It all fell into place for me around the shoe montage. Roughly halfway through the third season of And Just Like That, there is an on-screen procession of footwear, strident and unapologetically far too long. Carrie has been accused by her downstairs neighbour of walking too loudly on the floor above his bed. A parade of sandals, boots and mules strut back and forth across a polished and expensive wooden floor. I watched this march of the stilettos and began to suspect that the storyline had been retrofitted to the idea of simply showing off the shoes. And I realised that, even if that is the case, I don’t mind at all, because And Just Like That has found its feet.
It took a while for it to get there, but finally, the Sex and the City spin-off feels comfortable in its own skin. If the first two seasons were fondly received but sometimes excruciating exercises in attempting to squeeze its characters into the modern age, then this feels like a loosening of the belt. The leads are no longer trying to be anything other than themselves: absurdly rich New Yorkers in their 50s, troubled mostly by the burdens of making sure they spend enough time with their friends. Life’s primary emotional entanglements – love, work, family – are present, sure, but they hum away lightly, like ambient noise, any sharp corners dulled by vast riches.
