The upside? My absence offered a bit more time to consider the kind of content I want to share on this particular platform. That’s led me to introducing a new series: “Window Shopping Wednesday,” in which I round up an edit of items I’m currently eyeing for one reason or another.

The idea is this: I can’t possibly purchase everything on my wishlist (because, well, then I’d go broke quite quickly), so it’s time to spread the wealth. Hopefully, a fashion- and/or design-loving enthusiast out there will find something that they, too, can enjoy in their closets and homes. I’ll aim to publish this series weekly on Wednesdays to help give you a midweek dopamine boost!

Alright, without further ado, here’s my inaugural edit of freshly handpicked finds worth snagging before someone else does.

Window Shopping Wednesday, Vol. 1

Summery Silk Skirts

Silk skirts are among my favorite items to thrift for or find secondhand. I’m addicted to the feeling of 100% silk against my skin, and if you know where to look, you can unearth real gems. While silk skirts are essential in the summertime, they’re also ideal for mindless layering as temps drop. I like to wear them well into the cooler fall months with chunky boots and thick outerwear (think a worn-in leather jacket or a cozy shearling coat topped over a simple white tee).

High: Vintage Chloé Patchwork Silk Skirt (size 4) — In my dreams, this gorgeous skirt would: A) be in my size and B) cost at least fifty percent less than its current price tag. It’s extremely Carrie Bradshaw-coded and would look right at home in the Hamptons paired with a tiny bandeau top and floppy cowboy hat.

Low: Vintage Diane Von Furstenberg Tan and Black A-Line Silk Skirt (size 2) — Le sigh… This is another one where if this were available in my size, I’d be clicking *add to cart* so freakin’ fast. Vintage DVF is suuuuuch a gold mine for silk treasures. This specific skirt features a sweeping maxi silhouette, offering a dramatic effect that echoes the pricier Chloé number (for a fraction of the cost). As an added bonus, this skirt is already lined and the lining is mostly silk, which is increasingly rare to find these days.

Quirky Claw Clips

At some point over the last couple of years, I began haphazardly collecting kitschy claw clips. It started out as primarily animals (i.e. a dog, a duck, a fish, a turtle) but has since expanded to include objects such as a knife and pencil. What can I say? I love starting conversations via my hair accessories. I can never have too many and am constantly hunting for ‘em out in the wild.

High: Pigeon Hair Clip — Ironically enough, the pigeons that seem to always flock to my balcony drive. me. insane. But I recently became a MoMA member, which comes with sweet perks such as special sales year-round at the MoMA Design Store. I like to pop in whenever I’m in the city, or drop by their online shop to see if there’s anything worth scooping up (let’s be honest: there usually is). One such example? A bunch of funky claw clips, including a playful pigeon that I just may need to add to my collection. (I’m also into the cool taxi clip.)

Low: Bookish Hair Claw Clip — I’m trying to establish a regular reading practice, which has admittedly been hard to maintain this summer. This adorable stack-of-books clip might be just the accessory to inspire me to make some significant progress on my TBR pile (I think I’ve got 50+ books currently in my queue — send help!)

Timeless Tea Towels

Unashamedly, I know I’m getting old because “I’m really into tea towels right now” is a 100% accurate statement for this stage of my life. Tea towels take up prime real estate in my kitchen (I always have one hanging from my stove), which means they better be interesting to look at and made of organic materials because the last thing I want in my space is more plastic.

High: Marimekko Unikko Tea Towels (set of 2) — I’ve long adored Marimekko prints but have to purchase them sparingly as the high cost adds up. I try to stay on top of their sales and have a goal of outfitting my kitchen and bathroom in all things Marimekko one day. Composed of an organic cotton and linen blend, this tea towel set is well worth the higher price point.

Low: Canned Tomatoes Tea Towel — OK, this one is cute AF and I’m buying it pronto. The fun pasta print is a must for my kitchen, where pasta is frequently on the menu. And best of all, it’s 100% cotton and made in Brooklyn!

13 Going On 30-inspired Dresses

I recently learned there’s a 13 Going On 30 reboot in the works (executive produced by Jennifer Garner, per Netflix), which I have mixed feelings about. As a millennial, I wish Hollywood would leave our classics alone and try to envision fresh ones for a new generation. Does anyone really remember the remakes of, say, She’s All That or Mean Girls? Of course not, because they could never capture the magic of the originals.

