of themselves, often for cheap laughs or clumsy “growth” arcs. Aging doesn’t mean you lose your soul, your grit, or your essence. But in And Just Like That, that seems to be the price of admission.
It’s just so bad and the saddest part is it had the potential to be so good.
