The SATC Conversation I'm Already Sick Of
And Just Like That. Image via HBO Max.
By Carita Rizzo
There are plenty of times that Sex and the City has fueled anger in even its most loyal fans. Many episodes of the series have not aged well, whether due to Carrie’s ceaseless attraction to a man who treated her like garbage (a man she eventually married), an often narrow-minded depiction of the LGBTQ community, the lack of diversity, or the frequent slut shaming.
But as the show makes its return to HBO after a 17-year hiatus (albeit in a new, sans-Samantha form), the anger that is currently percolating inside me is not aimed at the writers and creators of And Just Like That.
What pisses me off is that ever since Sarah Jessica Parker posted the first Instagram photos of her onscreen reunion with costars Cynthia Nixon and Kristin Davis last summer, the discourse around the series’ return has been almost singularly focused on the diminishing returns of the aging female.
The vitriol started, predictably, on social media, with random people expressing their thoughts on how the three women had aged. As expected, the feedback wasn’t flattering. Wanting to make it easier for others to contribute to the conversation, helpful outlets like The Daily Mail consolidated the comments under catchy headlines like, “And just like that... Charlotte has a new face!' SATC star Kristin Davis, 56, sparks plastic surgery rumors as fans claim she looks 'unrecognizable' in the new HBO spinoff trailer.”
In an era of clickbait, none of this is even remotely surprising. But if, at one point, mere scribbles on the world’s biggest toilet wall, once Parker addressed the misogynistic comments in Vogue, the conversation became front-page news on every reputable outlet.
“Everyone has something to say. ‘She has too many wrinkles, she doesn’t have enough wrinkles,’” Parker responded to the commentary. "It almost feels as if people don’t want us to be perfectly okay with where we are, as if they almost enjoy us being pained by who we are today, whether we choose to age naturally and not look perfect, or whether you do something if that makes you feel better. I know what I look like. I have no choice. What am I going to do about it? Stop aging? Disappear?”
To me, that’s the crux of this conversation. Whether the pot shots are focused on the changes in appearance that come with age or question the relevance of having a show centered around the topic of sex once a woman is married or a mother, the implication is that, above all, she’s overstayed her welcome. And what’s worse – the condemnation appears to come predominantly from other women.
Parker, Nixon, and Davis are by no means the first women over 40 to grace screens on such a regular basis that we’ve been able to witness every step of their physical transformation. Meryl Streep has made, on average, one movie per year since 1979 and no one (that we’ve seen) is up in arms over her physical evolution.
Is the inflated and inflamed reaction to how these three women have chosen (as if it really is a decision) to age due to the fact that the characters in Sex and the City have been cemented in our minds as forever 33? As unapologetically going after the things they wanted – things we associate with youth – like the men they wanted to sleep with and the clothes they wanted to own? Or is it because they dare think that they are entitled to the same kind of relationships, fashion, passion, intimacy, and sex post-menopause?
Are they not acting their age?
As an unmarried, child-free woman in my 40s, I think about the concept of “acting my age” a lot. My friends and I teeter on that annoying brink of middle age, one where we’re fighting gravity on certain fronts but our relationships, both platonic and romantic, are reaching heights we could never have imagined in our 20s or 30s.
While I’ve always been active in terms of professional risks, travel, and being surrounded by interesting people, the result of a commitment to a life outside most people’s idea of the norm is that my friendships with the women in my life are stronger than ever. They are my family. The adventures we have are usually stories worth sharing and our conversations are candid and endlessly fascinating, whether they revolve around our faces, dating, world politics, or sexism in healthcare. And yes, we still love a night out. To many, that doesn’t feel very grown up.
It’s hard to imagine that my life will dramatically change in the next five years. Yet the media, pop culture, and a peanut gallery of social-media pundits are telling me to savor feeling like a person, because once I turn 50, that will be a thing of the past. Why even bother trying to smooth out those wrinkles, when it would be best if you weren’t part of the tapestry at all?
This is exactly why we need And Just Like That, a show that gives the finger to “acting your age” and the dreaded invisibility factor.
Show us an unapologetic female perspective of middle age anchored in friendships, romantic relationships, chances taken, ambitions changing, and yes, the shit we do to delay the aging process – frankly, any pop culture depiction to combat the idea that between 50 and 70 there is just a giant void until you and your caftans settle into a retirement community in Florida. It’s about time.
I doubt Carrie, Charlotte, and Miranda alone will make headlines like, “What has she done to her face?” go away. But maybe, much like the first iteration of Sex and the City gave a generation of women permission to believe they could live large, giving women real role models in their 50s will give the haters something to look forward to, even if it comes with wrinkles.