Nevertheless, 13 Going On 30 remains one of my favorite comfort films and I relish any opportunity to gab about it. I can’t help but fawn over the fashion, which is so delightfully early 2000s-coded, from the pink cardigan set that Jenna wore to the office to the multicolored striped dress in the iconic “Thriller” dance scene. I regularly search for dresses from the era that would’ve definitely been in Jenna’s colorful turn-of-the-millennium closet.

High: Vintage ETRO Milano Silk Slip Dress (size IT 42) — I honestly can’t even handle how Jenna Rink-coded this dress is. From the slinky cut to the bright green-and-pink color combo, it would have almost certainly been in regular rotation for the early ‘00s fashion icon. If this were in my size, I could very easily convince myself to splurge on this 100% silk masterpiece.

Low: Nanette Lepore Silk Raindrop Dress (sizes 6 and 8) — Nanette Lepore was the talented designer behind one of the film’s most memorable looks (here’s a clip of her daughter discussing said jacket’s significance). It’s no surprise, then, that vintage NL dresses from the era feel so true to the kaleidoscopic aesthetic behind 13 Going On 30’s costume design. I’m especially loving this printed silk dress with a flouncy hem (that the seller currently has in two sizes!). Honorable mentions go to this pretty striped dress that’s highly reminiscent of the infamous “Thriller” dress (and still new with tags) and this silk beaded beauty, which is an absolute steal at $15.

That’s all for now. ‘Til next time!

I was going to write and publish regularly. I was going to interview interesting people with interesting stories. I was going to create some kind of formidable presence on this buzzy platform. I was going to have a place for all my ideas to land. And—perhaps most aspirationally of all—I was going to compel people to be curious enough about those ideas to subscribe, share, follow, engage, etc.

Things didn’t quite go as planned.

Turns out, juggling my baby newsletter, my freelancing career, and this dumpster fire of a timeline that we are currently living in is a very tall order.

Shortly after I launched this newsletter last August, the National Guard was deployed in D.C., and they still haven’t left. According to the latest news reports, they will be here until Inauguration Day 2029 and are currently costing American taxpayers (*ahem* you and me *ahem*) $3 million per day. I see them every time I leave my home, and they’re usually talking amongst themselves or looking at their phones. Contrary to the propaganda, their presence hasn’t helped curb violent crime and the vast majority of Washingtonians don’t want them here.

Then, in October, the East Wing of the White House was brazenly torn down to make way for a $600 million ballroom nobody asked for. This set off a chain reaction of absurd vanity projects across the District, including a gaudy arch that’s supposed to be named after the current occupant of the Oval Office and a “renovation” of the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool that’s already killed wildlife and led to bogus vandalism charges against a former Olympian.

And I haven’t even gotten to the war and climate crisis part of the program.

My point is that I seriously underestimated how dreadful and, frankly, traumatic this last year would be. I knew things would be bad, of course, because I was around for the 1.0 version of this presidency. It was utterly terrible back then, but it’s a million times worse now. (Actually, is it possible for something to be infinity times worse? That’s a more accurate assessment of our present plight.)

Even so, this essay isn’t about how awful things are at the moment. Most of us with empathy and enough working brain cells can see the awfulness for ourselves.

It’s about failing. Failing in private. Failing in public. Failing gracefully. Failing miserably. Failing again and again until you’re finally failing forward.

My inner perfectionist viewed my initial launch as a failure because I couldn’t execute my vision flawlessly from the outset, even amidst these extreme outside forces and ongoing personal strife. As more time went on and I became more distant from this project, I wondered whether I’d missed my shot to make this space matter. It’s taken nearly a year for me to (somewhat) silence that perfectionist voice and remember that I’m making the rules here.

I decided I didn’t want to be the person counting myself out. It’s as challenging as ever to get original stories told in the media landscape these days. As vital as journalists are to upholding democracy, our livelihoods are increasingly threatened by corporate takeovers, mass AI psychosis, and slashed/nonexistent budgets. Furthermore, freelancers without the backing and support of a big-name outlet must work tremendously harder for bylines, placement, and respect. It’s a critical time in media and I know I need to carve out a room of my own.

That said, I’m not 100 percent convinced Substack will be the place for me in the end. I’d love for this project to evolve and find its footing in the long-term and honestly, that could look like many different iterations.

Admittedly, in this upside-down timeline that has stretched my emotional regulation skills to the brink, I’m not exactly thinking long-term. I simply can’t, for my own sanity and survival. For now, my motto for just about everything is “one day at a time” and when I fail, to fail with the mindset that I can always opt to try again.

