Everything looks better when you pair a pair of Manolo Blahniks with a Vivienne Westwood miniskirt. A Fendi Baguette will never make you look bad, and you can’t go wrong with a Richard Tyler dress and vintage shoes. Questioning the choices and personality of a busy working woman in her thirties, living in her large alcove studio on the Upper East Side that harbors her closet filled with Chanel and Louie’s feels more envious than critical, especially as a woman myself. But when we were in primary school, we all learned to never judge a book by its cover, and yet, I fear, that is exactly what a lot of women did for six years with Carrie Bradshaw, the main character and one of the four Manhattanites created for the iconic television series Sex and the City. Dress anything up enough, and it’ll conceal the ugly reality that sits beneath. Clothes, shoes, bags, and gowns were all a variety of masks Carrie wore to keep, not just us fooled, but the many men that stepped in her tyrannic path as well.

During the early 2000s, the show's success was responsible for setting cultural and fashion trends, impacting the financial and love-making decisions of women everywhere. Women were stepping out in shoes they’d be paying off for the next five years of their lives and having sex as though they had the mind of a man; the latter being the only beneficiary of Carrie’s behavior. I can’t deny that she had a sense of spunk. She made you love to love and encouraged falling head over heels, whether that was literal or for a man. She wasn’t just the it-girl of the century, wearing the hottest trends (and the hottest men); who you wanted to be friends with, wanted to sleep with, or wanted to be. She was a feminist triumph in televised media for women in their 30’s who didn’t have it all figured out, which wasn’t a contemporary characteristic you’d frequent on channels or in your day-to-day, but anyone idolizing Carrie in the series, like Keishin Armstrong in her book “Sex and the City and Us: How Four Single Women Changed the Way We Think, Live, and Love,” might’ve just been blinded by Bradshaw.

With the show hitting streaming platforms as of April this year, there’s been a recent resurgence of influential Manhattanites, but it’s 2024, and women aren’t the same. As we revisit “Sex and the City,” Carrie emerges not as an icon to emulate, but as a cautionary tale. The discussion around Bradshaw has changed as the craze for the series continues. Her messy antics aren’t so cute anymore. Despite being drowned in Dior and covered in Gucci, her problematic behavior bleeds through the seams of her expensive attire just as much as it bleeds through her relationships. Eventually, hiding behind Manolo's to divert from her falsified persona of a girl who has it all becomes unbearably clear to all of us, just as it did with Big… and Aidan…and then Big again.

One would’ve hoped that in the city, throughout six seasons equating to six years, we would’ve seen Carrie at the age of thirty-eight finally learn independence and self-worth, but instead they made a movie that continued to show off her childish immaturity, self-centered tendencies, and economic irresponsibilities at forty-two drenched in Vera-Wang and Christian Lacroix on a six page spread in Vogue. Unfortunately for Carrie, the sheen of her Manolo Blahniks has dulled. Now, she serves as a mirror reflecting the progress women have made in our understanding of healthy relationships, financial responsibility, and personal growth. The New York City that Carrie inhabits, a lavish playground of endless brunches and designer shopping sprees, feels increasingly disconnected from the realities of urban life today. Women are now seeking representations that acknowledge the complexities of modern existence. The very aspects that made her character revolutionary in the late 90s—her unapologetic sexuality, her career focus, and her sense of style—are now all baseline expectations for females and female characters alike.

As you dive back into the on-off-again love-coaster that is Big and Carrie or virtually attend one of the girls' many brunches, don’t let the dazzle of Carrie's designer wardrobe blind you from Bradshaw’s glittering facade. The allure of her seemingly carefree Manhattan lifestyle can no longer obscure the chaos that lies beneath. Maybe watch with a grain of salt. As much as I love the series for encouraging women to walk an untraditional path, caution yourself against mistaking materialism for fulfillment and self-absorption for self-love. Before sipping on that second Cosmo, peel back those layers of Chanel and Louis Vuitton, and you’ll find Carrie frozen in time, unable to evolve with her audience. We live in a post-Carrie era where the seductive notion that a pair of Manolos, a Cosmopolitan, and a witty quip can solve life's complexities just doesn’t live up to expectations. If there are any notes you take from Bradshaw, let it just be on the way you dress.