Here’s What I Learned From My Sex and the City Rewatch
Maybe the Carrie Bradshaw apologists were the real friends we made along the way
Rachel Sennott had a REALLY good point when she said this about quitting the platform formerly known as Twitter: “I have moved away a bit from ‘I’ll tell you everything every second.’” Though I absorbed it wholeheartedly, the advice did not migrate up to my brain, which is why I have documented some stray thoughts I’ve had during my Sex and the City rewatch with public consumption in mind. Here are a few:
It is a truth universally acknowledged that Carrie Bradshaw, by and large, sucks. Coleman Spilde from The Daily Beast characterizes her best: “She’s selfish and narcissistic; the world revolves around her, and if anyone in her orbit forgets that, she’ll be quick to remind them that she’s supposed to be the one at the center of the universe… Carrie Bradshaw is not concerned with anyone but herself.” Thus proved the age old adage that having a love-hate relationship with Carrie Bradshaw was the correct way to watch Sex and the City.
With that thesis slotted in mind for my rewatch, I was prepared to find new appreciation for Samantha’s sexual progressivism (I found myself aggravated by her whole B-plot involving the Meatpacking District) or empathy for Charlotte during her brief, ill-advised marriage to Trey (Kyle MacLachlan’s psychosexual energy remains underutilized as a mommy’s boy husband and as the seedy Orson Hodge in Desperate Housewives, but that is for later). Instead, I found a different, surprising joy: Carrie messily justifying her fucked up behavior. She reminded me of my enemies; she reminded me of myself; Carrie Bradshaw, you are actually all of us.
As a teenager, I was instantly drawn to Carrie. She was a writer (I wanted to be one!) who lived in New York City (I wanted to live there!) and had a penchant for buying things she couldn’t afford (I cannot shake this habit to this day!). But I never wanted to identify too closely with Carrie Bradshaw because that meant I also had to own her shortcomings as a routinely terrible friend, cheater, and narcissist.
It seemed more stylish to model myself off one of the other SATC girls, so I chose Miranda, who was queer-coded and headstrong, hot without trying so hard, simultaneously career-driven, friend-focused, and unafraid of rejection (I decline to comment on And Just Like That... Miranda). But during this rewatch, I realized that I had started identifying as a Miranda because I was scared of what it meant to be a “Carrie.”
Protagonists like Carrie (and Girls’ Hannah Horvath, Gilmore Girls’ Rory Gilmore, and so on and so forth) were never meant to engage with the world in a real way. Carrie and her friends lived in their white social circles, disastrously navigating their lives without acknowledging the changing status quo (which is why the rampant tokenism in AJLT… feels especially egregious). Carrie Bradshaw was not a character built with me in mind, therefore I was allowed to shit on her. Every episode, you saw the rise and fall of a typical Carrie debacle: finding a good thing (a man, a career opportunity, a friend), nitpicking until it bleeds, then promptly ruining it when it’s no longer all about her. Carrie lets her libido win nearly every single time, resulting in dire consequences for those around her – which she rarely cared about – and a column written for herself. I patted myself on the back after each episode. “I could never be like her, I could never be like her,” I internally chanted.
A few years ago, an acquaintance declared herself “just like Carrie” during her first SATC watch. I scoffed, secretly delighted that I could now classify her as an insufferable frenemy who took pride in identifying with television’s public enemy number one, Carrie Bradshaw. Politely, I asked her to expand on why, hoping that she’d give me the deluded answer that I craved. Instead, she was forthcoming about her own selfish nature: how she doubled down instead of looking up, weaponized moral absolutism during fights with friends, berated strangers over decisions she’s also made. At the end of her thorough explanation, she smiled at me, satisfied, and I realized she had earned it.
I smiled back wanly, bitterly. “She’s right, you know,” the voice in the back of my head said. “Internalizing those same thoughts doesn’t make you superior. Just kind of bitter.” She had just meticulously listed off her flaws to me, not for self-improvement, just in recognition. Hating Carrie won’t make me better, but acknowledging that her big flaws are a real mirror to my own – well, that’s just true acceptance.
(Horniness) Kill Count:
Miranda hooking up with Will Arnett as a exhibitionist intellectual in public places? EXTREMELY HOT. The big reveal that Mr. Bojack Horseman himself still lives with his parents just as Miranda really lets loose? WAY LESS HOT.
Charlotte swallowing her pride to admit to Harry that he was the best (sex, partner, everything) she ever had at a singles mixer. In a last ditch effort to get him back, she’s resigned to not being with him and merely wants him to know the truth of her love. I cry every time!
S6E2: Samantha’s hilarious first fuckathon with Smith Jerrod where she wails and moans like a sexual banshee imprinted on me from first to last watch. I barely notice Smith Jerrod because Sam’s rowdy pleasure is so central to the scene, and sets up their relationship dynamic perfectly.
David Duchovny playing Carrie’s high school boyfriend turned mental health facility patient in S6E10. Their picturesque date on hospital grounds and her voiceover (“I started to think, maybe the Juno-Spears Center should be mandatory for New Yorkers, like the Hamptons or Fire Island.” Carrie, what???) before the reality of his stay sinks in makes for an unforgettable episode that only SATC can (sort of) get away with.
In S2E6, Charlotte, eager for nuanced friendship outside of her core three, becomes swept up in the Power Lesbian scene until she gets a very warranted rude awakening:
I am Team Steve Brady because David Eigenberg’s sexual magnetism is all sweet smirks and puppy dog eyes despite being an incompetent partner and parent.
When Carrie delivers a watery, unwanted apology to Natasha, who shoots down our antihero’s ego with a triumphant and long overdue monologue — the single most satisfying moment as a Carrie lover and hater. Watching Carrie get so instantly humbled that all she can do walk away… exquisite television.
This week in horny:
Sex Education’s Last Class Ever
The British comedy’s final season debuted yesterday on Netflix. Truthfully, I’ve never been a big fan of the series but I would be remiss for not noting its impact for young horny representation! Also, this poster + tagline ROCKS:
Joe Jonas Must Answer To The Law
Sophie Turner’s taking her side of the divorce straight to court while Joe Jonas’s PR strategy of leaking stories about the mother of his children to TMZ and People seems to be deliciously backfiring. Turner recently filed her own lawsuit against Jonas, alleging that the pair had agreed to raise their children in England, among other things. We’ll see what weird little lie Jonas pedals out next for his tour de self-victimization.
Troye Sivan Got Himself Started
The Australian child actor-turned YouTuber whose coming out video unfortunately prompted my own soul searching-turned pop singer somehow got the rights to sample the Bag Raiders’ song “Shooting Stars.” Troye Sivan’s “Got Me Started” is another sticky banger that marks an exciting new sound for the artist, who hasn’t exhibited this much unbridled yearning since 2015’s “Blue Neighborhood.”
Poor Things (Specifically, Me)
There’s probably nothing more fulfilling than seeing a highly anticipated movie before your peers – but that won’t be me this year. There’s definitely nothing better than watching Emma Stone’s Bella Baxter discover the pleasures of intimacy for the first time in Poor Things. I didn’t get New York Film Festival tickets to horniest flick of the year Poor Things. If you’re going to the showing, you definitely deserve it but so do I. That’s all.
See you next week for something… birthday related? Me related?? I’ve been feeling very mixed after screening American Horror Story: Delicate, so I’m not sure yet… But I’ll ttyl regardless <3