And as long as I make another attempt with feeling, can it ever really be considered a failure?

So that’s what this is—me trying, again, while mustering up all the wholeheartedness I can. Moving forward, I aim to publish Conversation Piece twice per week. One post will be an essay, interview, or reported feature. The other post will be a curated edit featuring some of my latest favorite finds (aka items that I personally consider to be conversation pieces). Publishing days will shift depending on my schedule, but will generally be Mondays or Tuesdays and Fridays.

In the meantime, I swear I’ve still been writing. Below, I’ve rounded up my bylines from the last year or so, in non-chronological order. Happy reading!

(If you’re an editor interested in commissioning me for work, I’m currently available for Hispanic Heritage Month/Q4 assignments and long-lead assignments for 2027.)

• AD: ‘Love Story’: An Exclusive Look at Recreating JFK Jr. and Carolyn Bessette Kennedy’s New York

• AD: 6 Secrets From Mad Men’s Midcentury-Modern Sets

• ELLE: My Fitness Tracker Was Making Me Anxious, So I Quit

• ELLE: The Devil Wears Prada 2 Reveals the True Cost of Landing Your Dream Job

• ELLE: In Bad Bunny’s America, Love Triumphs Over Hate

• ELLE: After the Hunt’s Dark Academia Costumes Add a Deeper Layer to the Story

• Marie Claire: Rare Vintage Has Never Been a Bigger Flex—But Tariffs Are Making Pulls Harder

• Marie Claire: The Fashion of ‘Emily in Paris’ Season 5 Goes on a Roman Holiday

• Marie Claire: Fashion D.C.’s Dress Code Revolution Is Now in Session

• NYT: Meet the Milliner Making Hats for the Modern Bride

• NYT: How Christopher John Rogers Became a Go-To for Stylish Brides

• PS: Karol G Is the First Latina Coachella Headliner — Here’s Why That Matters

On Nov. 4, 2008, Barack Obama was elected the 44th president of the United States. I was 18 years old. It was the first election I had ever voted in.

Like many millennials coming of age at that time, I was in college. Back then, my life was far from figured out. There was plenty of uncertainty hanging in the air, particularly as the Great Recession hit. I watched trepidatiously as many of my older friends graduated into a “real world” that had little to offer them. But I remember the sense of ease that washed over me knowing Obama had been elected, and that he would be bringing his delightfully wonderful family to the White House.

When Michelle Obama walked across that Chicago stage on election night ‘08, she sent a strong signal with her wardrobe. The soon-to-be first lady selected a dress from Narciso Rodriguez’s Spring 2009 collection—a bold, black-and-red, patterned number with a large criss-cross shape across the front. She layered a fitted black cardigan over the dress, finishing the look with black kitten heels and silver jewelry. In her newly released book, The Look, Mrs. Obama guides readers through her personal style evolution, complete with commentary from her longtime stylist Meredith Koop and various creative collaborators. Designer Narciso Rodriguez recalls of that moment:

“I watched the results on TV with friends, and while everybody was screaming with happiness when they emerged on that stage, I said quietly, ‘She’s wearing my dress.’ It was not some prim two-piece ensemble, but a super provocative dress. Unapologetic. The message was that change had arrived in a bold way. It wound up in every newspaper around the world—and became part of fashion history too. That was the greatest honor of my career—and the most important political narrative I’ve ever experienced.”

Unlike the typical wardrobe choices of her predecessors, Mrs. Obama hadn’t settled for a safe skirt set or a predictable pantsuit. And that ruffled a lot of feathers. I found this op-ed, published Nov. 17, 2008 in The Guardian, to be particularly cruel and absurd in its level of misguided criticism. It completely missed the mark in understanding just what she was trying to accomplish with that crucial moment in the sartorial spotlight.

As Rodriguez puts it, her “unapologetic” fashion sense is what makes her style so memorable and, yes, controversial, at least by Washington’s traditional standards. She doesn’t shy away from playful patterns, unexpected shapes, and interesting textures. Even her earliest ensembles in the public eye often featured funky prints and cool colorways. These were all visual cues that mirrored the characteristics of her husband’s presidency: bold, cultured, deliberative.

