Charlotte York Is Now My Fave 'And Just Like That' Character

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Give Charlotte York the credit she deserves.

Wait, Kim Cattrall has a new series, too?

I have seen the Britney Spears musical.

It’s very fun to read a celeb’s diary.

Very important casting news.

Justice for Charlotte York

“How big is his dick?”

Just like Carrie Bradshaw, I teetered in my proverbial heels (which, in my case, meant nearly choking on my Doritos) when Charlotte York Goldenblatt dropped that question in the first few minutes of Season 2 of And Just Like That…, Max’s Sex and the City sequel series.

Sure, no SATC fan should be startled by frank dirty talk, which is one of the series’ calling cards; this is the show that brought “tuchus lingus” to the masses, after all. But from the mouth of prim, perpetually blushing Charlotte?! The blunt confidence with which she blurted out the line sounded as if it had come from a different character—which, it turns out, was precisely the point.

In the scene, Charlotte (Kristin Davis) had just learned that Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker) has been casually having “exit-out-of-grief sex, every Thursday, with a very nice man.” He’s her podcast producer Franklyn (Ivan Hernandez), a salt-and-pepper-haired man so dashing and charming that I may have to check in myself into a hospital to treat what appears to be an incurable bout of incessant, dramatic swooning. (And that question Charlotte asked about him? We weren’t not wondering the answer...)

Carrie had politely asked Charlotte not to do her usual thing of fast-forwarding the tryst in her mind to a happily-ever-after relationship. Instead, Charlotte channeled their former friend Samantha (Kim Cattrall, who’s apparently returning for a cameo at the end of the season), making the girl-talk all about sex. When using such language proved too much for Carrie to handle, Charlotte then offered something Miranda (Cynthia Nixon, off in Los Angeles) would say: “If you sleep with someone from work, you give away your power.”

The end result is Carrie deciding that she’d rather have the Charlotte she knows and loves back than listen to anymore impersonations. What I couldn’t help but realize at that very moment was how I, too, felt the same way. Is Charlotte sneakily the best Sex and the City character?

And Just Like That… Season 2, as my colleagues have pointed out, is wonderful thus far. The show no longer is burdened by figuring out what it is, and fans have had enough time to reach a point of peace with the new elements: no Cattrall, a new crop of diverse friends, Miranda’s unexpected alcoholism storyline, and, especially, the Che Diaz (Sara Ramirez) of it all. That means we all—the girls, the fans, and Che—can meet each other at a much less stressful place.

There are marked improvements, too. For one, the sex is back in Sex and the City; if you were scandalized by Miranda and Che’s kitchen scene in Season 1, buckle up (quite literally) for a strap-on in Season 2. But all of this—the settled nature of the show and the few course corrections—means that what has always worked about the show’s characters, message, and tone now works really well. And, to circle back to it, that’s especially true of Charlotte’s storyline and Davis’ winning performance.

I think all of us have seen our answers to the question of “which Sex and the City character are you?” evolve over the years. There’s the initial fantasy of being someone as fabulous as Carrie, before you start second-guessing how cute her narcissism really is. Maybe you go through a Samantha phase. (No comment.) I remember the wave of realization among my friends in adulthood that “being a Miranda” is both realistic and aspirational: She has a solid head on her shoulders, a successful career, and, best of all, Steve (David Eigenberg). (Love you Steve, always and forever.)

But if one of your friends suggested that you might be the Charlotte of the group, it was insulting. In hindsight, this never made sense. The insinuation was that, like Charlotte, you were the prude, the buzzkill, or the least fun. Have you ever rewatched the show? Charlotte has so much sex. She has adventurous sex, with very hot men. She’s at every party and dinner with Carrie and the girls, slurping up just as many cosmos as they are. Her reputation was unearned. Now, myself and the show are finally seeking justice for her.

Yes, Charlotte may have expectations for the proper and traditional way to do things, but so what? She gets to do them from her mansion-sized Park Avenue apartment, while wearing gorgeous designer clothes. Her craven desire to fall in love and marry may have been obsessive, but it’s still relatable. There’s a direct line from her quote, “I’ve been dating since I was 15. I’m exhausted. Where is he?” to the countless screenshots that pass through the group chats with my friends of dating app profiles they’re scrolling through. (How we date may be different now, but the sentiment remains.)

Even when we were supposed to be judging her, like when she wouldn’t loan Carrie money for a down payment on her apartment or made the decision to leave her job, the show found a way to lend grace to Charlotte’s decisions and lifestyle. This especially came through in Davis’ compassionate performance. While she was coming from a place of privilege, there was intelligence and reason behind Charlotte’s choices.

That nuance really comes through in Season 2 of And Just Like That.

Charlotte is nothing if not well-meaning, which was the case when the character grappled with her 12-year-old child coming out as nonbinary. Season 2 begins from a refreshing place of acceptance. With that also comes humor, like with one early storyline, in which Charlotte works herself into an exasperated frenzy when her daughter, Lily, sells off her own designer dresses to consignment—before reaching an understanding that what’s important to her and what’s important to her daughter may not align, as Lily grows into her own person.

Beneath the Chanel and insistence on etiquette, Charlotte has always been the goofiest and most endearing Sex and the City character. What’s rewarding now is that she’s self-aware about those things that people used to mock about her, which makes her even more fun.

This is the character who threw the flowers at Big before waddling to the limo; who screamed, “I rue the day you were born,” while comically pregnant; who danced tipsily at a Staten Island firehouse; who admitted to liking the musical Cats; who gave Carrie her engagement ring for a downpayment; and who played out a beautiful, if sometimes difficult journey to motherhood and family life.

