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In addition to criticisms tied to misogynistic ideas, Sex and the City has been criticised by feminists, too. In , Alison Bechdel has opined that the show does not pass the Bechdel Test (a measure of the representation of women in fiction). Indeed, there was a widespread perception of the show as one which depicted women who, for all their intelligence and ambition, only ever seemed to talk about sex and men. It’s worth noting that the show itself is cognisant of this fact; as a frustrated Miranda—the vessel through which the show’s feminist perspectives were expressed—asks her friends in a season 2 episode, “Why do four smart women have nothing to talk about but boyfriends?” 

In spite—or perhaps because of—these things, even Bechdel herself is a fan. Why? The answer is quite simple. “I would never watch any television or movies if I only watched shows that passed the test." 

With Bechdel’s words in mind, the show’s obsession with materialism, sex, and the male-female dynamic can be understood as at least partly self-aware, an active effort to subvert the longstanding narrative of a childless, unmarried woman in her 30s as something to be pitied. Instead, the women look back on their 20s with eye-rolls and good humour, affirming to audiences that once you turn 30, the sex gets better, the apartments bigger, the drinks stronger, and the clothes nicer.

If SATC can still be described as a feminist show (and I believe it can), then its a particular brand of of capitalist feminism in which material objects function as devices which allow characters to navigate their deeper feelings. There's a season 6 episode, 'A Woman's Right to Shoes', which is evidence of the above. In it, Carrie’s $400 Manolo Blahnik’s are stolen at her friend’s no-shoes-allowed baby shower, and her friend refuses to reimburse her. Frustrated, Carrie laments to Charlotte that, for all the hundreds of dollars she’s spent on gifts for friend’s engagement parties, weddings, and baby showers, as a single, childless woman, she’s received nothing in return. Carrie decides to issue her friend with a faux invitation to a wedding (“I’m getting married…to myself,” it reads) and a gift registry containing only one item: the shoes. It may be a reinforcement of the show's tendency to present emotions as �ٳ󾱲Բ���,��however, it nonetheless signifies our culture’s failure to recognise non-traditional relationships in the way it does traditional ones.

Indeed, SATC inspects female financial independence in a way that few movies or series have before or since. There are entire storylines about money, how it functions for women vs men, and how money translates into power for women where they might otherwise struggle to obtain it. In one particular episode, Carrie, on the precipice of being evicted from her apartment, is torn about whether to cash a check from Big, her wealthy ex. Instead, she accepts Charlotte’s engagement ring as a loan. It’s unrealistic, yes, but it’s also an effective critique of the dilemmas that women face in navigating the world independently, forced to rely only on themselves or, in some cases, on the expensive remnants from the patriarchal institutions which failed them. What’s more, as a young female viewer, it’s both cathartic and invigorating to see an alternative version of a woman’s life play out on-screen; one where marriage and children are presented as questions, rather than solutions.

Ultimately, the crucial relationships in SATC’s are between the four women at its core. The bond they share has endured, and as a viewer, you understand that these women—who are different in almost every way—really like each other (though not in real life, according to Kim Cattrall, who plays Samantha). Their friendship is grounded in a genuine love and closeness, free from pettiness. Even when they argue, it feels as it might to argue with your own friends: from a place of deep care and concern. It’s not perfect, but in a lot of ways, it feels like home.