If you were looking for pastels and pearls, you were looking in the wrong place. From the outset, Mrs. Obama prioritized emerging and established American designers alike. By platforming these voices and perspectives, her personal style reflected a certain degree of optimism for America’s collective future. She skillfully wielded the soft power of her closet to champion the incredible breadth of fashion talent on this side of the Atlantic. For Inauguration 2009, she wore a lemongrass-hued look by Cuban American designer Isabel Toledo, channeling sunny optimism for her husband’s incoming (and refreshingly young) administration. Other American designers she had in frequent rotation included Rachel Roy, Ralph Lauren, Thakoon, Tracy Reese, and Zac Posen.

She was also a fan of Marc Jacobs, Louis Vuitton’s creative director and a formidable designer in his own right who, in 2001, launched his secondary line, Marc by Marc Jacobs. One of my favorite looks of hers is from 2011, when Mrs. Obama was photographed with the president boarding Air Force One in Rio de Janeiro, en route to Chile. She stepped out in a silk, striped dress from the Spring 2011 Marc by Marc Jacobs collection. To me, that multicolored garment beautifully embodies the essence of Mrs. Obama’s fashion ethos: American designed, with a statement-making pattern.

While flipping through The Look, I can’t help but notice the (sadly) coincidental timing of its release. The book is, in essence, Mrs. Obama’s fashion archive on paper. However, it’s also an archive of the now-demolished East Wing, previously home to the Office of the First Lady and her staff. These snapshots capture just how alive and energized that space once was—you know, when the country had a first lady who, frankly, gave a damn about the job and wouldn’t turn a blind eye to her husband bulldozing history for the sake of his vanity ballroom.

But I digress. As Mrs. Obama eloquently explains in the book:

“The work of a First Lady is often about showing up at others’ worst moments—and I never wanted to bring the distraction of fashion into a conversation with a family who had just lost a child or with a community that had been wracked by disaster. In times of crisis, I would throw on a button-up or T-shirt from my closet and focus the rest of my energy on connecting with the people before me.”

That was something else Mrs. Obama did so artfully: knowing what the moment called for, and considering how to channel (or not channel) that into her looks. I can’t remember a single time during her entire eight years in the White House that she committed a legitimate fashion faux pas. Obviously, the so-called “controversy” around her bare arms and sleeveless dresses was bogus to begin with—everyone knows the naysayers were just jealous of her toned triceps.

Mrs. Obama’s successor, Melania Trump, has not been nearly as classy or tactful. Does the whole “I Really Don’t Care…” jacket debacle ring a bell? I wrote about it for Teen Vogue (RIP) many many moons ago. Basically, as Melanoma was boarding a plane to visit an ICE detention facility in Texas, she used her outerwear to make it explicitly clear how she felt about the situation…which was apparently callousness and cold indifference. That coldness continues to show up in Mrs. Trump’s isolating wardrobe, evidenced by her rather bizarre penchant for wide-brim hats that overwhelm and cover her face. She wore one to the Inauguration in January—drawing comparisons to the Hamburglar—and to visit the British Royal Family. Why is she hiding? Is it out of shame? Habit? Boredom?

With the East Wing now reduced to rubble and the current FLOTUS completely apathetic toward the gravity of the role, let us remember a time when elegance and style truly graced the hallowed halls of the White House. We may not have it now, and we may not ever have it again, but by God, we had it once.

And it was a sight to see.

I am, after all, a writer. An essential aspect of this particular creative endeavor is considering multiple perspectives, in addition to my own. But my newfound fixation on point of view seems rooted in more than just my job.

You don’t have to scroll very far these days to come across some kind of social media post captioned with the acronym “POV.” Sounds innocuous enough, right?

It might go something like, “POV: Your boomer parents turning on the TV,” followed by interspersed clips of said parents struggling to find/use a remote. Or, “POV: You’re just gonna take a quick nap,” cut to footage of you dozing on the couch hours later.

In social media lingo, POV has now become a “hook.” It’s a mechanism to reel you into the content that, ideally, doesn’t feel overtly gimmicky or salesy. It’s rooted in the predictable coziness of narrative structure: Maybe you’ve been in this situation before. Don’t you see yourself here? Can’t you relate? It’s familiar to the point of being funny or fuming, depending on the subject matter content.

The issue I take with this particular and pervasive usage of POV is that it limits POV to being, essentially, nothing more than the punchline. Now don’t get me wrong—laughing at ourselves and the off-kilter scenarios we can find ourselves in along This Journey Called Life™ is important. I would argue that it’s survival.

