And Just Like That… is spinoff of iconic Sex and the City. It shows Carrie, Miranda and Charlotte in their 50s, dealing with life. New characters join in too, bringing a diverse cast. Show dives into modern issues women face. It’s fun, relatable and sometimes a bit messy- just like real life!

Meet the characters from And Just Like That…

Carrie Bradshaw

Oh man, Carrie is pure chaotic romantic energy — still typing into notebooks, still obsessed with shoes, still somehow both the most fashionable person in the room and the person who will show up late because she was re-reading a sentence. She’s big on feelings, enormous on overthinking, and has this weird combo of vulnerability and performative confidence that makes you want to hug her and smack her at the same time. Sometimes she’s annoyingly self-involved (like, yes, we know about your column) but then she’ll do something unexpectedly kind and you forget to be mad; also she claims to have given up late-night cosmos but I’m pretty sure her apartment smells faintly of sugar and NYC rain. She’s a romantic who can be annoyingly stubborn about growth, but also honestly trying — and isn’t that the whole messy point?

Miranda Hobbs

Miranda is the pragmatic backbone who says things like “that’s not how the law works” and then goes home and cries into a takeout container at midnight — lovable, guarded, and perpetually exhausted in a very specific, American-lawyer way. She’s brilliant, dryly funny, and the one who will both shut down bad ideas and secretly keep a playlist of sappy songs for emergencies (don’t tell anyone). She presents as no-nonsense but has a surprisingly mushy center — fiercely loyal to friends, very bad with brunch small talk, and oddly sentimental about—I don’t know—child-sized rain boots. She’s simultaneously the friend who’ll give practical advice and the one who shows up wearing sneakers with a suit because she forgot to coordinate, which is somehow very Miranda.

Charlotte York

Charlotte is sweetness and protocol with a surprising streak of stubborn sparkle — the one who will color-code her life and then spontaneously adopt a ridiculous hobby at 2 a.m. She’s endlessly optimistic about people and romance, which can be charming or maddening depending on your tolerance for enthusiasm; she loves gardens, dinner parties, and an immaculate china cabinet (but also will defend a bad decision if it’s romantic). She’s grown up a lot from that early-perfect-portrait version, now a protective mother and the sort of friend who’ll send you a hand-written note and then over-explain the font choice. She’s prim but chaotic in tiny ways — like, will host a themed soirée and then forget the theme until guests arrive — and always, always trying to do the right thing, even when she fails spectacularly.

Che Diaz

Che is a whirlwind of improv-level wit, cultural commentary, and wardrobe choices that make you question everything you own — razor-sharp, loud, messy, and strangely tender when you least expect it. They’re a performer-first person, which means public bravado and private vulnerability (classic), and their humor can sting but it’s usually a cover for being profoundly empathetic — honestly very complicated in the best way. Che will roast you for your politics and then give you a hug; they collect obscure mixtapes, love bad coffee, and will pivot mid-sentence into a mini-lecture about identity while also confessing they cry during commercials sometimes. They’re chaotic queer brilliance with a little bit of burnout and a lot of heart, and yes, they absolutely own more jackets than necessary.

Mr. Big

Mr. Big is the tall, expensive-scented enigma who can make an elevator ride feel like a scene and then go home and be baffled by a toaster, which is part of the strange charm. He’s magnetic, charming in a mostly quiet way, a romantic in fits (lavish gestures) and absent in others (emotional availability: questionable), and he has this weird ability to be both a comfort and a complication in every room. He’s very rich in caps and cufflinks and maybe not great at talking about feelings unless a crisis forces him, yet he’ll somehow show up with soup when it really matters — practical romantics, who knew? He’s older, slightly creaky in life rhythms, still loves fast cars and slow confessions, and somehow you always feel like there’s more under the expensive coat than he wants to admit.