In 1986, a Swedish band called Europe became a global sensation with two songs: The Final Countdown and Carrie. Yes, you already know where I’m going with this.

The lyrics of Carrie are about farewell and reflection, with an emotional and melancholic tone. They talk about the end of a relationship and the pain of parting ways with someone important, with the narrator saying goodbye to “Carrie.” The song captures the sorrow and resignation of someone trying to move on, but still deeply feeling the loss.

The chorus, with the line “Carrie, Carrie, things they change, my friend”, reflects the idea that life moves on, and although the end of a relationship is painful, things eventually change over time. The narrator says he feels no more pain, but also doesn’t know what the future holds. There’s an acceptance that separation is inevitable, but at the same time, a hope that maybe the two will meet again someday. He didn’t write Carrie for the fictional Carrie Bradshaw, but 27 years later, it feels like he foresaw what Sex and the City fans have been thinking since her return in the lukewarm and confusing And Just Like That.

I wonder if I’ve been too harsh on Carrie and company, given the fond memories of when she was a trailblazer in the most exciting city in the world. Her romantic misadventures echoed those of her peers and contemporaries — it was a welcome boldness that, nearly 30 years later, feels completely out of place. The world has changed, and Sex and the City got stuck in its time. Quoting Belchior, “In the present the mind, the body is different / And the past is a piece of clothing that no longer fits us.” Doesn’t that perfectly express what fans are feeling?

And there’s more. In the same song, he says, “What was once new and young is now old, and we all need to renew ourselves.” And Just Like That is neither young nor old. The expectations for this new phase were not met — but to be fair, the show does reflect the real anxieties and problems faced by middle-aged women. Starting over feels exhausting; everything has already been seen and experienced. What is there to look forward to when you’ve already achieved so much?

It’s no surprise that younger viewers don’t relate, and the “mature” audience of the original series doesn’t find escapism in watching 60-year-old women try to navigate politically correct culture. The necessary inclusion — prompted by pressure from the new cultural agenda — damaged what was essentially good because it was superficial. Let’s face it: following women name-dropping luxury brands, drinking from Monday to Sunday at overpriced restaurants, and going out for coffee as if they’re headed to a black-tie event was never a deep social study. The attempt to ground them more in reality — even just dipping a toe in — has proven unsuccessful. The consensus is that the two seasons we’ve seen so far are not good.

Carrie’s widowhood could have opened space for a new emotional journey, but she’s lost her essential spark — and that’s what this new phase hasn’t found yet. The return for a third attempt, which feels crucial in defining the fate of the series, has received a warmer welcome from some critics, though it’s still far from ideal.

In the early episodes, we said goodbye to Che Diaz (Sarah Ramirez), who paid the price for Miranda’s (Cynthia Nixon) inconsistencies and was seen as a major misstep — both for non-binary representation and for comedy in general. I’m not among those who outright hated the character, but she’s gone. Another who left — and also didn’t add much — was Nya (Karen Pittman), as the actress (wisely) chose The Morning Show.

It’s no coincidence that both removed characters were part of Miranda’s world. The lawyer was never the most popular of the friends — she was the cynical and borderline bitter one of the four — but her arc in Sex and the City (including the films) was to be won over by Steve’s constant, unconditional love. Her coming out as gay created a huge disruption in her trajectory.

First, she once considered a same-sex relationship and dismissed it by saying she was “definitely straight.” Second, she was one of the most critical and openly opposed to Samantha Jones (Kim Cattrall) when she fell in love and dated Maria (Sonia Braga). As if that weren’t enough, she was deliberately cruel and insensitive to her husband.

Fans knew Steve hadn’t done anything wrong — other than aging and trying to love her. But since Miranda creates chaos to become the victim, she destroyed the relationship and also wiped out any chance for Che to matter in the series. Miranda’s spotlight was one of And Just Like That’s core problems, as I previously warned. As Carrie’s foil, she worked. But as the lead of the story, she gave us something nobody asked for or liked. A Miranda who ends up as Nya’s roommate is nowhere near believable for a 60-year-old woman, let alone the brilliant attorney we once knew her to be.

By the end of the series, Miranda was beginning to return to her professional self. She’s now focused on her career again and is open to new relationships. With her, we’ll see Rosie O’Donnell in a cameo that’s already generated buzz, as Miranda embarks on a relationship with the BBC journalist she met at the end of Season 2.

Romantic Charlotte (Kristin Davis) has remained true to her character, though the drama involving her daughters is turned up a notch to force laughter. What bothered me most was that her “shadow,” neighbor and friend Lisa Todd Wexley (Nicole Ari Parker), has grown in prominence. She now occupies a space we expected to see a core member of the original quartet filling — and a larger one than the best of the new additions: Seema Patel (Sarita Choudhury). Unfortunately, combining the two still doesn’t solve the felt absence of Samantha Jones.

The biggest issue, it seems, still lies with Carrie. She insists on a long-distance relationship with Aidan while his son recovers. But seriously? Aidan didn’t even work in Sex and the City when he was presented as the ideal man. Obviously, his hippie vibe never matched Carrie’s materialistic nature, but here we are — with her now treating him as Mr. Big’s replacement. Carrie hasn’t evolved: she still wants the unavailable man she must conquer and control. Maybe her new neighbor?

So I’ll spend the next few weeks dissecting each episode of And Just Like That, which is still far from the Sex and the City revival it could be — but if it can move past its initial missteps, it may yet find an alternate path.

And circling back to the song Carrie, the lyrics leave us with this message:

When lights go down, I see no reason
For you to cry, we’ve been through this before
In every time, in every season
God knows I’ve tried
So please don’t ask for more
Can’t you see it in my eyes?
That this might be our last goodbye

Carrie, Carrie
Things they change, my friend
Maybe we’ll meet again
Somewhere, again

And mine: maybe the series insists on starting over, but for those of us who followed it from the beginning, the ending happened a long time ago.