Even so, this application of POV—sanitized and synthesized for a digitally-driven attention economy—is limiting and simplistic. Here’s how the Merriam-Webster dictionary defines the term:

point of view | noun phrase | a position or perspective from which something is considered or evaluated; standpoint

When I think about point of view, I imagine driving along a winding, scenic route. Then I see a sign indicating there’s a “scenic overlook” just ahead. I pull over to take in the view.

I realize no one in the world has that exact view, at that exact moment, exactly as I do. There could be someone right next to me, but they wouldn’t be in the precise position that I am. They wouldn’t have my life experiences, my emotions, my highs and lows. They could be mere feet away, which may not seem like much, but that distance nevertheless changes how someone takes in the view.

Everyone, all of the time, has a singular, specific point of view, informed and shaped by the rawness of our own humanity at that given moment. That’s what differentiates us from the robots. “They” need prompts and programming. We just need to stop, take in the view, and—if we desire—get inspired by that experience, as it collides in real time with every other experience that came before it. All of which can be channeled into our creative pursuits.

This is how creativity is cultivated, grown, harvested. As with the seasons, this laborious process requires patience. An artistic point of view that is wonderfully robust and well-rounded is developed over the course of years and decades, not seconds and minutes.

But we live in an era that isn’t prioritizing unique points of view so much as attempting to turn all forms of art and creativity into some variation of commoditized “content,” AI slop, or both. I fear we are losing a generation’s worth of points of view, and rapidly so, because people are feeding their creativity with screens and algorithmically curated noise instead of with real-life, person-to-person experiences.

Consequently, we’re navigating a dangerous drought of diverse, distinct, and undeniably human points of view. What do I mean by that? I mean POVs that haven’t been significantly—and perhaps irreversibly—altered by the insatiable algorithm, the allure of convenience, the capitulation to assimilation. Art and creativity are now, more than ever, processed through the lens of productivity and profitability.

Giorgio Armani was a cultural trailblazer whose point of view was crafted with such quality and detailed precision, he built a fashion and lifestyle empire on its foundation. Sadly, the iconic designer died Thursday at his home in Milan, aged 91.

Renowned for his revolutionary approach to modern suiting that allowed the shape of the suit to drape fluidly along the body, Armani made a name for himself by perfecting chic minimalism across gender lines. As the designer behind Richard Gere’s signature and swoon-worthy suits in the 1980 film American Gigolo, the power suits that would later come to define the decade can certainly be traced back to his design point of view.

Without a doubt, the Italian couturier is partly responsible for the proliferation of tailored suiting across the corporate landscape throughout much of the late 20th century. He was also among the first designers to provide garments to actors and public figures for red carpet appearances. This future-shaping move ushered in a new era of fashion and entertainment being forever intertwined, and contributed to the rise of the modern celebrity stylist.

It is never easy losing one of the Greats. Designers, authors, filmmakers, performers, you name it. We often just have to be grateful. What a gift to be alive at the same time as they were. To experience even a fraction of their artistry, talent, and point of view because they were willing to share it, purely and openly.

Much of so-called greatness stems from one’s ability to craft a compelling point of view that’s unapologetically informed by, as I previously mentioned, the rawness of one’s own humanity. That, to me, is both the mark of greatness and the mark of a true artist and visionary.

The question isn’t whether these geniuses with original points of view exist. Of course they do. The question—in a capitalistic society—is whether they can get funded and thus have any kind of longevity or staying power. (This topic, I suppose, is one to explore further another time.)

Armani commanded a distinct point of view as a designer. That’s why consumers, regardless of their knowledge of luxury fashion, were thrilled to own an Armani suit—the man knew his way around a silhouette. And even if they couldn’t afford one brand new, they could save up for a sale or shop consignment. His point of view was so clear and so compelling, they were determined to find a way.

It was point of view that galvanized people into adoration for the late Alexander McQueen, who once professed: “I want people to be afraid of the women I dress.” No doubt, that mantra was fully on display every time he sent a collection down a runway. McQueen’s design perspective was rooted in the performance that is fashion, and he wasn’t scared to provoke people. As such, his particular brand of brilliance remains unmatched to this day.

Phoebe Philo for Chloé (2001-2006). Tom Ford for Gucci (1994-2004). Marc Jacobs for Louis Vuitton (1997-2014). When vintage fashion lovers are scouring the ends of Earth for specific designers at specific houses during specific eras, it’s not really about any of that.

Well, I suppose it is, and it isn’t.

