I’m Not a Fan of Sex and the City, But I Understand the Obsession

I grew up knowing about Sex and the City long before I ever watched it.

It was one of those shows that existed almost like a family heirloom passed down between women. Mothers watched it. Aunts referenced it. Older cousins quoted it. Somewhere between childhood and adulthood, every girl eventually became aware of Carrie Bradshaw. Usually, before she was old enough to fully understand what anybody on the show was actually talking about.

The first time I heard about brands like Manolo Blahnik and Jimmy Choo was when I walked into my parents’ bedroom while my Mom watched Sex and the City and folded laundry. Thankfully, it was not one of the more explicit scenes. Otherwise, that probably would have turned into an unfortunate conversation with my 2nd-grade teacher the next morning.

When the show first aired in 1998, mainstream television rarely centered single women in their 30s and 40s living messy, independent, emotionally complicated lives. Despite how chaotic the show could be, Sex and the City helped normalize conversations around female friendship, dating outside traditional expectations, sexual agency, and women existing beyond marriage.

It also transformed fashion into its own language.

The women were not just wearing clothes. They were communicating through them. Every fur coat, strappy heel, newspaper dress, and impossibly impractical outfit became part of the storytelling itself. The show made fashion feel aspirational in a way that influenced an entire generation of women.

As someone who does not particularly love the show, I can admit its cultural impact is impossible to ignore. Which is exactly why one of my friends suggested I watch Sex and the City while preparing to launch my own blog. Apparently, according to her, every woman attempting to write personal essays online must spiritually pass through Carrie Bradshaw at least once.

So despite already knowing this was probably not my type of show, I committed myself to all 94 episodes and both feature films. I finished them in under a week.

I can confidently say that I was right. This is still not a show I would personally sit down and rewatch alone. At best, I would revisit it during a themed girls’ night or if my Mom has it on.

However, by the end of the series, I finally understood why women are still obsessed with it decades later: they were never watching Sex and the City for the romantic interests.

They were watching it for the friendships.

Yes, the dating story lines were chaotic. Half the relationships probably should have ended in therapy rather than at brunch. Carrie herself often made decisions so frustrating that I had to physically pause the show and stare at the wall for a few minutes. But underneath all the dysfunction, the women consistently showed up for each other.

No matter how badly they fought, how different they were, and how messy life became. The women stood by each other every step of the way. More than the fashion, the dating, or the iconic one-liners, that’s why the show survived across generations.

One moment that genuinely stayed with me was seeing Charlotte York still attend Brady’s birthday party after experiencing a miscarriage following multiple attempts to conceive. Knowing so many women in my own life who have experienced miscarriages, I understood immediately that showing up to that party was probably one of the hardest things Charlotte had ever done.

But she still showed up. For Miranda Hobbes. For their friendship. And honestly, for herself too. That moment felt more emotionally intimate than most of the romantic relationships on the show. I believe that is where my perspective on Sex and the City really solidified.

The average person assumes many women loved the series because they wanted Carrie Bradshaw’s lifestyle: the designer shoes, the glamorous dating life, the impossible apartment, and the way everything ended in her favor. However, after watching it, I honestly think women were wanting something else entirely: a community.

A version of adulthood where your friends still showed up at your apartment unannounced, stayed out talking for hours, met for brunch every week, and remained deeply involved in each other’s lives despite work, relationships, and personal chaos. Watching the show in 2026 feels strangely nostalgic for a type of social intimacy that many people my age feel like we are actively losing. Some may say we have lost it entirely.

Everything now feels more isolated and needs to be scheduled weeks or sometimes months in advance. I have one friend who I joke is like a high-end restaurant reservation. If you want to see her, you have to book at least a month in advance.

Meanwhile, Sex and the City romanticized lingering conversations, accidental run-ins, late-night diners, and simply existing around other people. New York City itself felt warmer in the show. It felt like a city where loneliness could still accidentally run into connection. And maybe that is what women are still searching for now.

Not necessarily Carrie’s relationships or their own, Mr. Big. Probably not even the shoes. Rather, they crave the feeling that adulthood could still be exciting, glamorous, emotionally rich, and shared with people who genuinely care about them.

I still do not think Sex and the City is a perfect show, and Carrie can be exhausting. However, after 94 episodes and two feature films, I can honestly say the friendships were always the real story.

So maybe grab your Manolo Blahnik heels, text your friends back, and stop waiting for your life to become perfect before you start living in it.

If Sex and the City taught women anything, it is that life becomes a lot less terrifying when you have people willing to sit at the table with you while you figure it out.

Or, as Samantha Jones once said: “The right man is an illusion anyway.”