Everyone Is Dressing Like Carrie Bradshaw Except Carrie Bradshaw

I ask myself a lot of questions during my weekly viewings of And Just Like That. Mostly, “Who is this woman?” That can apply to the litany of side characters (who often have their own side characters), but usually it’s about Carrie Bradshaw herself. I am not alone in thinking that the Carrie of And Just Like That is a completely different woman from the one I spent hundreds of hours watching on Sex and the City. In fact, she’s nearly unrecognizable.

AJLT Carrie doesn’t cuss, she doesn’t date, and she doesn’t smoke, save for a brief backslide after Big’s untimely death. She doesn’t even have her trademark c-c-c-curly hair. And while I find the way she is handling this relationship with Aiden both upsetting and out of character, the biggest loss, for me, is her iconic style.

This is not to say that Carrie looks bad. Aside from a few questionable hats—namely that huge Strawberry Shortcake-esque bonnet she wore in the first episode of season three—she usually looks pretty good. But she doesn’t look like Carrie. Gone are the inventive belts, underwear as outerwear, and buzzy designer pieces, and in their place are full, swishy skirts, Victorian-inspired shapes, and so, so many hats.

We see glimpses of the Carrie of Yore here and there—her sheer Simone Rocha ensemble in episode one was probably the most she’s looked like herself during the whole series—but the most Carrie-like look in the whole show actually appeared on Lisette, Carrie’s Gen Z former neighbor. Watching the pair meet at a bar in episode two, Carrie in a sexy yet demure long-sleeved dress, it struck me: Lisette, wearing a shredded T-shirt, bedazzled baggy jean shorts, and towering high heels, was dressed just like Carrie circa 20 years ago.

She’s not the only one. Traces of Carrie’s iconic ’90s style are all over current-day New York 20-somethings. And Los Angeles 20-somethings. Really, any millennial or Gen Z anywhere. It’s impossible to walk through any NYC neighborhood without seeing her influence, from shimmering Fendi Baguettes (or at least purses inspired by them) to the now ubiquitous athletic shorts and feminine shoe outfit combo.

In fact, the majority of this summer’s biggest trends have spawned from something in Sarah Jessica Parker’s massive archive (she famously kept all the clothes from the show). From oversized rosettes to cargo pants to statement heels, Carrie’s style—eclectic, glamorous, a little weird—is the blueprint for any aspiring fashionista, and with good reason. Even 26 years on, it still feels so fresh, and despite seeing it replicated time and time again, it’s still singular and exciting. It’s kooky yet cool, sexy in an unexpected way, and an expert mix of thrift store gems and fresh-off-the-runway pieces.

While the original show garnered criticism for the ladies’ looks being unrealistically expensive, they at least always felt grounded in the way that, no matter how outlandish, you could imagine them living and breathing in New York City. Carrie’s AJLT wardrobe of bustles and top hats, meanwhile, feels much more at home in the historical novel she’s writing than for dinner at The Corner Store.

It’s worth noting that this has nothing to do with getting older—plenty of women age and keep the essence of their style. Just look at 50-year-old Chloë Sevigny, who has evolved her look with age, but has kept all her sartorial signatures, miniskirts included. If Carrie (and SJP, more realistically) doesn’t want to show skin at this juncture of her life, that’s fine, but would it kill her to trade the princess dresses for a sick pair of pants or a trendy bag that isn’t shaped like a pigeon?

The aforementioned Simone Rocha getup—”naked” color, peek of bra, buzzy runway piece—got me excited that the Carrie I know and love might still be in there somewhere. But the scene with Lisette solidified what I already suspected: the sartorial spirit of Carrie has transcended the character. Do we need Carrie Bradshaw to dress like Carrie Bradshaw when everyone else is? Perhaps not, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want her to.

At least when I’m missing the Carrie I know and love, I can stroll the streets of New York and catch a glimpse of her in every passing nameplate necklace, slinky slip skirt, and pair of shoes that costs a month’s rent.