You Know Who Would’ve Hated the And Just Like That Finale? Samantha Jones

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This article discusses, in detail, the series finale of And Just Like That.

After 27 years, the story of Carrie Bradshaw has come to an end. On Thursday, it concluded with a quiet scene reminiscent of a yogurt commercial rather than the dramatic finale that was typical of Sex and the City. In the final scenes of And Just Like That, after taking farewells from each character, Sarah Jessica Parker’s Carrie arrives home from Miranda’s (Cynthia Nixon) disastrous Thanksgiving dinner. She plays Barry White’s “You’re the First, the Last, My Everything” on a karaoke machine she never wanted, an item left over from a different unfortunate party. She eats pie directly out of the tin. She edits the opening line of her novel’s epilogue: “The woman realized she was not accompanied – she was independent.” (Of course, Carrie doesn’t know how to type an em-dash.) Then, she dances around her house in her signature scarlet tulle-and-sequin outfit, waving her arms overhead. In essence, if you replaced the pie with a container of fruit-flavored yogurt, you would be in Yoplait territory.

In a hastily concluded episode of “And Just Like That,” the series’ quick and superficial narrative style reached a peak, serving as an overly dramatic punctuation mark to Carrie’s swift, unfulfilling conclusion to her final storyline. After recognizing that Aidan (John Corbett) could never fully trust her and parting ways with the charming literary figure, Duncan (Jonathan Cake), our widowed, former sex-columnist protagonist decides to forgo love and, with a heavy sigh, chooses herself. This ending brought to mind the independent spirit and libido of Samantha Jones, played by Kim Cattrall in “Sex and the City,” whose character added such joy and zest to that show. For Carrie to present this long-known truth as some kind of newfound realization, then to end abruptly without resolution, would have surely displeased Samantha.

In a fair assessment, the episode named “Party of One” wasn’t entirely disappointing. It was heartening to see that Miranda, who had previously been portrayed as a cynical, heteropessimistic workaholic lawyer by showrunner Michael Patrick King, finally received reciprocal affection from Joy, her first genuine love interest. The charming dynamic between Charlotte (Kristin Davis) and Harry (Evan Handler) has long been one of the series’ highlights, so it was pleasant to see him regain his charm after prostate cancer treatment. (Although, the fact that their teenage daughter appeared thrilled at the thought of her parents rekindling their relationship in the bedroom was perhaps a bit excessive.)

As a movie enthusiast who’s been hooked on Sex and the City for ages, I must admit that I found it a bit excessive when they decided to complicate Carrie’s solitary life by introducing Mark, Miranda’s boss, at Thanksgiving. And honestly, I could have done without the cringeworthy scene involving the overflowing toilet incident, which seemed to be the nail in the coffin for his pursuit of Carrie.

However, it was refreshing to see a male character other than Steve experience an embarrassing situation that the women on Sex and the City have gone through countless times during their dating adventures.

Additionally, I appreciated the creative touch in concluding And Just Like That… with a disastrous dinner party instead of a fairy-tale ending like Carrie’s magical “last supper” from Season 2. The contrast between the two events was intriguing and added depth to the series finale.

Regarding that party at the finale: Was the whole climax of Brady getting someone pregnant supposed to be that bothersome Miranda spoils her own Thanksgiving by inviting his difficult ex and impolite friends? The portrayal of Mia’s (Ella Stiller) two friends, who seemed to have characteristics suggesting they are part of the LGBTQ+ community, one with a sensitivity to dairy causing clogged toilets named Epcot (Spike Einbinder), and another (Paulo Hernandez-Farella) dancing freely in the living room, felt like unnecessary criticism towards Generation Z. I also found it somewhat absurd that so much attention was given in the final episode to minor characters.

The most frustrating aspect, for many viewers, was observing the overly optimistic resolutions given to characters we genuinely cared about and have been following since the ’90s. Characters such as Anthony (Mario Cantone) and Giuseppe (Sebastiano Pigazzi), who went through a series of marital trials and tribulations, only to reconcile playfully with a pie fight, or Lisa (Nicole Ari Parker) and Herbert (Christopher Jackson), whose relationship was tested by his election loss and her attraction to her editor, yet they too found their way back together with him doing the Thanksgiving dishes. Characters like Seema (Sarita Chaudhury), who had been struggling with her younger boyfriend Adam’s (Logan Marshall-Green) resistance to marriage, were abruptly given a happy ending as she seemed to enjoy a gluten-free pie surrounded by his friends. It felt as though the writers quickly dispatched these characters without much thought or development towards the end of the season. Another confusing moment was the brief reappearance of the York-Goldenblatts, in which their nonbinary child Rock (Alexa Swinton) put an end to Charlotte’s guilt over enjoying Rock’s performance in a dress at a school musical by assuring her that they will be many people in their life, leaving viewers wondering whether Rock’s gender was intended to be Charlotte’s defining issue.

Couldn’t you envision Samantha scoffing at the shallow solutions King portrays in the finale of And Just Like That, not only those Band-Aids, but many problems themselves? Monogamy, whether married or not, always seemed tedious to her. The group of self-absorbed and overly analytical friends in Sex and the City could have benefited from a dose of her perspective. While Samantha had her self-centered moments, when a man failed to add value to her life, she didn’t panic; she simply moved on. Life for Samantha was about seeking pleasure in everything – personal, professional, and sexual. She didn’t rely on men for entertainment. She found love and fulfillment in her friendships alone. Essentially, like very few women in the romance genre, she viewed herself as a whole, independent individual.

After spending three decades, watching nine seasons of two different series, and enduring two painful movies, Carrie finally gets close to the point where Samantha began. In a moment of reflection, she tells Charlotte, “I need to stop thinking about finding a man and start accepting being on my own.” This realization highlights Carrie’s vulnerability, especially as the main character of a franchise that has been deeply ingrained in the identities of multiple generations of women. I couldn’t help but laugh when, in the final episode, she asked Adam to make her garden “wilder, freer… something more like me.” However, one wonders if Carrie truly embodies those qualities. Is she really wild and free? Or has she ever been? Apart from her two major passions – relationships and fashion – what truly defines her? We know what makes a Charlotte (traditionalist), a Miranda (ambitious), and undoubtedly a Samantha. But when you strip away the wardrobe, the laptop, and the love triangle, Carrie becomes as enigmatic as the nameless woman in her book.

King possibly intended Carrie as a screen for viewers to project their aspirations and insecurities onto. Perhaps _SATC_’s Manhattan served as a kind of limbo for single women, a place they constantly returned to before gaining the realization that would free them from the grasp of romantic entanglements. Once Samantha had attained such enlightenment, she was able to move on (specifically, to London).

Now comes Carrie once more. Charlotte may find herself trapped on this fictional island of marriage-focused women, with her grave becoming a shrine for them. To push the _Lost_ analogy further, Miranda’s queerness opens up a whole new, alternate island in this imaginary universe.

It is important to note that this is not an exact metaphor!

Towards the end of an enjoyable final season that eventually lost its momentum with a string of brief, shallow episodes following Aidan’s departure, it’s unfortunate we must bid farewell to Carrie at a time when she could have been developed further. I suspect Ms. Jones would share my sentiment as well, feeling let down that her character’s story is wrapping up at the exact moment it could truly take off. If you pay close attention to “Party of One”, you’ll observe that the final frame isn’t the Carrie we know from yogurt commercials. Instead, it’s a mirror in her hallway, reflecting her costly, vacant home – a place she never got to truly make her own.

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2025-08-15 05:07