It’s an age-old question: which Sex and the City character are you most like? Personally, I saw myself as a Miranda; Type A, neurotic and career focused, with Carrie’s creative streak and a sprinkle of Samantha’s sexual daring. Effectively, my answer is a cop out, but it’s one that meant I identified with any character… besides Charlotte. Or rather, should I say it’s an answer that meant nobody else would associate me with the perceived traits of Charlotte: uptight, lamely traditional and at times, a snob. However, thanks to the most recent season of And Just Like That, I’m revising my answer.
In Sex and the City, Charlotte serves as Carrie’s conservative counterpoint. Prancing around Manhattan in prim dresses, she was on the hunt for her Park Avenue prince and sought out marriage and motherhood above all else. And at times, it brought out an uglier side to her too. See: telling Miranda that she shouldn’t date bartender Steve because ‘he was working class’ and debating whether she was ‘too pretty’ for her bald divorce lawyer, Harry.
Charlotte’s snobbishness over creed and credentials made me want to actively avoid ever being likened to her and, if we’re being honest, she was also often labelled as the most ‘boring’ of the four women - focusing on goals that, even now, aged 29, have failed to cross my mind. I wanted more for myself than what Charlotte seemed to represent: finding a handsome, rich man, marrying him, quitting work and firing out babies as fast as possible. Perhaps it’s growing up under a single mum, or perhaps it’s the decades of ‘don’t need no man’, fuchsia pink feminism that have permeated popular culture, but the more traditional narratives of women’s roles seemed outdated and stuffy. Charlotte, to me, was the enemy for wanting to conform with the status quo so many women have fought against.
In the OG series, Charlotte also demanded the most care whilst being the one who acted the coldest when it came to Miranda’s (cancelled) abortion, rudest about Samantha’s sexual prowess and the most insistent that Carrie was to settle down with pretty much any man she was seeing, even when Carrie voiced clear reservations.
Fast-forward fifteen years, however, and Charlotte has blossomed beyond her WASPish ways to the extent that she has surprisingly become And Just Like That’s saving grace. Having carved out the life she’s always wanted, the writers have finally given the character room to explore beyond the conservative stereotype and given her some much needed depth. Charlotte is at her most engaging when her mask of perfectionism starts to slip, and now that she’s no longer saving herself for marriage or trying to navigate the thorny world of fertility, Charlotte is one of the few characters enjoying an interesting and satisfying sex life.
From giving Harry a blowjob in the bathroom in season one, to being a self-declared cum lover in season two (“I’ve always been a fan of mayo, it’s like the confetti at a parade. A finale of fireworks on the 4th of July!”), Charlotte is the light relief desperately needed amidst Carrie’s grief and Miranda’s marriage breakdown. Kristin Davis’s comic timing - and openness to show Charlotte in even the most ridiculous sexual scenarios - only adds to the once much-maligned character.
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The scripts that make up And Just Like That, for all their (many) flaws, are partially redeemed for remembering - and recognising - there’s more to Charlotte than marriage and motherhood. She’s no longer purely defined by her conservative, traditional outlook, one that is easy to scoff at compared to the glamour and excitement the other women’s faster lifestyles favour. There’s a notable ease to Charlotte now she’s no longer shackled to her mission to find a suitable suitor.
While she’s still the show’s dedicated ‘Cool Mom’ - taking Rock to their modelling appointments and being supportive of her eldest daughter’s privacy during her sexual exploration - the second season has also seen her develop as a person. Charlotte is no longer a two dimensional caricature which occasionally makes the more traditional outlook on a women’s role in society seem outdated and passé. She’s a tower of strength for her family. She’s a solid, reliable friend. She’s ‘slaying’ at work. She’s a woman who’s determined to have it all (whilst acknowledging that that’s, err, somewhat of an urban myth) - and is all the more likeable for it. Watching Charlotte claw back some power for herself is *chef’s kiss*.
In the penultimate episode of the season, after ditching her phone in a pitcher of margaritas following one too many whining phone calls, she delivers a drunken monologue that likely resonates with millions of women - those who have also found themselves putting the needs of the ones they love above their own. And who are expected to do so, by some, without a word of complaint.
“I was a person, before you!” she screams to her onlooking family, make-up smudged and hair tousled in distinctly un-Charlotte fashion. “I am more than just your wife, and your mom! You need to get that and get it TOGETHER!” It’s a point she reiterates, hungover and headachy to Harry, in the show’s finale, too.
“You are doing the bare minimum of what I and other women have been asked... no, expected to do around the house for years and years and years,” Charlotte tells him plainly. “So I need your help and your support. Not your words of help and support.”
Charlotte’s rallying cry to her husband also served as a reminder to revisit my own feminist principles. In truth, by looking down on Charlotte for her choices, I was being just as judgemental as she was when Miranda met Steve.
In a world where women are lambasted for literally every single thing they do, we shouldn’t be criticising each other for the choices we make for ourselves. Charlotte chose to be a wife and mother first, and regardless of whether we agreed with it, or whether it was a path we wanted to follow ourselves, her decision deserved respect. Now, she’s choosing to restart her career (with or without her Spanx) and juggle her other commitments too, and that is equally commendable. None of us should be judged for changing or revising what we want to do. Charlotte’s character arc serves as a reminder of that.
Fans have many (justified) complaints about the new series, but Mrs York Goldenblatt, for a change, isn’t one of them - if anything, she’s carrying the reboot on her shoulders - and wearing the finest couture while doing so. Charlotte represents the fact that women deserve to be celebrated for their choices, whatever they may be, and has become a sea of calm and nuance in a show that often borders into chaotic nonsense. In parlance Carrie would approve of: And just like that, Charlotte became my new hero.
