And Just Like That... Ends After Three Seasons, Leaving a Mixed Legacy for SATC Revival

HBO Max’s And Just Like That..., the Sex and the City reboot, has closed its three-season run, with showrunner Michael Patrick King confirming in August that the series would end after the current season. The two-part finale aired this summer, offering Carrie, Miranda and Charlotte a final, albeit imperfect, closing chapter as they navigate life in their 50s. The conclusion arrives amid a polarized reception: some longtime fans welcome the end of a controversial spin-off, while others reflect on what the revival could have been and what it ultimately was not. The decision to end the show comes as streaming platforms reassess the value of reviving beloved franchises when the results fall short of expectations, and AJLT’s exit leaves a complicated footprint on the SATC legacy.

The revival initially sparked optimism among fans eager to see the beloved trio back on screen, reuniting Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker), Miranda Hobbes (Cynthia Nixon) and Charlotte York Goldenblatt (Kristin Davis) in midlife. Yet the tone quickly shifted for many viewers as seasons progressed. Critics and devoted viewers alike described the storytelling as inconsistent, with odd plotlines and awkward writing that strained the chemistry and history that made the original series a cultural touchstone. The open-ended nature of the finale — Carrie finishing her novel but the other characters not receiving equivalent closure — deepened the sense that AJLT did not bring the arc of SATC to a satisfying or definitive close.

Some fans remained hopeful that the third season would redeem the missteps of earlier installments, but early promises of a fresh, age-appropriate examination of life after 50 gave way to criticisms that the reboot still leaned too heavily on nostalgia and familiar dynamics rather than charting new territory. In conversations with outlets and critics, opinions ranged from appreciative to openly disillusioned. One observer described AJLT as a “hack job of a TV series and an embarrassing spinoff of one of the best television shows in a generation,” a sentiment echoed by others who felt the series had squandered the opportunity to reinvent its protagonists in meaningful ways. — Erin

As the seasons unfolded, the show’s handling of the central characters became a flashpoint for debate. Carrie’s life continued to orbit a man-centered orbit even after the shock of Big’s death in the first episode of the reboot. The return of Aidan, portrayed by John Corbett, was met with mixed feelings: some fans welcomed the callback, while others argued it hindered Carrie’s development and reduced her to revisiting a past version of herself. Critics and fans alike argued that the Carrie they wanted to see — a more self-directed, independent woman in her 50s — felt like a shell of the character they remembered. Njera, among others, summed up a common frustration: a reboot that seemed to reset rather than elevate the characters they had grown up with. — Njera

The Miranda arc drew particular scrutiny for mail-ordering the character into choices that felt inconsistent with decades of portrayal as the sharp, rational lawyer who had shaped the show’s moral compass. Critics noted that her relationship choices, including a brief fling that strained long-standing commitments, contributed to a sense that the reboot was more interested in shocks than character development. Charlotte’s storyline, too, was often described as lacking the bite and nuance fans once valued in her, with some viewers feeling she lost the distinctive edge that once defined her. In the end, several commentators argued that AJLT split the audience into factions — those who hoped for a modern, nuanced update and those who felt the series betrayed what made SATC’s core characters compelling in the first place. One observer lamented that the show “felt like watching two different shows, neither as interesting as the predecessor.” — Njera

The show’s attempt to expand its universe with a broader, more diverse cast became another flashpoint. Dr. Nya Wallace (Karen Pittman) and Lisa Todd Wexley (Nicole Ari Parker) were introduced to broaden the ensemble, but many critics felt the stories for characters of color were underdeveloped or sidelined within Season 3. Seema (Sarita Choudhury) was introduced as Carrie’s close confidante, yet some viewers argued she never fully broke free from being a foil to the main trio, rather than becoming a fully realized, independent character in her own right. The response to the new faces underscored a longer-running tension: while AJLT attempted to address diversity, some felt the execution did not honor the cultures and experiences those characters were meant to represent. As one critic noted, the show “had no business forcing women of color into the DNA of the reboot if it didn’t know what to do with them.” The ensemble’s complexity was praised in places, but the broader arc often fell short of delivering the depth that fans hoped to see. — Njera