Am I now a Charlotte? Well, no. I’m not rich. But, and just like that, I think I finally understand her.

Kim Cattrall’s Series Has Wild Timing

I hate giving oxygen to the so-called feud between Sex and the City stars Sarah Jessica Parker and Kim Cattrall. It’s sad and exasperating, and any coverage of it doesn’t so much veer towards misogynistic as it does barrel toward the offensive, like a mack truck with a brick tied to the gas pedal. Rehashing it all earlier this month, when reports came out that Cattrall will cameo in the And Just Like That Season 2 finale—after both the actress and the creatives involved in the series expressed mutual lack of interest in her returning—was exhausting and unpleasant enough.

But…

There is one little detail that—even though I am trying to swear off giving this “scandal” any more energy, I promise—I can’t stop obsessing over. Cattrall currently stars as a fabulous, self-confident New York City fashion maven, in a new Netflix series called Glamorous, and the show dropped the same day Season 2 of And Just Like Thatlaunched on Max.

I refuse to believe that Cattrall orchestrated this as some sort of strategy for knocking the AJLT ladies’ stilettos down an inch or two. And it would be wild if Netflix incorporated an actor’s pettiness into its release strategy for a big new show. But it’s impossible not to greet the news with a raised eyebrow—as Twitter’s disbelief and snark about the two series’ premiere dates illustrated.

It’s a shame, because neither series needs this gossipy salaciousness. As we’ve said, AJLT is great this season. And, much to my surprise—I had originally thought I’d be writing a bitchy take about a cringey series—Glamorous is absolutely delightful.

Cattrall plays Madolyn Addison, a former model and head of a successful beauty company. Convinced that the brand needs a modern, edgier refresh, she hires a department store beauty-counter rep, a gender-nonconforming queer person named Marco (Miss Benny). Marco guides her through risky decisions that herald a more inclusive future for the company.

Glamorous is one of the most queer-positive shows I’ve seen, which is long overdue for a series like this one. In the vein of Younger, Emily in Paris, and The Bold Type, the show is a fantasy portrayal of glitzy cosmopolitan life, the kind that has been embraced by LGBT+ audiences. The show’s Ugly Betty-likevibes warm my millennial heart. And there are times when I felt like Glamorous was more reminiscent of old-school SATC than AJLT is.

It’s also, regardless of tabloid drama, a treat to watch Cattrall in another role as suited for her as Samantha was on SATC. Madolyn isn’t outwardly sexual in the way that Sam was, but she wears the same assuredness as a mask for her vulnerability; that Madalyn heads a successful makeup company, then, is an apt metaphor. There was a moment when Cattrall, as Madolyn, raises her arms, tilts her head, and smirks, while raising her shoulders. It was so Samantha to me, and it made me so happy to see it that, truthfully, I was taken aback by my own reaction.

Glamorous is fun and sexy, while also being laughably predictable—each plot announces itself like a pair of pumps clopping down a long, tiled hallway. Which is to say, it’s the kind of show you’ll cue up on a Sunday afternoon and wonder how, by dinner time, you’ve watched the entire 10-episode series. That’s a streaming-age niche, but it can also be a rewarding one.

Once Upon a Gay Ol’ Time

One has to imagine the decision to officially open the musical Once Upon a One More Time on Broadway the same week as New York City Pride was intentional. Otherwise, it would rank among theater’s best accidental marketing wins.

The show, you see, is a jukebox musical featuring all songs from Britney Spears’ music catalog. That on its own would warrant its status as a queer hotspot, but then there is the plot: A slew of fairy-tale princesses, led by Cinderella, are radicalized after reading Betty Friedan’s The Feminist Mystique. Does it make sense? Very little. Is Britney Spears actually mentioned in the show? Not once. Is it the gayest time I’ve ever had in a theater? I saw one of the last performances of Mamma Mia! on Broadway, so it's close.

More importantly, should you see it? There’s an (arguably) better jukebox musical featuring modern pop songs—including Britney’s—just down the street in Times Square, &Juliet. But who cares! Once Upon a One More Time is not “good,” per se. (Read my colleague Tim Teeman’s review here.) But you can still drink a bucket’s worth of margs beforehand, and then join tipsy hands with the rest of the gays at the theater, gleefully delighthing in a glorified Britney Spears’ cover concert.

Every Celeb Should Publish Their Diary

I’ve made about as much progress on my desired reading list as I have on my summer beach bod. (I started last weekend; that should be enough time to get abs by Sunday’s Pride parade, right?) But I did finally read Andy Cohen’s latest book, The Daddy Diaries. As the title suggests, it’s a diary-style account of a year in his life—in this case, the year he welcomed his second child.

I came for the dishy Bravo anecdotes, of course. (There are some really good ones about the firing and hiring of certain Housewives and shameless, good-natured recounting of batshit texts he’s received from cast members.) But I was also touched, as I was when reading his other two diaries, by Cohen’s honest account of being a gay man grappling with what he wants from life, love, and his career, as he gets older and his priorities change. It’s full of excitement, resentment, anxiety, and fun—relatable for this aging gay. (Even though I do not have two kids. Or a reality-TV empire, for that matter.)

Someone in Casting Deserves Some Marmalade

Every time I’m feeling exasperated and jaded by the entertainment industry, there’s an update on the third Paddington movie, and my faith is restored. Clever bear.

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