160. That’s how many hours of my life I spent watching Sex and the City. That’s 6 seasons, 18 episodes each…3 times over. Looking back, it’s daunting to think about how big of an undertaking the show is but with bite-sized episodes of 30 minutes each and fast paced storytelling, I almost wish the show was even longer than it already is. I’m on the last season, for the third time, and not ready to say goodbye. Lucky for me, the success of the show spawned two other feature length films and a couple of spinoff series (but we won’t talk about those because they’re objectively bad). Did I mention its contagiousness? My bestie, Anneke, came over once - she was immediately hooked after watching a couple of episodes and now, I’m proud to say, she’s four seasons deep. Google “best shows in the history of television” and SATC ranks among other timeless classics. But the alure of the show comes from an unexpected place, a type of risk taking not seen in its predecessors or contemporaries. It doesn’t depict the gory inner workings of a mafia operation like The Sopranos or the overfetishization and caricaturization of seemingly high-powered jobs like Suits or Billions that came later. It’s also not about nothing like Seinfeld or Friends. It’s not a drama piece, but it’s about drama. The kind that you look forward to on a brunch date with your girlfriends.
As the show gained popularity and praise, it was also met with valid criticisms. It was, and still is, heavily criticized for its lack of diversity, unrealistic portrayal of city life, and the occasional insensitive or stereotypical depictions of certain groups. But even with all that in mind, here I am, 160 hours later. I couldn’t help but wonder…what’s so great about these Manhattan snobs anyway? Someone send those clown shoes, frivolous girl talk , and rich white women and their first world problems over there with Jane Austin!
Right?
RIGHT???
My roommate once walked in on me binge watching the show and he cried out, “noooo I hate this show!” To which I responded, “you just don’t get it.”
Created by the prolific writer and producer Darren Star, the iconic series follows the romantic and personal lives of four female friends in their 30s (and one in her 40s) as they navigate the fabulous, materialistic social landscape of Manhattan, sharing triumphs and tribulations in their individual quests for love, fulfillment and self-discovery. At the heart of the series is Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker), a witty, fashionable sex columnist who serves as the show's central protagonist and narrator. She writes from her spacious Greenwich Village apartment, surrounded by designer shoes - which she miracously seems to be able to afford on her modest salary but nevermind that - as she navigates her romantic entanglement with “Mr. Big” and his glaring commitment issues. For some unexplained and complex reason, Carrie is drawn to Mr. Big and their tumultuous and toxic relationship serves as a key driver of the show's central tensions. Carrie is accompanied by a trio of close-knit friends, each offering a distinct perspective on love, sex, and life in the city. There's Miranda Hobbs (Cynthia Nixon), the one-liner queen and corporate lawyer whose cynical wit and pragmatic nature often serve as the group’s voice of reason. Then there’s Charlotte York (Kristin Davis), the prim and proper "East Side Princess" art dealer whose traditional views on relationships and family stand in opposition to the sexually liberated Samantha Jones (Kim Cattrall). As the unapologetically bold public relations executive, Samantha acts as the antithesis to Charlotte's conservatism, and is often considered the show's true heroine. They each have their own distinct personalities and perspectives, allowing viewers to relate to different aspects of each character. But these personalities and temperaments aren’t set in stone. Over the course of 6 seasons, the four women undergo profound personal evolutions. Not catalyzed by any single, pivotal event, but rather organically from the accumulation of life’s trials and tribulations, and all of the cringe-worthy moments as they navigate through the revolving doors of dating to the very personal experiences of parenthood, infertility, and aging.
If the loveable characters, lavish setting, and central romantic dramas serve as the grand, architectural elements, the witty banter and relatable humor provide the interior design that make the show feel lived in and comfortable. I recently visited some of my girlfriends in NYC, and as usual, we furiously whispered and giggled in the corner of a cafe somewhere in Manhattan. We dissected the foibles and frustrations of dating (”why did he think it was a good idea to do that?”), the communication methods of the male species (”I think they just grunt to each other”), fears around having children, and vibrators. Not too dissimilar from the frank, unfiltered dialogues depicted in SATC which feel like authentic extensions of the real-life conversations I often have with my friends. Michael Patrick King, who ran the show for four seasons, made it a point for the dialogue to come from a place of authenticity. “The people that I hired were all sort of in this same emotional place as the four characters. At one point, everyone was single, living in New York, and feeling like an outsider,” he said. And like any spirited discussion among good friends, no subject is off-limits - from the most intimate personal matters to the weightiest social issues, the women unabashedly explore the full spectrum of human experience through their lively, freewheeling dialogue. While it’s not a mouth piece for all women, SATC does satisfyingly amplify some shared truths. Like when Samantha says “A guy gets angry in a meeting, he’s a pistol. A woman, she’s emotional” or when a frustrated Charlotte declares to her first husband Trey, “I'm not a Madonna, and I'm not a whore... I'm your wife, and I'm sexual, and I love you.” While not the first series to center on women's experiences, SATC was remarkably bold and risk-taking in its exploration of sexuality - a realm that had previously been taboo or relegated to male-centric perspectives on television.
One of the most common criticisms of the show is its focus on materialism and consumerism. The characters’ expensive tastes and obsession with designer labels have been met with frequent disapproval. However, the show isn't attempting to make any moral arguments or judgements about these tendencies. It’s simply portraying the lived realities and preferences of this particular group of urban, professional women. SATC doesn't shy away from depicting their flaws and contradictions - the characters are imperfect, complicated individuals who don't always practice what they preach. In this sense, the show's treatment of materialism serves to humanize the characters and make them more relatable, warts and all. Rather than moralizing, SATC invites the audience to observe these women's experiences, desires, and lifestyle choices with empathy and nuance. The underlying message seems to be that we shouldn't expect fictional characters, or real people, to fit into neat moral categories - humans are messy, multifaceted, and don't always live up to societal ideals. SATC embraces this complexity without resorting to simplistic judgements.
The exploration of imperfect characters is also depicted through the show’s most prominent and hotly debated conflict: Carrie’s two love interests, Big vs Aidan. SATC fans love to hate Big. In his 40s, married and divorced nth number of times, he willy-nilly toys with Carrie, stringing her along for 6 seasons and keeping her in a perpetual state of limbo about her standing in his life. Yet Carrie herself is often just as culpable, repeatedly returning to Big even when in a seemingly stable relationship with the kind and normal-in-a-good-way Aidan. Her penchant for manufacturing drama is a key character flaw. She knows how poorly she's behaving, even hiding her relationship with Big from her friends who unanimously disapprove of him (you know it’s bad when Charlotte and Samantha finally agree on something). But the show suggests her decisions don't have to make rational sense, even to her closest confidantes. SATC recognizes that real people, with all their contradictions and impulses, don't always make choices that align with external expectations or the counsel of others. In this way, the Carrie-Big-Aidan triangle embodies the series' embrace of messy, authentic human complexity, rather than the imposition of easy answers or moral absolutes.
I’m 28 now and I see my 30s walking up the porch, it won’t be long until it comes knocking. But amidst of all of the anxieties that come with reaching this big milestone, SATC is a source of comfort. It reminds me that life is unexpected and that it’s ok to not know what I’m doing. And despite all of my flaws I’m still a good person, I shouldn’t feel guilty about splurging on material things that make me happy, and that I need to make time for my friends because they are my lifeline. SATC is not my mouth piece, or for anyone else, but I do appreciate that it’s a well-executed and hilarious “fuck you” to the notion that women are frivolous, 2-dimensional side characters with expiration dates (I’m looking at you Chris Nolan). Now, excuse me. I need to step outside and debut my new outfit.