Still fabulous? How SATC has aged – and what it’s trying to say now

Recently I rewatched every single episode of Sex and the City, affectionately referred to as SATC by my friends. Then I rewatched the movies. Then I watched the reboot, And Just Like That... And along the way, I started thinking: What was SATC telling us back in the day? Was it a reflection of the times, and does it deserve to be updated – or should we just look at it as a cultural relic and relegate it to the same past where Friends and Seinfeld also reside? The reboot is trying to keep up with modern sensibilities, but is it trying too hard? Join me for a deep-dive into Carrie Bradshaw's fabulous shoe closet.

Once the gold standard of glam and sex positivity

When SATC first aired in June of 1998, it was revolutionary. It gave women permission to talk about sex, desire, and dealbreakers over brunch. It challenged romantic norms by showing four women in their 30s and 40s navigating dating, careers, and singledom on their own terms. At its best, it was sharp, liberating, and oddly tender.

As Eliana Dockterman notes in Time, Sex and the City "has often been credited with bringing frank discussions about (and depictions of) women’s sexuality to the forefront of popular culture. Carrie and her friends discussed everything from vibrators to circumcision to sex positions over cosmos. Then they went home and practiced what they preached – all had multi-season love arcs but would date and sleep with many different men in between." While wearing (or kicking off) great shoes.

But the world that Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte, and Samantha strutted through was also narrow. It centered a white, wealthy, straight vision of womanhood and used queer characters and people of color as little more than stylish set dressing. Even in its early 2000s heyday, the show’s take on bisexuality was awkward, if not outright dismissive. (“It’s just a layover on the way to Gaytown,” Carrie once quipped. Yikes.)

Fast-forward to now – can the reboot keep up?

And Just Like That... launched in 2021 with the goal of updating the franchise for a new era. The characters are older, the world has changed, and the show is trying (sometimes painfully) to evolve. The reboot introduces non-binary and queer characters, wrestles with conversations about race and privilege, and centers menopause and grief. But it has also faced criticism for feeling stiff, forced, and performatively “woke.”

As The Independent points out, the reboot’s attempts at progressiveness often feel more like checkbox exercises than real character growth. Meanwhile, Carrie’s exploration of dating as a widow feels curiously disconnected from the sharp, self-aware observations she once offered on modern love.

The shift is especially noticeable in how the show portrays female sexuality. Samantha’s joyful promiscuity once stood as a defiant contrast to society’s expectations of older women. Her absence in the reboot leaves a noticeable void. While And Just Like That... includes moments of sexual exploration, the original’s open-hearted celebration of pleasure feels a bit more cautious now. Less champagne-soaked liberation, more lukewarm affirmation.

What Gen Z thinks about all this

Younger audiences are discovering Sex and the City through streaming, and they’re not watching it uncritically. As The Guardian reports, Gen Z viewers appreciate the show’s boldness around sex and friendship, but also see it as deeply flawed. They cringe at the lack of diversity, the questionable takes on gender identity, and the many problematic boyfriends. (Berger, we’re looking at you.)

Still, there’s affection. The show’s emphasis on friendship, self-sufficiency, and the simple power of saying “I’m not going to settle” continues to resonate – even if we’re all slightly horrified by the amount of tulle Carrie wore in her 30s. (Or maybe not, given the sheer number of tulle skirts we're seeing on ASOS lately.)

Can a show grow with its audience?

The reboot’s earnest clunkiness may actually reflect something real. Aging is messy. Evolving is uncomfortable. Watching Carrie try (and sometimes fail) to understand non-binary identities or change her dating patterns after loss mirrors what many people face as they grow older: you don’t stop wanting love, connection, or sex, but the way you seek them out shifts.

Even cast members are re-evaluating the show’s legacy. Kristin Davis, who plays Charlotte, recently launched a podcast called Are You a Charlotte?, where she revisits Sex and the City through a more modern lens, unpacking both its impact and its blind spots.

Still kind of fabulous, though

Sex and the City is far from perfect. It was never as progressive as it thought it was, and its reboot can feel like a middle-aged woman wearing a Gen Z crop top: Brave, but a bit off.

And yet, it still has cultural pull. It reminds us that dating, like friendship, is rarely tidy. That sexuality evolves. That talking honestly about your romantic disasters over overpriced cocktails can be a kind of therapy. The show has aged awkwardly, glamorously, and unevenly, but maybe that’s what aging looks like.

And just like that, we’re still watching. Maybe with a bit more clarity and a bit less tolerance for intolerance. Like the original SATC characters, we're evolving, learning, and considering the definition of "relevance". And that's not a bad thing.