And Just Like That Isn't Just Woke — It's a Full-On Parody Now

What started as a well-meaning update to the franchise is now so self-parodic that it's hard to tell if the writers are in on the joke. Season 1 gave us Miranda's awkward sexual awakening with Che Diaz — which became infamous fast. By Season 2, Che was written out, but instead of course-correcting, Season 3 has doubled down.

Take Miranda, for example. Once a sharp, no-nonsense lawyer, she's now reduced to a punchline, spending nights at gay bars, accidentally sleeping with a nun (yes, played by Rosie O'Donnell), then rebounding with her BBC producer colleague, Joy. She's not just exploring her identity — she's trapped in a caricature of midlife crisis.

Meanwhile, Carrie and Aidan's reunion storyline is even more bizarre. Aidan insists he can't commit to Carrie for another five years — not until his son Wyatt turns 18, as though parenting just stops at adulthood. Carrie, instead of reacting like an adult, shrugs it off, especially after Aidan admits to sleeping with his ex-wife Kathy during a tough time with his kid. Carrie's reply? She understands.

Their logic: "We never said we had to stay faithful anyway." So why are they pretending this is a relationship at all? And why is Carrie giving him keys to their house?

Then there are the kids — Charlotte's non-binary child Rock is handled with thoughtful continuity, but Lily's storyline veers straight into cliché.

She dates a polyamorous, bisexual classmate, introduces him to the family, and everyone just rolls with it. The show seems desperate to cover every sexual identity angle possible, regardless of narrative cohesion.

If that's not enough, there's:

• Lisa Todd Wexley's subplot involving a second dead father, because the first death in Season 1 was apparently just her stepdad — continuity be damned.
• Seema, the independent real estate boss, inexplicably quitting her career because the new management just isn't worth it.
• Anthony's Hot Fellas bakery, which shamelessly objectifies men by parading his young boyfriend Giuseppe to attract customers. Progressive? Not really — just tacky.

Even stable relationships aren't safe. Lisa, married to the ever-loyal Herbert, suddenly has a "work crush" on her new editor, jeopardizing one of the show's rare functional marriages.

And of course, there's the ongoing Wyatt storyline — Aidan's son with ADHD. Carrie is asked to bring him Adderall by Kathy, only for Aidan to reveal he doesn't want his son on meds at all. Another half-baked conflict tossed into the mix.

If Sex and the City was once about women owning their power and sexuality, And Just Like That… has turned them into insecure, meandering shadows of themselves. Even those happy to see more progressive storylines have called foul — not because of the themes themselves, but because the execution feels more like a forced parody of wokeness rather than genuine storytelling.

Stream And Just Like That… on HBO Max — if only to see how many boxes they can tick before the season ends.