Let me confess something: I recently tuned into the first episode of season three of HBO’s “And Just Like That,” which follows up on the beloved series from the late ’90s to mid-2000s, “Sex and the City.”
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Hold on, there’s more. I also binge-watched all the episodes from the first two seasons.
Even though I wasn’t a big fan of Carrie Bradshaw and her clique during their initial run from 1998 to 2004, I find myself secretly fascinated by the follow-up series.
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Sex and the City
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It was a groundbreaking series that shaped perceptions of gender roles—whether positively or negatively—for an entire era. The females in my circle during the early 2000s in New York City were driven and fashionable. In contrast, I lacked both ambition and style. My female friends shared their cringe-worthy dating experiences, whereas I often found myself spending Friday evenings solo. Back then, women would commonly compare themselves to one of the show’s four attractive and accomplished protagonists. On the flip side, most guys around me aspired to emulate either Neo from “The Matrix” or Adam Sandler in virtually any film he starred in. Personally, I preferred identifying with the character from “The Wedding Singer.”
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with a “Happy Gilmore
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rising.
I doubt I’ve ever managed to watch an entire episode of “Sex and the City,” despite my attempts. However, my spouse can recite whole episodes verbatim.
I found Sarah Jessica Parker, Cynthia Nixon, Kristin Davis, and the charmingly divine Kim Cattrall both humorous and appealing. They continue to be one of television’s standout quartets. However, during those years around the millennium, my focus leaned towards different representations of masculinity, such as David Fincher’s gritty exploration of male vulnerability in “Fight Club,” or the show “24” featuring Kiefer Sutherland as Jack Bauer who would stop at nothing to protect America. Perhaps even indulging somewhat in the brooding yet emotive rock sound of Creed.
To put it differently, I was preoccupied with mimicking masculine behavior, which involved poring over men’s magazines adorned with advertisements for intense colognes and carefully curated pickup dialogue that I would rehearse in front of my bathroom mirror.
Despite this, when it comes to “And Just Like That,” I find myself hooked. Initially, I started watching the first season of AJLT due to boredom, but soon after, I found myself muttering aloud, “Could I be a Carrie?” I actually just wrote that exact phrase on my laptop here in my New York flat. The series revolves around people in their 50s navigating chaotic lives, which sounds exactly like my situation right now.
A foreseeable aspect of aging in today’s world is the rapid pace at which culture evolves. However, I was unprepared for the scarcity of narratives focusing on all that occurs in one’s life after turning 40 until well before passing away.
Teens? Twentysomethings? Young families? Popular culture caters extensively to them. Sometimes, it feels like the whole entertainment sector goes out of its way to dictate how young individuals should lead their lives and define themselves. However, once you reach your 40s, narratives centered around growth, love, challenges, and daily navigation become scarce.
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And Just Like That” continues the story of Carrie, Miranda, and Charlotte, introducing some new faces as well. The series explores their journeys through career changes, relationships, and coming-of-age moments in New York City. It features steamy scenes and opulent living spaces. However, beyond the glitz and luxury—despite the abundance of haute couture, something I couldn’t be less interested in since my wardrobe consists mainly of sweatshirts—the show delves into the idea that aging does not equate to settling down. Growing older means life still holds unexpected turns, even after one reaches an age where regular medical check-ups include procedures like colonoscopies.
That’s precisely what I needed to hear right now since, folks, I’m not in a peaceful state of mind. Currently, I’m actively searching for employment and supporting my loved ones, but some days make me feel more lost and annoyed about my situation and aspirations compared to when I was 25. Actually, life appeared less complicated back then, despite feeling just as complex at times.
I anticipated a series centered around white women enjoying lunches and discussing relationships, careers, and balancing everything. While it does cover those topics, it unexpectedly delves into themes of midlife, disillusionment, and mortality, giving off quite a Gothic vibe.
During that initial season, Carrie loses her spouse, Mr. Big—a suave and charismatic figure unlike any man I’ve encountered before. Killing him off so suddenly was quite intense, but it left me completely captivated.
The women in “And Just Like That”
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They’re brimming with vitality. Juggling parenthood and entrepreneurship while keeping their personal lives active. It’s always an opportune moment to pursue your passions or fall for someone anew. Despite sounding trite, this sentiment isn’t commonly shared with individuals once they reach a particular age in our culture.
I haven’t shared my enthusiasm for this series with any of my guy buddies, so here I am confessing my secret online—a popular safe haven for people expressing their opinions. Will admitting that I know all the character names from “And Just Like That” impact how others see me?
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Provoke some guys on the internet? Quite possibly.
However, once you reach my age, you come to understand that men who criticize others for not being masculine enough are often lonely. If these individuals were to embrace the allure of my fictional companions, they might find their internal voids beginning to mend.
It’s an undeniable truth of life that if you genuinely and intensely care about something, you might come across as cringeworthy. So, accept it. Miranda does (and let me admit, she’s also my personal favorite).
I connect with the women from “And Just Like That” since we share similar ages, and I also have a close group of friends whom I discuss significant matters with, such as the concluding episode of Disney+’s Star Wars series “Andor.”
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We may not be wealthy, but at least we’re healthy, more or less needing a Lipitor now and then. I’ve known these fellows for years—decades even. We’ve supported each other through tough times, sharing both joys and sorrows.
Occasionally, when we’re dining at a messy diner, I might opt for coleslaw alongside my eggs, and the guys always chime in saying, “Man, that’s so typical of John.”
Lately, however, our discussions have grown more profound, delving into what truly matters to us as we age and perhaps become slightly less vigorous. We find ourselves exploring fresh aspirations along with long-held anxieties more often now. Some among us are even venturing into therapy for the very first time. It seems, almost effortlessly, everything transforms.
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