The original Sex and the City series was bold, boundary-pushing and funny. Of course, it could also be tone-deaf and deeply flawed. But I loved it regardless. It defined a particular time in my life and reminds me fondly of the love, friendships and misadventures of my twenties.


Despite the terrible movies, I allowed myself to feel optimistic about the reboot. So, when the first two episodes of And Just Like That… aired and my social media feeds (mostly) erupted in horror, I knew I needed to tune in, even if it was a car crash.


But alas, it was not the death of a significant character that left me fizzing with rage at the end of episode one. Instead, it was Miranda sitting down at a bar and ordering a glass of wine before 11am on her first day of graduate school. I knew what was coming. And just like that, we were going to see a lazy, stereotypical display of problem drinking.


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