Not every Hermès handbag deserves an eternal place in the closet. Sometimes you just have to look at it one last time over a glass of champagne and sigh: it's not that anymore. A similar fate befell “And just like that...” - a decadent continuation of an even more decadent legend. Fashions change, loves end, and even Sarah Jessica Parker must eventually close her closet.
It's official: the third series will be the last. Michael Patrick King, creator of the Upper East Side neurosis universe, announced the ending in conjunction with HBO and - it couldn't be more different - Carrie Bradshaw herself. “This is the perfect place to stop,” - he wrote in an official statement, reminiscent of something that might have been written in the “Existential Conclusions” column at the end of a column from the 2000s. Image: Carrie sits in a window overlooking Perry Street, sipping prosecco from a glass she never washes. The end of the story, which more resembles a well styled pause.
However, it's hard to speak only of nostalgia. The decision to end the series smells more like a mixture of Chanel No. 5, the sweat of disappointment and leftover ratings. On paper, everything was right - new New York, new faces, new drama - but the end result left the impression of a construct as stiff as a greige suit. The series tried to be inclusive, contemporary, progressive - and it came out like Crocs worn with a tuxedo: modern but grating.
Instead of witty humor, dialogue was served up that sounded like transcriptions of DEI training courses. There were moments - scenes, quotes, styling - where something still sparkled, but the whole thing resembled a review of old issues of Vogue: with sentiment, but without the need to return to those trends.
Because “And just like that...” was never a series about a plot. It was the essence of style, an emotional escapade, Pinterest in the analog era. No one moved around Manhattan in heels, no one had time for daily lunches, no one solved life's dramas in conversations with a cat, quoting Oscar Wilde. And yet - they were watched. For the illusion. For that brief moment of illusion that neurosis could be luxurious, and the chaos of everyday life stylized like a session in Harper's Bazaar.
The sequel, like any, turned out to be an encounter with an ex who is still convinced that he is still funny. Seemingly sentimental, seemingly familiar, but after an hour the sight itself was looking for an emergency exit. In this case - the finale.
The two-part ending, going beyond the original ten episodes, was announced as a gift to fans. However, it is more like a gift certificate to a boutique liquidating its business - seemingly something for free, but everything already overpriced and with no right of return.
Michael Patrick King thanked viewers for allowing these characters into their homes and hearts over the years. Touching. Although some of these characters dropped in only for a moment, they left behind a stain of cheap prosecco and the question: what else are we actually doing with this series?
In all this construction, one character stood out above the rest Samantha. The only one who had enough self-reflection not to return full-time. Her brief, episodic appearance was reminiscent of messages from an ex from St. Tropez feisty, unnecessary, but strangely warm. Paradoxically, she proved to be the most contemporary: she was able to cut herself off from a relationship that no longer served her.
And just like that... the end follows. Without drama. With French melancholy and American exaggeration. With a gentle smile and a sigh, because not everything that was fashionable has to be forever. Style is one thing. But the need for the new is another. And change? Sometimes it comes in a beige coat and white sneakers to gracefully slide the last stiletto off the pedestal. A chapter is closed. Not with a bang. With the quiet click of a slammed closet. And maybe that's the most stylish goodbye you can afford.
Photo courtesy of Harper‘s Bazaar
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