Rewatching Sex and the City now vs. then

Rewatching SATC as a woman in my early 40s vs watching it as a teen (when it initially aired) is a total mind-f**k. For starters, watching it in secret, late at night, from a Blockbuster rental with the volume turned down so low it would be years before I’d know what these characters’ voices actually sounded like, and now with noise-canceling headphones because I find it more thrilling to pretend to have still to watch in secret, is a unique experience.

Carrie Bradshaw, the once iconic 90s “It girl,” has been re-examined and recast as the villain hiding in plain sight. Her once aspirational character has been redefined as toxicity incarnate, and her popularity has now been relegated to a tone-deaf momentary lapse in societal judgment.

I still love this show and always will. I never aspired to be any of these women any more than wanting to be like Patsy or Edina from Absolutely Fabulous, although their laziness is enviable, I’m fully aware that I’ll never be that fabulous because 1) I’m over 6 years sober without a disposable income, and 2) they’re ridiculous and fictitious.

So I laugh along, judgment-free, and stream on, equipped with adult experiences that are reshaping my understanding of the narratives without losing sight of the charm of nostalgia that incentivizes the rewatching in the first place.

As for SATC, I still enjoy the rollercoaster of emotions this series elicits, and I love viewing New York from a romanticized 90s lens.

Yet I’m always caught off guard when I realize that I’m now closer to Samantha’s age than Carrie’s, and that’s just cruel.