Emily Articulated: Reboots

By Emily Erickson
Reader Columnist

I first watched the original Sex and the City TV series in my late teens (my older sister handing down her DVD box set like a family heirloom) and was immediately enthralled by the then-edgy portrayal of female friendship — built on candor, fallibility and a “full disclosure” nature.

The show followed four main characters: Carrie, who narrated the series through her sex- and-relationship-themed newspaper column; Miranda, the punchy, often cynical corporate lawyer; Samantha, the ambiguously older, sex-positive PR specialist; and Charlotte, the earnest and traditional-values art gallerist.

Each episode chronicled the women’s dating lives as single 30- and 40-somethings in New York City, showcasing their unique perspectives on seeking and finding (or not finding) love, all while keeping their relationship with each other center stage. It offered a commentary on its time (its six seasons spanning from 1998-2004), pushing back against the “woman v. woman” tropes so often portrayed in the early 2000s, while also highlighting alternative family structures and female desire — all of which felt honest and relevant at the time.

Emily Erickson. Courtesy photo.

Which is why I turned on the recent reboot, And Just Like That, an HBO series that drops back in on the women in their mid-50s in present-day New York. Unfortunately, I didn’t make it past the third episode, immediately exhausted at the show’s attempt to fit into 2023. Like they had a checklist hanging in the writer’s room, each episode painstakingly ticked off every “politically correct” scenario we associate with modern life.

As though the characters had crawled out from under a rock and simply emerged in 2023, without growing or developing in the past 10 years — while also changing their fundamental social behaviors — And Just Like That showcased both Miranda and Charlotte navigating their whiteness in their now hyper-diverse surroundings, with literally every new person in each of their lives being nonwhite. 

It also portrayed Charlotte struggling to perfectly parent a child who is questioning their gender identity, while Carrie blundered her way through her new role as a podcast host — a show she shares with trans comedian Che Diaz (who quickly becomes a lust-interest for Miranda), which had an actual button for “woke moment” disclosures. 

Samatha, and any substantial plot, was nowhere to be found.

So in my best Carrie impression, “It all makes me wonder, when shows are so firmly rooted in the past, can they really make it in our politically correct future? And, perhaps, if we are honest with ourselves, is it time to maybe boot the reboot?”

The original Sex and the City had many of the inclusivity gaps common of its time, like one-dimensional representations of LGBTQIA relationships and a general lack of diversity in main roles, but it told the women’s stories it centered on believably and well. The reboot, however, swapped its substance for a performance of political correctness.

And performing political correctness feels very different from showcasing stories that highlight unique human experiences, and elevate diverse voices, in all their many and representative iterations.

Schitt’s Creek, a show that chronicled the main character David Rose (Dan Levy) in his fall from “spoiled rich kid” to small-town living, also touches on his pansexuality, and features his queer-love story arc. It centered on storytelling and character building, being inclusive by showcasing unique characters as multifaceted and relatable. 

Although the show’s focus wasn’t on schooling anyone in political correctness, it ended up educating people anyway. Case in point: David’s iconic metaphor about his sexuality, “I like the wine and not the label,” being used in real-life coming out stories, and the cover of “Simply the Best,” sung by Patrick Brewer (Noah Reid) making even the surliest viewers root for his and David’s love. 

As more reboots of classic shows are popping up in the media forecast, each tasked with shape-shifting to fit our new zeitgeist, I wonder if we should just let new voices — equipped to tell believable stories in the modern era — take the cultural reins. 

At least in the case of And Just Like That, I much prefer Issa Rae’s Insecure or HBO’s The Sex Lives of College Girls (or literally anything else with a plot). But maybe that’s just my inner “Miranda,” cynically eye-rolling while secretly hoping that The Office reboot rumors please, please be true.

Emily Erickson is a writer and business owner with an affinity for black coffee and playing in the mountains. Connect with her online at www.bigbluehat.studio.