A couple of people asked me if I was going to blog about And Just Like That. Each time I winced. Of course, I was a huge SATC fan, because we all were – I remember dashing home to my house share for the last ever episode, all gathering for cocktails and tears, an auspicious, momentous occasion. It was such a story of our times - those times, i.e., yonks ago. Could they come back, just like that? Initially, I thought not. Particularly having watched the first episode, which left me… well, wincing. It was a bit sad, simultaneously tired and try-hard, like no one really wanted to be there, but they all needed the dough and to prove they’ve still got what it takes. I wasn’t sure they had. But, then again, I wasn’t sure. Perhaps just a few more episodes…

So, here’s what I don’t like about it. I’m sorry to say this, but I just find it depressing that they’re older. Commenting on appearance is against my principles but I’m going to do it anyway. Miranda is saggy, Charlotte’s lips are weirdly inflated and Carrie sometimes looks like a mad granny. They’re not fabulous anymore, the outfits are kind of crazy, not in an admirable way, and Ms Bradshaw’s shoes are another thing that makes me wince. It’s set post-pandemic – no one is wearing heels now! Yet despite me lamenting the signs of ageing, I’m also annoyed that they refer to it so often, when they’re not actually that old. I guess the problem with looking incredible in your prime is when you’re past it, it’s more noticeable and you miss it more. Which bodes well for me when I’m 55.

The characters who do look good are the Black ones. And Just Like That is mercifully more diverse than SATC ever was, and don’t they love to talk about that, too. They all have Black friends now, and if they don’t then they’re doing their damnedest to acquire them, even if that means befriending the Black people they don’t like, to ensure a social balance. I wish the integration wasn’t quite so self-conscious, but at the same time, maybe the awkwardness of it all is more real; an acknowledgement that sometimes, it doesn’t happen naturally, and isn’t that easy? I’m not sure.

As well as looking super-hot, the women of colour in the show are extremely cool. Sarita Choudhury as Carrie’s realtor NBF Seema is a particular favourite of mine – she exudes elegance and hand-waving get-it-doneness. But she, like many in the Bradshaw circle, seems to exist to dance attendance and cater to Carrie’s every whim. Which brings me to another I don’t like: Carrie. And not just because she didn’t call a frigging ambulance when her husband had a heart attack…

Right, I know she’s just lost the love of her life (oh, come ON, we all know Big kicked the bucket!) and a chunk of her hip, but I was slightly aghast at the way everyone rallies round Carrie like she’s the Queen of Sheba. They organise a rota to work out who sleeps with her, for God’s sake. As Carrie says to the funeral director, ‘it’s not you, it’s me.’ It is, isn’t it? Me, me, me. Even when she’s muscling in on someone else’s facelift consultation. Miranda’s a borderline-depressed closet alcoholic, Charlotte’s daughter is possibly transitioning, Anthony’s husband has left him and wants a divorce, and yet they’re doting on Princess Caroline like the Daily Mail fawns over Kate Middleton’s ‘recycled’ wardrobe. They’ve got their own stuff to deal with, Carrie; hire a nurse or something – it’s not like you can’t afford it.

Let’s talk about money. Everyone in this show is mind-bendingly loaded. They all live in jaw-dropping apartments but can also leave their jobs to study for a degree or be a full-time mom or do a podcast as their only source of income. Charlotte’s friend Lisa owns more artworks than the Guggenheim, Seema must be the world’s most successful estate agent to afford her own driver, and everyone carries handbags that cost more than my new kitchen roof. But one fiscal storyline really drove me nuts – Big leaving ex-wife Natasha that bequest in his will. Carrie freaks out, suspecting it indicates some lingering romantic interest, but I have no time for that rabbit hole. To elaborate: Big left Natasha ONE MILLION DOLLARS. ONE MILLION DOLLARS. The way it’s referred to, it’s a drop in the ocean. Carrie doesn’t bat an eyelid at the amount – she’s already got the Fifth Avenue flat - Natasha bats it away like it’s a fiver, and no one adequately acknowledges that it’s ONE MILLION DOLLARS, which is a batshit amount of money. Where did it come from? I can’t remember what Big did for a living – was he Elon Musk? Why is everyone so blasé about having masses of cash? I’m not sure, but it really irked me.

Furthermore, when Carrie can no longer sleep in the apartment she and her late husband shared, she GOES BACK TO HER OLD APARTMENT. Which is just sitting there, unleased, untouched. WTF? It’s such a waste. Did she use it at all? As office space, a spill-over closet? Why didn’t she at least let some struggling young podcaster crash there? For a show that’s trying to reflect timely issues and the current climate, it felt like one of Charlotte’s dropped balls.

Those issues… we’ve got gender identity debates, a non-binary love interest, an enjoyably direct character in a wheelchair, uninhibited teen sex, and cultural appropriation. While I applaud the inclusion of storylines that reflect a heterogeneous modern reality, I just wish that sometimes they didn’t feel so crowbarred. And yet, I started to wonder… The title of episode 5 is ‘Tragically Hip’. So, maybe they know it. There’s another series I enjoyed recently – Only Murders in the Building, starring Steve Martin and Martin Short. It’s a joyous and charming crime caper, but similarly, some of the characters and references felt faintly clunky – old white people trying to stay relevant. They’re also obsessed with podcasts. Occasionally it left me feeling embarrassed for them, for all of us, clumsily navigating our way towards a more equal world.

But at least they’re trying. The problem nowadays seems to be that people think if you’re not doing it right then you must be doing it very very wrong, and that feels too black and white. If we’re all moving towards a more tolerant, open society, then perhaps that includes accepting popular culture might fumble its approach sometimes. The reflection’s murky, but it’s OK; we’re learning. It can’t happen just like that.

So, to come to what I do like about this series. I like that it’s trying. I like that it still has the power to shock and surprise me. After the really-quite-hot/awkward kitchen sex scene, Miranda’s breakdown and admission to Carrie was moving and painful. I’ve laughed out loud at a few of the gags. And finally, I like that Samantha isn’t in it. Because her absence is one of the most poignant and interesting things about the series. Like Carrie, I miss her. That feeling when a friend has gone away, and you’re just not sure how to reconnect, what to say… I found the text exchanges between Carrie and Samantha touching and bittersweet.

With this series, it’s quite hard to separate life from art. We know there’s been a falling out, we know Willie Garson sadly died and only managed to film three episodes because of his illness. We know there have been allegations against Chris Noth. It’s a messy, complicated reality that sometimes gets tangled up in the fiction. When Carrie texts Samantha, I’m also imagining Kim Cattrall seeing the message, wondering if they’ll ever bury the hatchet. But, fictional or not, I also just like the idea of two women, who once loved each other, gently twanging the last remaining thread between them.

I’m glad I stuck with it; glad I didn’t ditch it after the first date. Sometimes you have to get to know someone to let the affection take hold. I’m not in lust with this series, not in love, but something more ambivalent – like fondness for an old flame who’s settled into a friend. I’m not sure about it, but it made me wonder, made me smile, and those grey areas gave me a little frisson.

ONE MILLION DOLLARS though. FFS Big. And RIP.

• And Just Like That, 10 episodes, Now TV/HBO Max