Twenty-five years ago, a big-haired, well-heeled sex columnist made her debut in a bold new comedy about women over 30 dating in New York. “It’s like the riddle of the Sphinx. Why are there so many great unmarried women, and no great unmarried men?” was the first question Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker) pondered with her fellow single friends. “By the time you reach your 30s, you think, ‘Why should I settle?’” was corporate lawyer Miranda Hobbes’s (Cynthia Nixon) answer. “Most men are threatened by successful women,” added art dealer Charlotte York (Kristin Davis). “The right guy is an illusion; start living your life!” countered PR guru Samantha Jones (Kim Cattrall). And just like that, one of the best-ever female-led TV shows was born.
Women talking so frankly about what they want from sex and relationships was groundbreaking at the time; a quarter of a century on, it is folklore. Conversations from the whole series still take place everywhere over brunches, margaritas and nine-minute WhatsApp voicenotes. I can confirm this as a single thirtysomething who has watched the whole six seasons at least, oh, five times since my 20s. Barely a week goes by where my oldest friend and I don’t exchange a Samantha meme (“If you turn into one of those married assholes, I’ll kill you” is a favourite). Sex and the City was, and still is, the single woman’s bible.
The show is a masterclass in unpicking all the ways single women will forever be treated as “lesser” by society. In season one’s The Baby Shower, Samantha is shamed for “still bar-hopping and bed-hopping”. Her response? Throwing a fabulous “I don’t have a baby!” party. Later, in season six’s A Woman’s Right to Shoes, Carrie calculates the $2,300 she has spent on one friend’s decision to get married and have babies. While she is happy to mark such events, it is unfair that she won’t receive anything to celebrate her single and child-free status: “Hallmark doesn’t make a ‘Congratulations! You didn’t marry the wrong guy!’ card.” We qualify each other’s life choices, she says, rather than celebrate them. This couldn’t be truer at a time when £604 is the average amount we spend to attend a wedding, even though the average woman cannot afford to own a home anywhere in the UK.
Then, of course, there are the dates. The men. The sex. Samantha talks about dating a guy with the “funkiest tasting spunk” over breakfast. Horny Miranda fantasises about having sex with a sandwich. Prim Charlotte shouts “Don’t you ever just want to be pounded really hard? … I just really wanna be fucked!” at her old sorority sisters. No topic is off limits and these four women paved the way for openly dissecting sex without judgment. Apparently, people are having sex less than ever. Perhaps it’s time to take a sermon from Samantha, who spends whole evenings masturbating with a vibrator while smoking spliffs.
When it came to relationships, SatC did a beautiful job of reassuring us that it’s OK to want one. These were not desperate women. You can be happy, successful and fulfilled with your single life – and still want romantic love. Fiercely independent Miranda doesn’t even realise she wants Steve Brady in her life until months after she has his baby. Idealistic Charlotte meets lovely, bald, hairy Harry Goldblatt and finally realises that sometimes you need to dismantle a lifelong picture of what you think your life should look like to find what’s best for you. Even Samantha takes a chance with Smith Jerrod after breaking things off with cheating ex Richard Wright, saying, “I love you, too, Richard, but I love me more” (she later echoes these words to Smith in the film). And when Carrie ends things with awful Aleksandr Petrovsky in the finale, she nails it with: “I’m someone who is looking for love. Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can’t-live-without-each-other love.” Now that is a line to live by.
The love these women really need, though, has always been each other’s. Find a friend who will volunteer to pull out your diaphragm if it gets stuck – like Samantha does for Carrie – and you’ve got a soulmate for life. Sure, there were some bumps in the road, such as when Carrie shamed Samantha after walking in on her performing oral sex on the delivery guy (resulting in the classic line “I shall wear whatever and blow whomever I want as long as I can breathe and kneel”). But, just as it does with relationships, the show explores the very real, imperfect moments in friendships, as well as the glorious ones. In season four’s Shoulda Woulda Coulda, when Miranda tells a nearly infertile Charlotte that she’s pregnant, a devastated Charlotte insists on walking home alone. But Miranda follows her as a silent act of support: “She knew Miranda was behind her.” It’s gorgeous.
SatC only made itself relatable to privileged, white, heterosexual women, and it’s hard to ignore the flaws that are now quite painful to rewatch. There are of course many things that would be different today, and attempts at these have been made in the sequel, And Just Like That … But so many of the other sentiments feel timeless and will stay with me for life. I know exactly which episode to watch to suit my mood, whether that’s needing a cry after a breakup (the moment when Carrie throws the vase of flowers across the room after Berger’s Post-It note) or I’m having a lonely day (Carrie describes it as “palpable” at her own book launch – something my lonely generation are only now finding the courage to say out loud).
I sometimes wonder if I would know the joy of a solo glass of wine without having seen season two’s perfectly titled They Shoot Single People, Don’t They? Carrie takes a seat outside a bar, tells the waiter that no one else is coming and orders a drink. “I sat there and had a glass of wine alone,” she narrates. “No books, no man, no friends, no armour, no faking.” This doesn’t quite stand today, but only because I put my phone in my bag, too.
