As a Gen Zer, I Was Seated for Carrie Bradshaw's Return—and Then I Watched

Newsweek

4 days ago

Love her or loathe her, Carrie Bradshaw knows how to make an entrance.
Sarah Jessica Parker stutters back onto our screens for the latest series of And Just Like That... sporting a princess-like, nude sheer Simone Rocha dress, roses stuffed into her pockets, paired with a matching jacket, as she signs off a blank postcard to Aidan. Surprisingly, for a writer, she omits all words—just a heart scribbled at the bottom. Why? Because they have agreed to five years (yes, years!) of no-contact as Aidan resides in Virginia to raise his troubled son, who got into a drink-driving incident.
This is very on-brand for the healthiest couple of all time, who reunited in season 2 of AJLT after a lifetime of emotional turbulence due to Carrie's infidelity and a called-off engagement in the original show Sex And The City. For them, "no contact" means exchanging blank post-cards, with a smattering of awkward phone sex. Who said romance was dead?
Viewers of Sex And The City have routinely called out Carrie's shortcomings as a flawed protagonist, turning her into a meme on social media, along the lines of: "Every time I do something embarrassing for a man, I just tell myself Carrie Bradshaw would have done worse and carry on," which @werehavingfun shared on TikTok, referencing the infamous "get it while it's hot scene" when she showed up in a beret and brought pizza to impress Big. There is even a subreddit dedicated to her cringiest lines.
As Sex And The City has resurfaced in cultural relevance thanks to its availability on HBO's streaming platform, a new wave of Gen Z viewers has discovered the hit '90s show—and they've had thoughts. Many have been quick to call out the series' outdated plotlines, from transphobic jokes to problematic tropes that haven't aged well. One moment that's gone down in history for peak self-obsession is when Carrie compared her dating troubles to the conflict in Northern Ireland.
I first became acquainted with Carrie, Samantha, Miranda, and Charlotte while self-isolating at my parents' house in 2022 after testing positive for COVID. What began as respite from my solitude quickly turned into full-blown obsession. I was struck by the show's raw and honest depiction of modern dating and female friendship.
Despite first airing before I was born, and set in a city and culture a world away from my own, it felt wildly relatable. I've even joked with friends that if I ever have daughters, SATC will be required viewing—my equivalent to a prescribed religious text.
My sister, also a Gen Z and an avid rewatcher, never fails to be incensed by Carrie's behavior, from guilt-tripping her friend into offering financial help to chasing the wife of the man she's having an affair with out of their apartment and down a flight of stairs. My sister will yell at the screen: "She is such an idiot!" And sure, Carrie made a lot of questionable choices, but that's part of the appeal. Her flaws are what made her compelling—and column-worthy.
PARIS, FRANCE - MAY 29: Sarah Jessica Parker attends the "And Just Like That…" Season Three Photocall at Hotel Napoleon on May 29, 2025 in Paris, France.
PARIS, FRANCE - MAY 29: Sarah Jessica Parker attends the "And Just Like That…" Season Three Photocall at Hotel Napoleon on May 29, 2025 in Paris, France.
Marc Piasecki / Contributor/WireImage
But with the dawn of the new series, the drama she's known—and loved (by me, anyway) — for is missing. We spent seasons watching her entangled in Mr. Big's stronghold, witnessing the explosions of her self-destructive patterns as she chased and chased and chased a man who was never good for her. Cut to now: she's still chasing unavailable men, but it feels less relatable than ever.
I'm part of a generation of women trying to shift our focus away from men entirely. There's a global 4B movement encouraging women to go celibate in protest against shrinking rights and persistent misogyny. And while Gen Zers may be leading the discourse, it appears this frame of mind transcends generations—In the U.S., by 2023, more women than ever were single: 52 percent, according to Wells Fargo Economics.
Carrie has always been a symbol of liberation in some ways: she defied social norms, never wanted children, wrote a sex-positive column, and starred in a franchise that encouraged women across generations to speak candidly about once-taboo topics. One might think that Carrie would have been allowed to evolve with us, but instead, her universe seems stuck in the past.
While the original show was at least self-aware about its protagonists' obsession with men (in Miranda's words, "How does it happen that four smart women have nothing to talk about but boyfriends?") in 2025 he only person who is calling her out for her naivety is Anthony, who she ends up fighting with for calling out her choice.
What AJLT does get right is redefining what life can look like for women in their 50s in a way that feels aspirational. Miranda is deep in her queer awakening, Carrie is exploring phone sex (even if it's extremely uncomfortable to watch), and Seema is embracing dating later in life. But personally, I'd much rather watch Carrie embark on a solo journey of glamorous, cosmopolitan-fuelled self-discovery.
I will continue to watch as the season pans out, I just hope for Carrie to learn from her younger counterparts and shift her focus away from finding fulfilment in romantic love.
It would be terribly predictable for her plotline to be reduced to waiting for Aidan. Here's to hoping Charlotte's Gen Z children will end up schooling her on the joys of being alone—straight from their TikTok algorithm.