Some things are to be left in the past and never meant to see the light of day again: ex-boyfriends, Bumpits, Dick Cheney. Others, though, like the good old-fashioned writing, pacing, and gorgeous, dynamic men that once haunted Sex and the City, should be given full clearance to rear their heads again. Dear friends, the hands of time have blessed us this week, because this episode of And Just Like That … finally did it for me: For once in the almost four years of nonsense that came before, the fifth episode of season three was a fun 45 minutes of television with Miranda, Carrie, and Charlotte. I don’t even care that seeing a grimy old man’s full-frontal genitalia was collateral. I took it on the chin and even basked in the splendor of it, because it meant that old Darren Star magic had somehow found its way back onto our screens.
This is, without a doubt, one of the best AJLT episodes to date. Can you believe we received a solid A plot, B plot, and C plot that didn’t feel like we were reading some third-grader’s creative-writing assignment that ends in “and then I woke up … it was all a dream.” Getting served a good episode has made my objective, to be as brutally honest as possible, that much more difficult. How am I supposed to write scathing reviews of these women’s typically horrendous outfit choices if I’m busy wiping a tear at Charlotte and Lisa Todd Wexley saying nothing and also everything to each other while overlooking the New York skyline? Julie Rottenberg, who directed this episode, and Rachel Palmer, who wrote it, grasped the balance between subtlety (Carrie slipping her heels off after coming home from dinner with a tortured autobiographer) and overt cheekiness (Carrie putting out a fire with her Manolo stilettos in that same writer’s apartment) that made SATC such a blast to watch. The two of them should simply do a hostile takeover of the AJLT writers’ room and commandeer this sinking ship all the way home. Please.
Anyway, speaking of heels …
Carrie
As with the delicious plotlines, we’re served some of Carrie’s best outfits to date. I loved her black tank with a sheer, white button-up underneath, although the pace at which she and Charlotte walked while wearing it was excruciating to watch. Imagine getting stuck behind the two of them while you’re running late to a lunch reservation with a 15-minute grace policy. Infuriating. I’ll brush it aside because the giddiness I felt with most of her outfits this episode had me kicking my feet. They fell in line with the classic old Carrie way of getting dressed: mildly heinous, mildly fabulous, completely jolie laide (the French concept of pretty-ugly). Take, for example, her sexy off-the-shoulder denim button-up blouse. Enticing! Intoxicating, even! This is a woman who knows her own appeal, at least until the camera pans down and we become privy to her khaki pantaloons that she likely borrowed from Davy Jones’s literal locker. It’s called balance!
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Charlotte
Can someone get my girl out of these matronly, patterned tops, massive belts and slick-back bouffants? I’ll even take her bulldog purse, the one she wore when her husband told her earth-shattering news, over the belts. Please! SATC Charlotte dressed preppy, yes, but typically on trend and sometimes even subversively. Get her out of the chinos and Keds and into some sleek Ralph Lauren slip skirts!
Lisa Todd Wexley
Can you guys believe the fortune we’re having this week? First, the mayoral primary election, and now, LTW with a bare neck. No statement necklace, no massive bulbous bauble dangling off her clavicle. Maybe she wanted to keep her personal possessions light for traveling in the middle seat in coach — another jump scare for a woman who lives in a multimillion-dollar penthouse in Manhattan.
Miranda
Look at that bright little jumpsuit, a little spot of sunshine for our smitten kitten on her way to her booty call!
Seema
When I was jotting notes down for this episode, for our queen Seema, I simply wrote “gorgeous.” That kind of suffices, but I will give a brief shout-out to her stunning, off-the-shoulder/culotte-set combo.
Men
We now have a rotating roster of men here who may or may not be sticking around, so until they prove themselves worthy, I’ll dump them here. For example, what the hell is Adam Gardens wearing? “I went to your hood and nobody knew you.” ???????? HOOD????? I get his whole schtick is novelty T-shirts, but they’re giving me a serious ICK. ENOUGH.
From left: From top:
And as for our brooding biographer (I’ve been thinking about white men writers, on account of Joyce Carol Oates et. al. The old-heads of the industry are terrified that they’ve disappeared, but I have a hunch they’re doing just fine … more on that later), he’s terribly annoying and grumpy. But that man has a lovely head of hair on him (see, told you they’re fine), a honey-toned accent, and cute little cardigans to boot. Can Carrie handle another writer lover after Jack Berger’s “Sorry … I can’t, don’t hate me” note to her in the early 2000s? Time will tell …