The treatment of legacy players also drew fire. Steve Brady’s storyline incorporated his hearing loss as a dramatic element, but several viewers felt the arc, like too many others, leaned on aging and family concerns rather than substantive growth for the characters. And the heavy focus on reviving familiar beats — including a late-night, kitchen-table proximity love scene that felt incongruous with the passage of time — often undermined the sense that the characters truly evolved. Critics and fans alike argued that the nostalgia play was less about meaningful storytelling and more about ticking boxes for a star-studded reunion, which many felt undercut the possibility of a fresh take on the SATC universe. Critics also pointed to an abortion storyline that was introduced but then abandoned, a decision that many described as a missed opportunity to address contemporary social issues with the same candor the original series brought to its discussions. — Njera

As the third season concluded, the two-part finale failed to land the definitive emotional or narrative closure some viewers had hoped for. Parker and King acknowledged in public remarks that the show would end with that finale, but the broader sense from fans and commentators was that the farewell felt less like an intentional, crafted ending and more like a conclusion imposed by circumstances and backlash. Parker described the timing of the announcement as part of honoring the process rather than signaling a grand, planned farewell, while King framed the end as a chance to say farewell without declaring finality in the same breath. The result, many critics argued, was a finale that did not provide the neat bow some had sought, and that the sense of inevitability about the end did not necessarily translate into a satisfying culmination for the characters and the audience. As one observer wrote, the finale’s tone and conclusions underscored that the reboot may have outlived its usefulness and that not all reboots are destined for lasting relevance. — Erin and Njera

The public conversation around AJLT’s end also touched on the series’ broader impact on the SATC legacy. A persistent theme in analysis was the challenge of reconciling the beloved original with a version that attempted to reinvent the troupe for a new era. Some fans argued that Samantha, the original show’s most outspoken ally and foil, never truly reappeared in a way that could replace or honor Kim Cattrall’s iconic presence, and that the exit of Samantha’s character — whether through absence or limited cameos — left a void that the reboot could not fill. The debate over how to handle Samantha’s absence became a microcosm of a larger conversation about what it means to reboot a cultural touchstone without erasing its core. The final chapters of AJLT thus sit within a broader cultural moment: a recognition that successful reboots require not only nostalgia but also a clear, transformative vision for the characters and their lives today. — Njera

All told, AJLT’s end has left a contentious but undeniable mark on the SATC landscape. Proponents and detractors alike acknowledged that the show sparked necessary conversation about aging, friendship, and female authorship in the contemporary era, even as they criticized how the series chose to tell those stories. The two-part finale did not provide the triumphant farewell some anticipated, and its reception reinforced a truth about television revivals: they risk tarnishing a legacy as easily as they can reanimate it. As the series leaves streaming on HBO Max, its reception will likely inform how studios approach future attempts to revisit beloved franchises — with a clear-eyed assessment of what a reboot should preserve, what it must reimagine, and how to deliver a lasting sense of closure for the fan base that helped sustain it. The dating of the show’s end, the unresolved arcs, and the mixed critical and fan response will all be part of AJLT’s postmortem narrative as observers weigh the reboot’s place within the Sex and the City canon.

As fans digest the final bow and the online discourse continues, the consensus among critics appears to be that AJLT offered moments of levity and nostalgia but struggled to redefine the characters for a new era. For some, the ending feels like a respectful, if imperfect, coda; for others, it confirms that not every revival is destined to endure. In the end, And Just Like That... will be remembered as a bold but flawed attempt to re-enter a cultural conversation that forever associated those women with a particular time, a particular city, and a particular sense of possibility. Whether that memory is ultimately viewed as vindicating or misguided, the show’s three-season run stands as a reminder of the enduring pull and peril of bringing beloved characters back to life after a long absence. All of And Just Like That... is streaming on HBO Max.