Is ‘Sex and the City’ Something We Need to Reboot?
By: Brandy Collins
Tags: Essay, Bay Area, Sex And The City, San Francisco

Dating myself, I watched Sex and the City (SATC) when it originally aired between 1998 and 2004. During my late teens and 20s, I was a fan. I was excited when Jay-Z referenced it in “03 Bonnie & Clyde,” because that meant his wife — a.k.a Beyoncé — also watched it too. I read Candace Bushnell’s book Sex and the City, as well as the subsequent releases Four Blondes and Trading Up.

In my romanticized memory, the show was an iconic part of the feminine divine. Miranda Hobbs, Charlotte York, Samantha Jones, and the show’s central protagonist Carrie Bradshaw were our guides to what it was like to be single and sexy in New York City.

‘SATC’ was so steeped in white heteronormative behaviors and characters that when there was even small introduction to anything Black, gay, lower-class, or something ‘other,’ it became very jarring and cringeworthy to watch.

As a Black woman from the Bay Area, I couldn’t racially or financially identify with any of them, their problems, or experiences but that was part of the fun; the fantasy and escapism of it all. Contextually, in the ‘90s and early 2000s, the show was risque and progressive. In the years prior, HBO brought us Def Comedy Jam, Taxicab Confessions, and Oz. (But heavens: Now there were four well-to-do white women talking about sex during brunch? Clutch the pearls.)

Since SATC’s ending in 2004 and two films — one in 2008 and the other in 2010—the world has changed so much. At times, it feels like we’ve just lived through a blur of chaos over the past five years, alone.

There was no way a woman who wrote with that many ellipses on a columnist salary, had a lack of technological skills in using a flip phone and poor budgeting skills, was not invoking the spirit of Cardi B’s and Megan Thee Stallion’s foremothers to get her bills paid.

In just 2020, we global pandemic upend our lives; murder hornets began establishing colonies along the Pacific Northwest; our economy fell into a tailspin; racial protests were held in virtually every city across the nation; historic forest fires (some from gender reveal parties)caused record-breaking levels of bad air quality; and Cynthia Nixon —“Miranda”—ran for Governor of New York on a platform of marijuana legalization. Billionaire went into space.

And through all this, I couldn’t help but wonder… Did we really need to be back in that city with those women?

There was already talk about a reboot of Sex and the City surfacing and much like everything in the show, pages from the show's script were leaked to Page Six, the high society TMZ for the well-heeled.

Prior to the buzz of anticipation for discarded words and the scathing fan betrayal of Kim Catrell not returning in her role as Samantha Jones, I started rewatching original episodes. This was not solely because of the rumors of the reboot.

My intentions were far more nefarious. I was thoroughly convinced that Carrie Bradshaw was a kept woman. There was no way a woman who wrote with that many ellipses on a columnist salary, had a lack of technological skills in using a flip phone and poor budgeting skills, was not invoking the spirit of Cardi B’s and Megan Thee Stallion’s foremothers to get her bills paid. Carrie was given a $900 cashmere scarf for her birthday, Aidan bought her apartment and Big wrote her a check for $30,000 when Aidan broke up with her to buy the said apartment. You can’t convince me otherwise.

When the first film was released in 2008, I was front and center to watch my favorite four women in clothes I could neither fit nor afford. When the sequel happened in 2010 it happened in the worst possible way. There’s a point where the self-absorption and lack of awareness lead me to question why I loved this show in the first place?

Then I remembered I loved SATC in my twenties because I too was narcissistic, vapid, communicated horribly, and was insecure. But these women weren’t in their twenties as the show frequently reminds us (See titles of S1 Ep 4 and S2 Ep 17). These women were caricatures of what being an adult woman in a big city was like.

Every opportunity the show or the movies had to introduce something that challenged a norm or did not fit the status quo, it was done clumsily laughing and pointing.

Much like I didn’t notice that Big’s real name, John Preston, was never uttered early on in the series, it wasn’t until later I noticed the lack of cultural awareness. SATC was so steeped in white heteronormative behaviors and characters that when there were introductions to anything Black, gay, lower-class, or something “other,” it became very jarring and cringeworthy to watch.” Was I so enmeshed with the characters’ worlds that the absence of anything that resembled me was only made apparent by its appearance?

We left Sex and the City 2 following a “big gay wedding” for the only two gay characters, Stanford and Anthony, where Liza Minelli officiated their ceremony. Then the movie flies us to Abu Dhabi where we land with name-brand luggage full of stereotypes and classism. Here the audience is supposed to sympathize with the difficulties of the rich escaping their privilege to a foreign country on an adventure of being chased down by a mob of angry men to be saved by women who remove their burqa in an alleyway to reveal they are wearing the 2010 Louis Vuitton Spring collection.

Let’s all laugh when Miranda says “Something, something Arab women.” These are only a small piece of SATC’s problematic pie.

Every opportunity the show or the movies had to introduce something that challenged a norm or did not fit the status quo, it was done clumsily laughing and pointing. When they introduced bisexuality and gender norms (S3 EP4) they quickly dismissed them and continued normalizing heterosexuality calling anything bisexual “greedy.”

Ms, Bradshaw, who was reading this sex column of yours?

‘Sex and the City’ existed in a time before Olivia Pope came onto our screens dating a married white man and told everyone what to do.

When presented to mock Stanford or Anthony’s sexual preferences the audience is reminded that being gay is the butt of every joke. New ideas are shooed away with a wave of manicured hands as if to say they are too old to learn anything new. This all changed by season four when Samantha dated the show’s only Latina character, Maria. Apparently, bisexuality is only acceptable when it’s women.

And then, just like that, somewhere in the middle of season three we finally get to see a Black woman speak and she has a name — Adeena.

Somewhere between the phrase “liberal Black talk”, the awkward use of slang terms, and Samantha being outraged because Adeena has a problem with interracial dating, there’s a refreshing concoction of tone-deaf mixed with a sense of entitlement. I’m surprised they didn’t call this one “I don’t see color”. The episode ends painting the show’s first and only Black woman as the bad guy and Samantha being coddled after the hair-pulling she so rightfully deserved for yelling “Get your big black ass out of my face and your okra wasn’t all that.” I’m still conflicted on whether Charlotte’s reminder in the episode that race is a very sensitive topic was a help or further solidified that we would never have this discussion with SATC again.

As the reboot looms I’m sure there will be some more of these fun moments of tone-deaf delight on behalf of anyone who doesn’t fit the mold the show has created. The truth is these characters contributed marginalization with a host of arbitrary rules and norms.

Sex and the City existed in a time before Olivia Pope came onto our screens dating a married white man and told everyone what to do. It existed before LGTBQI+ or interracial families were in commercials; It existed before RuPaul could be considered problematic on VH1.

With every episode, I began thinking about more questions than Carrie Bradshaw could help but wonder. Rewatching this show reminded me that we took a lot of shit and honestly I don’t want to go back to it. I watched mesmerized and in judgment about how two-dimensional each woman was.

In a world now with the likes of Molly and Issa Rae, Sex and the City is not how I want to see women or women’s friendships portrayed any longer.

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And there it was: They’re still a fascinating trainwreck to watch but there’s something lacking in growth and personality that reminds me these aren’t women that I need to see rebooted.