‘And Just Like That’ Can’t Figure Out How Horny the Kids Should Be

Every generation has their own Sex and the City. Which is to say, every several years, HBO releases a smash hit series following four young women who are friends, occasionally enemies, as they pursue romantic relationships and try to figure out life before they get married. Sex and the City was the blueprint. Then came Girls. Now, The Sex Lives of College Girls seems to be an apt, Gen-Z fit for the formula.

That said, with its new reboot, Sex and the City should not be trying to create a women friend group for the next generation. That cool-girl quartet is already around, and they’re even on the same streaming platform as And Just Like That. Getting to see Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker), Charlotte (Kristin Davis), and Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) aged up, married, divorced, etc. is the real pleasure of the show. In no way, shape, or form should it be trying to create any new cast of daring young women for us to fall for—as proven by the introduction of nuisance Che Diaz (Sara Ramirez) and milquetoast Nya Wallace (Karen Pittman). But the show can’t seem to figure out what to do with its kids: They’re meant to pick up the torch from their parents, and yet, they’re also too young to be as flirty and spontaneous as the original crew.

And Just Like That doesn’t know what to do with the children in the equation. Should they be horned-up youngsters, just like their parents were in the OG series? They’re not nearly as old as the ladies were in the original Sex and the City, so it’s weird for them to be having too much sex. (The kids do have sex—but it’s never shown on screen in any way like the rest of the adults’ intercourse is.) But most of them are teenagers, so perhaps there should be a bit of scandal—teens have a habit of getting into trouble. But from an audience standpoint, wouldn’t we all prefer to see Carrie on a sexcapade rather than Miranda’s son Brady (Niall Cunningham)?

The most recent episode of And Just Like That, “Bomb Cyclone,” further proves my point that the kids are hanging in a weird limbo of being sweet little angels and devilish SATC-style cast members. Charlotte’s adopted daughter Lily (Cathy Ang) is on a quest to lose her virginity. This plot point might fare well in a teen show like Gossip Girl or Riverdale. But because AJLT is decidedly a show about adults—and no longer young adults—it feels off-putting in And Just Like That. We grew up with these kids—the last time we saw her in the Sex and the City universe, Lily was Charlotte’s tiny baby. Now, the show treats her like she’s one of the main cast members: openly lusting after boys while pursuing a career in the music biz. She’s 16! Why is she telling her mom—and even Carrie—about this? Where are her friends to discuss such life events?

But I’ll give And Just Like That some leeway here. I can look past the teenage sex storylines. What I can’t get over, though, is the urge to include the parents in their children’s sexual encounters (and vice versa, at times—the kids learn an awful lot about their parents’ sex lives). Take last week’s installment, Episode 6. When a bomb cyclone hits Manhattan, Lily can’t make it to the store to buy condoms with her boyfriend as planned. Bummer. Seems like the perfect opportunity to push the deflowering to next week, right?

Incorrect. Lily calls her mother, panicking. She wants to lose her virginity safely, but now, Lily feels as though there will be no opportunity to do so. Charlotte volunteers to go out into the snow, purchase the condoms herself, and hand-deliver them to her daughter. Lily could’ve just as easily done this herself—but then we wouldn’t have this bonkers snow plot on our hands.

Wasn’t it just last season that Charlotte was slut-shaming her daughter for posting sexy photos in athleisure to her Instagram? The relationship shared between Lily and Charlotte should be more mother-and-daughter, not that of a girl on the prowl and her faithful wing-woman. Charlotte is more often than not sex positive—but this crosses a line. Buying your kids condoms is one thing; risking your life to ensure your daughter can safely lose her virginity as soon as possible is another.

Craig Blankenhorn/Max

Just two episodes ago, Charlotte and her other parent friends were celebrating the departure of their babies for summer camp. Now, Charlotte is willing to trudge through the biggest snowstorm of the year so that her daughter can get laid. This plot doesn’t feel like one that would be shared by Charlotte and her daughter—it feels like something Charlotte would do for Samantha back in the OG series. Samantha would have confessed to having unprotected sex during a bomb cyclone while on the phone with one of the girls, and it would have gotten back to Charlotte, who, mortified, would race to the store to buy her a three-pack of Trojans. It wouldn’t be a good friend/good mom move, either. It would just be a classic Charlotte move.

The series once again sees another bizarre parent/child with Miranda, who nearly flees the most important moment of her life—the taping of Che’s pilot, which would also be the most important moment of anyone’s life—to save Brady from heartbreak in Europe. After his girlfriend breaks up with him mid-trip, Miranda offers to fly there, bring him home, and save the day. That’s not what my mom would do—my mom would scold me for making my partner my entire life, as Brady does, and offer up $200 (maybe) toward a $1,000 flight home—as any normal mom would!

But Miranda has never been a normal mom. While Miranda left her husband and son for Che at the end of last season, now, she has completely different commitments. Just like Charlotte with the condoms, Miranda leaving Che to fly to Europe feels like something she would only do for Carrie. But again, these kids are as good as adults, now. To the show’s writers, they’re no longer teenagers. They’re full-blown Sex and the City characters.

Do I want that? No, not really. And Just Like That, however, has a habit of introducing things I don’t like (Che, a Peloton-induced death, Che’s stand-up, a Chucky robbery, and Che’s pilot, as examples), but it still can make me laugh. Goofy plots and unsexy sex (I can’t stop thinking about the Wexleys’ George Washington roleplay) is what the Sex and the City spinoffdoes best, which is a complete 180 from the original show. With that in mind, the bonkers sex plots involving the kids are in line with the rest of And Just Like That’s tonal madness. In fact, perhaps I should applaud the show for continuing to confuse me.