Goodbye To ‘And Just Like That’ (And Its Many Bad Outfits)

Of all the tragedies to have befallen Carrie, Miranda and Charlotte in And Just Like That – a list that includes addiction, cancer and death – none has been more egregious than the steady collapse of their style. It was a truth made unavoidable in the reboot’s final episode, in which Carrie spends a lonesome Thanksgiving at Miranda’s apartment, dressed in a long plaid coat, a pink sequin cardigan, a voluminous maroon tulle skirt, and a velvet fascinator that could have doubled as one of Harry Goldenblatt’s prostate cushions. She looked ridiculous. And not in the brilliant, bare-waist-and-belt sense that costume designer Patricia Field masterminded for the original Sex And The City series – where even Carrie’s most baffling outfits (mismatched heels, pantless shirts, back-to-front blouses) had the potential to inspire – but in a way that felt like a mean parody of that same, bizzaro-chic formula.

Jose Perez/Bauer-Griffin

Sure, fashion has crucified Carrie just as often as it has crowned her (she once arrived at Mr Big’s in a beret, only to discover that he was ditching her for Paris, and later wore a dress emblazoned in newspaper headlines after the scandal of their affair became public), but where Field’s costumes served a narrative purpose, laying bare Carrie’s anxieties through her outfits, those in AJLT seem to have been engineered for gimmick and spectacle. The Marigolds, picnic blanket hats, pigeon clutches, and puffer-coat ball gowns might have produced some visually stimulating television – “Here’s something crazy!” – but there’s no truth behind them. Kitchen-averse Carrie would not own washing-up gloves; high-flying Miranda would not infantilise herself with a rucksack; princess Charlotte would never dress as a dominatrix at the Met Gala. I’ll miss this series, but I’m glad these women will be spared its aesthetic crimes.

Revisit a handful of the good, bad and ugly, here.