And just like that... through episode two, both Carrie Bradshaw and I were going through the same experiences and emotions in real time. Photo / HBO
And just like that... through episode two, both Carrie Bradshaw and I were going through the same experiences and emotions in real time. Photo / HBO
OPINION:
Warning: contains spoilers
Like the rest of millennials and Gen Xers who were fans of the original Sex and the City, I eagerly watched the first two episodes of the new, reinvented reboot And Just Like That… when it premiered last week.
I was prepared for the same ham-fisteddialogue from the Sex and the City movies in place of the witty, articulate monologues of the original 1990s television series. I was prepared for gags on ageing and menopause. I was even prepared for the wokeness.
What I wasn't prepared for was a mirror to be held up to myself in the grieving process. Just as Mr Big – everyone's favourite male character – shockingly died at the end of the first episode, I too had just experienced the death of a close friend five days prior.
And just like that … through episode two, both Carrie Bradshaw and I were going through the same experiences and emotions in real time.
Death among my closest has not been a big part of my life until the last few months, when I've lost not one but now two very important people to me. I know some people who are well versed; others who can't remember how they handled it; and others again who have only really lost those expected to be out of the picture like great grandparents or childhood pets.
I've theoretically understood the process of grief: five stages comprising denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. What I didn't know, and what Carrie's experience seemingly portrays, is how this process isn't linear.
On Monday, you're in denial of your loved one's death. On Tuesday, you've accepted it. On Wednesday, you're bargaining … wondering if that person hadn't gone somewhere, or did something, they couldn't have been in danger. By Thursday, you're back at denial again – you're just waiting for them to text and say it was all a scare and they're actually alive. Friday is depressed, then there's a weekend with bits of acceptance again. And some more anger.
I'm just two weeks into my own grieving process, which is mostly full of bargaining, to be honest – something more exemplified in the storyline featuring Carrie's friend Charlotte than herself. "If I hadn't asked you to do this… if he hadn't done that …" this velodrome of rumination is currently putting me at Olympic levels. I'm on an impossibly fast road bike that keeps going around and around and I can't get off.
One scene hit me particularly hard in And Just Like That … At the funeral, an acquaintance of Carrie's asked if she is okay to be touched. Nothing, and I mean nothing, makes me more uncomfortable than being touched when I am grieving (or indeed when I'm worried, anxious, stressed, or any other normal negative emotions). Being touched by others when in this emotional state makes me claustrophobic. It was validating to see others feel like they can't breathe too when in mourning and others try to hug them.
And just like that... through episode two, both Carrie Bradshaw and I were going through the same experiences and emotions in real time. Photo / HBO
While it sounds shallow and wildly trivial, I, like Carrie, also believe in looking impossibly chic while grieving. This is a major theme in And Just Like That … when you're feeling broken on the inside, you suit yourself up in an armour of Óscar de la Renta and it serves to protect you. When your hair is pulled tight, your waist is cinched, and you have more gold around your neck and wrists than any airport metal detector would allow, you feel like a soldier. It's a uniform to put on and get the job done; a façade of power when you feel like you're losing everything else around you.
Which leads to my final takeaway of the infancy of the grieving process that both I and Carrie are going through: People still have expectations of you. Carrie's friend Stanford says in a pre-funeral scene, "I'm so proud of her. With all she's going through, pulling it together and giving us a look today, because people will be expecting it. She's kind of our Jackie Kennedy."
"People will be expecting it." I've run that line through my head a thousand times. When you're a strong person who gives advice for a living – Carrie and I are both lifestyle and relationship columnists after all! – your friends and colleagues still expect you to have the answers. Even when you're not okay, they still expect you to be okay. When they know you as impeccably composed and wise, they can't fathom your experience as anything else but pulled together. Even in your darkest hours, you're still supposed to know what to say, and how to deliver it.
With eight episodes to go, And Just Like That … serves to show me through the process of grief; a comfort I haven't yet been able to find in real life. If it does – for me, and anyone else out there who has lost someone recently – the TV show will deserve to reclaim its spot as culturally revolutionary, never-before-seen-on-television watching.
