After two seasons marked by uncertainty and clunky reinvention, And Just Like That… finally feels like it knows what kind of show it wants to be.
Having seen the first six episodes of the twelve-episode season, I can say with cautious optimism that this is the most grounded and emotionally resonant chapter of the Sex and the City sequel so far.
The reboot has long struggled to mature its iconic trio Carrie Bradshaw, Miranda Hobbes, and Charlotte York without the balance of Samantha Jones and without falling into caricature. But for the first time, the series seems less interested in reinventing itself and more focused on telling a story that feels authentic. It’s not trying so hard to be relevant. Instead, it’s allowing its characters to grow up.
Season 3 opens with Carrie and Aidan navigating a long-distance relationship, exchanging postcards and negotiating emotional boundaries. It’s not a fiery reunion, but something quieter and more fragile. Their “five-year pause” arrangement reflects a hard-earned emotional maturity, one that feels more lived-in than nostalgic. There’s still chemistry, but now it comes with consequences and restraint, making their moments together land with more weight.
Miranda is finally moving on from the chaos of her relationship with Che Diaz. The show seems to realize how far it stretched her character in past seasons, and now she’s rebuilding, dating again, and trying to regain a sense of self. Charlotte, meanwhile, is caught up in some low-stakes dog park drama that feels like a weak subplot, though even her storylines have more emotional texture than before.
Earlier seasons tried too hard to respond to criticism by overstuffing the cast and overexplaining their attempts at diversity and progressiveness. This season still reflects a modern world, but in a way that feels more natural. The series no longer seems trapped by its own messaging. Instead, it’s telling stories that reflect the messiness of middle age, identity, and change without feeling like a checklist.
New York finally feels like a character again. We see it in café conversations that don’t feel scripted, in walks through Riverside Park, and in the quieter moments that remind us why the city was always so central to the show’s original rhythm. For the first time in a long while, it feels like the women live here again. Though I question why Carrie bought that big apartment that is not needed.
The fashion is still flawless, and the brunches still look great, but what stands out this season is the sense of purpose. These women aren’t the same as they were in their thirties, and the show doesn’t try to pretend otherwise. They’ve questioned their sexualities, changed careers, lost partners, and made a mess of things. But they keep showing up. That’s the story. Not the heels or the hookups, but the resilience.
And Just Like That isn’t trying to recapture Sex and the City. It’s embracing something older, more reflective, and finally, more honest. The series still has its flaws. Some storylines feel light, and a few supporting characters remain underdeveloped. But it’s no longer flailing. It’s evolving.
Whether the second half of the season can maintain this momentum remains to be seen. But based on the first six episodes, And Just Like That Season 3 is no longer just watchable. It’s worth watching.
