And Just Like That… This Is What We Get?
I’ve watched And Just Like That Season 3 four times since Thursday night. FOUR. TIMES. And not because it’s good. Not because I’m inspired. Not even because I’m loyal. I keep watching like someone stuck in a toxic relationship with a show that used to love me, but now just leaves me hanging in a Midtown bodega wondering what the hell happened.
We waited. We showed up. We forgave. And this is what they’re giving us? This season feels like a fever dream written during a wine hangover and approved by people who never actually watched the original show.
Let’s start with the big one.
Aidan.
Why? No really—why is he back? Did Carrie hit her head on a vintage Manolo and forget that their entire relationship was a Pinterest board of poor decisions? It feels like the writers thought, “Let’s stir up chaos and call it closure.” Well congrats. You stirred alright and it’s all bad. Lazy writing disguised as a rekindled flame. This wasn’t romantic. It was frustrating. Like watching your best friend text an ex you already blocked on her behalf.
And since we’re on Carrie…
What is going on with her house? Is it a set? A stage play? An experimental art gallery? Because nothing says “emotionally unwell” like a woman living in a four story brownstone with one chair, a vase, and a cat bed. The woman wrote books, bought couture, and survived Mr. Big dying on a Peloton, but she can’t order a damn sofa? Carrie Bradshaw, what exactly do you do all day?
Now we have Charlotte and Harry. My sweet, unhinged favorites. They are spiraling this season like two people who just realized their kids are fully teenagers and they don’t actually like sharing a bathroom. And can we just say it how it really is for once! The bed is too damn small. That bed is the size of a hotel crib. If that’s the same post-divorce apartment, I swear her bedroom with Trey had more square footage and better lighting. I might need to go back and rewatch Sex and the City to investigate. For science.
Miranda… oh Miranda.
I’m proud of her, kind of. She’s trying. She’s out there. She’s doing scary things. But I’m still not sure about the British woman. Something about her gives me secondhand awkward. Like a yoga instructor who makes too much eye contact. I want Miranda to win, but I’m not sure this storyline is the win she thinks it is.
Let’s also talk about that weird episode where they went to Virginia.
What. Was. That.
I’ve lived in Virginia and have traveled all over the state , people don’t talk like that. They don’t act like that. It was like watching someone’s bad idea of Southern charm come to life, and not in a Steel Magnolias way—in a “Bless your heart but please stop” kind of way.
And then… Aidan’s parenting.
This part wasn’t just off—it was borderline offensive. His son has ADHD. So maybe he needs his meds. Maybe he also needs to be a kid. But the way Aidan’s controlling him like he’s managing a tech startup was cringey. I’m a mom. I’ve walked that road. And what that boy needs is compassion, structure, and yes—a little room to breathe. Instead, Aidan’s giving us “Toxic Dad Energy” disguised as discipline. Pass.
And now let’s just call out the elephant not in the room. I need our girl ….
SAMANTHA.
We needed her. We deserved her. And don’t tell me she had a cameo. That wasn’t Samantha. That was a voice memo with lip gloss. I will never, ever forgive Carrie aka SJP for letting that friendship fall apart. Samantha was the glue, the grit, the fire, the comic relief, the emotional support women we all needed. She gave life. She gave power. And what we have now is… well, it’s not that.
So yeah, I’ll probably keep watching.
Like we all do. Out of loyalty. Out of nostalgia. Out of sheer curiosity to see how many more plot lines they can cram into one episode while somehow saying absolutely nothing.
But don’t get it twisted, I’m watching with judgment and a full glass of wine.
Because after all the years, the investment, the heartbreak, and the sequins this is what they’re giving us?
And just like that… I might need to start watching Golden Girls instead.