This level of ardent, visceral devotion is directed less toward the designer or brand behind the clothes; it’s directed toward a point of view that’s been so precisely crafted and fine-tuned that it is now rendered irresistible. You can’t help but be devoted, enamored, fascinated.

Perhaps most critically, it is a point of view that transcends time itself.

That’s the kind of legacy Armani leaves us with. Like a true artist, he was steadfast in his vision, whether he was designing suits or homes. One touch of a silk Armani blouse or wool blazer communicates as much. One glance at his real estate portfolio (partially documented in Architectural Digest) and it’s evident that Armani, both the man and the innovator, possessed an unwavering commitment to—and zeal for—his distinct point of view.

And if we can emulate such examples established by him and others, human creativity might just have a fighting chance.

That much I know. But as humans, we nevertheless seem hardwired to seek out these nonexistent, perfectly neat endings. We talk about closure as if it’s something that can be coordinated or planned, something that can be bought or ordered on-demand. “I need closure,” we say, as if to say, “I need a new pair of shoes,” or “I need to pick up dinner.”

Endings are finicky because we rarely, if ever, know when they are going to happen. At the risk of sounding too morbid at the top of this essay, the only ending that’s guaranteed in life is death. And the vast majority of us have no clue when that guaranteed ending is going to take place. We just know that it will, and we (hopefully) make choices along the way that we can (ultimately) be at peace with when that fateful time arrives.

The unceremonious series finale of And Just Like That was another example of an ending that arrived sooner than it should have. Despite efforts by HBO Max, showrunner Michael Patrick King, and Sarah Jessica Parker to do damage control and spin a narrative that ending the show at this point was always the plan, that very obviously didn’t seem to be the case.

The preview after episode 11, the penultimate episode, stated that episode 12 was a “season” finale—not a series finale.

Sure enough, upon viewing the episode in question when it aired Thursday night, it reeked of a rush job. How could a so-called series finale spend so much time on so many inconsequential characters? What purpose did Brady’s baby mama’s friends serve, beyond being annoying and insufferable? Why was Mark Kasabian, someone Carrie clearly isn’t interested in, given so much screen time? (BTW, Victor Garber is an icon and his talents were, frankly, wasted on this bizarre character.) And why, for the love of God, were we subjected to the appearance of fake poo overflowing from Miranda’s toilet?

Is this really how we bid farewell to these characters?

I can only assume, rather graciously I might add, that the clogged toilet was a metaphor of some sort. “Shit happens,” Carrie says, deadpan, as Miranda is crouching on her powder room floor cleaning up the mess left by her unruly houseguests. (Miranda tends to end up on bathroom floors, doesn’t she?)

Perhaps the unsightly shit bit was a metaphor for this mess of a show. You can only shove so much crap down a toilet—um, I mean, onto a television screen—before it comes back to haunt you. Watching the series has been described as a “humiliation ritual.” Many longtime fans remain displeased with Aidan’s odd downfall. Others argue Carrie’s once-iconic wardrobe lost some of its sparkle.

The fact of the matter is, people have very strong opinions about And Just Like That because we are emotionally bonded to these characters that have been, for better or worse, a part of the zeitgeist for nearly three decades. And for three years now, despite the plotholes and wacky headwear, that deep bond has kept diehard fans tuning in, while also compelling them to demand that the powers that be work harder to deliver a spin-off that’s truly worthy of these beloved characters.

But instead of rising to the challenge of elevating the scripting, the styling, the directing, the acting (is there a reason everyone became so dang stiff in this series?) for the sake of the fans who have made the SATC/AJLT universe what it is, they opt to pull the plug instead. And then they have the audacity to try and convince us that this was the grand plan all along.

It’s creative cowardice.

AJLT started to feel like it was turning a corner and finding its groove at the end of season 3 episode 9. At last, Carrie dropped deadweight Aidan, put on an ivory Simone Rocha corset and gray cardigan, and strutted into a chic restaurant for a cocktail and conversation with her gals. It was a classically SATC-coded scene; it felt like maybe, just maybe, the last episodes of season 3 would set us up for a season 4 where Carrie, at this stage in her life, is finally more fully realized.

Unfortunately, we got three more episodes that felt more filler than finale, and we’ll never know what a more intentionally crafted season 4 could have looked like.

In season 3 episode 10, upon seeing her collection of frilly frocks and sparkly shoes, Duncan tells Carrie, “You are just a fairytale, aren’t you?” Regardless of your impression of Duncan (personally, I felt general apathy toward the character), there’s no denying the truth in his statement.

Carrie Bradshaw is a fairytale. That’s the essence of what makes her so timelessly alluring. People make a lot of noise about whether they like her or loathe her, but I’d argue that most of those people simply envy her. After all, she’s single, rich, childfree-by-choice, living in a multimillion-dollar Gramercy Park townhouse with a closet that is truly the stuff of sartorial fantasies. She can work if she wants, though she certainly has no need to, and it’s creative work at that. She has no husband or partner, which some may view as a shortcoming, but as Seema eloquently explained to Carrie not long after they became friends, she got to experience not one, but two great loves in her lifetime. Many never even get the one. So although Aidan and Big may no longer be in the picture, she still had those experiences, and they do count for something. Us hopeless romantics might even argue that they count for everything.

Yet while Carrie is a fairytale, she was not afforded a fairytale ending. I suppose that’s what we got at the end of the original series and/or at the end of the first movie. This ending was utterly rushed and random—it came across as too contrived, too aggressively attempting to wrap up loose ends without actually wrapping them up. All we got was a pie-delivering montage and a forced mantra: “The woman realized she was not alone—she was on her own.”

I understand the intent and importance of this turn of phrase, especially in the wider context of the SATCverse and Carrie infamously being “the last single girl.” Even so, I struggled to take Carrie at her word. By the time the episode ended and the screen cut to the credits, I was unconvinced that she really believed what she had typed onto that blank document. Not enough growth had happened and not enough time had passed for that line to ring true. It seemed like a sentiment she was still trying to convince herself of, and a season 4 could have further explored the merits of her theory.

But like I said, we rarely receive the endings we deserve. Whether we live in a fairytale or not.

THE FINAL SAY

I could go on and on, but for the sake of actually getting this thing published in a timely manner, I’ll end here, with 5 plotlines I think we were robbed of in And Just Like That:

1. More run-ins with Natasha. Because I believe in karma, and Carrie shouldn’t get to spend the rest of her days gallivanting through the city, enjoying Big’s wealth, without at least semi-regular run-ins with the woman who had to go through hell just so Carrie could go crawling back to her toxic-ass ex. Natasha and Carrie are both uber wealthy NYC socialites, so they would absolutely be criss-crossing paths among the same circles. Plus, Bridget Moynahan is severely underrated/underutilized as an actor, and she should simply be on our screens more (where are my Serendipity stans at?).

2. Miranda and Steve attempting to co-grandparent. I need to see those two baby shopping at Little Mooney only for Steve to pick up some frilly onesie, peek at the price tag, and shriek about how they shouldn’t be charging $130 for “so little fabric.” Not to mention, hearing Steve say, “MUUUWAAANDUHHH” somehow manages to be both extremely ear-grating and strangely soothing, all at the same time.

3. Speaking of Steve, with Aidan sucking up so much air time, why oh why didn’t we get at least one bromantic reunion between those guys? Are they still business partners? Is Scout—the bar they opened together way back in season 4 of SATC—still operational? Did they beat the odds and keep the place open for nearly a quarter-century? Even in the increasingly precarious (and pricey) New York City dining scene? FWIW, at Big’s wake, Miranda does mention that Steve provided the liquor from his bar. So, theoretically, Scout could still exist in the AJLT world, but it would’ve been cool to see for ourselves. It also would have been an opportunity for Aidan and Steve to commiserate about Miranda’s late-in-life queer awakening.

4. Another closet cleanout scene à la the first movie, before Carrie moves out of her old apartment. It could have included the gals, plus Seema and LTW (with LTW being such a fashionista, I’d love to hear her takes on some of Carrie’s more controversial looks). Seeing Carrie sport more of her iconic ensembles from SATC would have been a welcome blast from the past for us fashion lovers. And as she edited down her wardrobe, she could have passed on some of the items to her “nieces,” Lily and Rock (I know Charlotte’s kids are kinda bratty and don’t deserve to inherit rare vintage pieces, but it could have been a sweet onscreen moment all the same.)

5. And, obviously, anything truly substantial involving Samantha. Logically, I understand why it didn’t happen. (I’m not attempting to take sides in the rumored feud between SJP and Kim Cattrall; I think, rather, that some people can work together until they can’t.) But conceptually, it never made sense to continue building out the SATC universe without her playing a more meaningful part in it.

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