This week’s contributor spotlight is from Ricky and Meredith from the fantastic and delightful podcast: @andjustlikewhatpod!

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Why We Can’t Say Goodbye to Carrie Bradshaw

Carrie Bradshaw was the It Girl for a generation of Sex and the City fans. For Meredith Bailey
and Ricky Zayshley, co-hosts of And Just Like What? A Sex and the City Podcast, she made
them who they are today.

The First Watch by Meredith Bailey:

“I first watched a full season of Sex and the City (SATC) when I was 18 and pursuing a theatre arts diploma at a community college. My friend, Melissa, had seasons one to four on a VHS box set. The show premiered in the summer when I was entering high school, so I was a little too young for it to be on my radar at first. (Unlike my gracefully aging co-host.) Melissa lived in a student residence on campus: a relatively well-kept three-level townhome with a cozy kitchen and living room on the main floor.
A gaggle of us would go to her place during our lunch hours or on long breaks between
rehearsals. The program we were in was for theatre kids and offered both a performance stream
and a production stream. My pals and I were in the performance stream, and SATC felt like exactly our vibe. Miranda seemed impossibly responsible, Charlotte was too uptight, and none of us were in Samantha’s league.

We all wanted to be Carrie. Carrie was cool, fashionable, smart, curious, and brave. At the time, she felt like the leader of the pack, a good friend, and the type of woman who knew how to navigate relationships without losing sight of herself. Upon multiple rewatches, I now know she’s occasionally a lousy friend, self-centred, inflexible, and a secret prude. Watching the show crammed onto Melissa’s white slip-covered Ikea-brand loveseat, surrounded by my theatre-school pals, felt synchronistic. I, too, was a cool, fashionable babe, and my friends and I felt like Calgary was our own Big Apple. The world was ours to discover, and relationships were waiting like unopened books, ready to rock us with romance, confusion, lust, and heartbreak.

The First Rewatch
The first time I did a full rewatch of SATC was in my mid-20s when I was living in Vancouver,
Canada with my husband, Stafford, who was my boyfriend at the time.
Stafford was working in theatre, which meant he was away for three to six months at a time,
working in different parts of the country. Meanwhile, I had booked some work on a few film and
TV projects, which meant I had enough money to only need a part-time job at a yoga studio and
spent the rest of my time auditioning. It was also the first time I’d lived completely on my own
without the anchor of university or a regular job. Vancouver was new to me, and making friends seemed tricky. There were times when I was so lonely that it felt like a physical ache, as if my bones were sharp and hollow. Many nights, I’d watch SATC on DVD in the living room by myself on our enormous hand-me-down TV. This time watching, I felt less enamoured with my SATC pals. Carrie seemed messier, Samantha
more insecure, Charlotte stunted, but Miranda seemed to have her life the most together. A secure, well-paying job and a midtown apartment? Get it, girl. Watching the show again was incredibly comforting. Although I was more critical of my pals ‘ choices, I still loved them. I did go on to make friends in Vancouver. In part, I think, because the SATC gang inspired me to be thoughtful about the type of people I wanted in my life. These women had chosen each other, and I, too, could seek out the type of people who felt like my people. Or as Charlotte says, the type of friends who could be each other’s soulmates.
During that time, my style began to fully emerge with Carrie Bradshaw as my main influence. I
paired American Apparel wrap dresses with vintage belts and neck scarves, cocktail dresses with
yoga pants and motorcycle boots. I also found a vintage red plaid Pendleton jacket that was the
exact same one Carrie wears in season 6, episode 13 of SATC, and I wore it constantly.

Rewatch Continues
My next milestone rewatch began in 2021.
I had other significant rewatches in my late 20s, early 30s, including after the birth of my first
son, when I’d watch SATC during his afternoon nap. But my most recent rewatch has been
particularly formative because it launched the beginning of Ricky and my podcast, And Just Like
What. I met Ricky in 2012 at work. I began as an intern in January, and Ricky started that spring. He
was funny and warm with a tailored, preppy look. He was hired on as an editor, and so I reported
to him for many years. An expert in fashion, home, and lifestyle content, Ricky’s assignments
were always the most fun to do. In the words of my pal Samantha, I thought Ricky was fabulous
We quickly discovered we were superfans of SATC, and many of our life experiences had
mirrored the show and each other. Ricky was also a theatre kid and had grown up in Saskatchewan
(I’d spent my elementary years there), had also transitioned into journalism and would happily
spend an afternoon tea with a collection of super fashionable grandmas (our favourite kind of
invite). We’d decided to start a podcast about the show we both loved. The podcast had a few stops and
starts, as we changed jobs, I welcomed another baby, and Ricky moved to a different country.
However, in 2021, we decided to get serious.

And Just Like That (AJLT), the SATC reboot, was the impetus for us to record again. We decided
we’d watch the reboot of the show that made us who we are today and then rewatch all of SATC!
We were still deep in the COVID pandemic, a time that’s difficult for me to remember, so having
the podcast to listen back to is really interesting. There were definitely some dark days. Having
the anchor of a scheduled time to chat with Ricky every week (he was living in Phoenix at the
time) to talk about friendship, fashion, and our SATC pals, who we felt intimately connected to,
was, honestly, a lifeline. The rewatch took almost four years. During that time, we watched seasons 1-3 of AJLT, which is worthy of an entirely separate story, and seasons 1-6 of SATC. In total, we recorded more than 130 episodes. Through COVID, growing kids, forest fires, moving countries, political upheaval, and
perimenopause, I had an (almost) weekly chat with Ricky about the show that made us who we
are. At first, it was truly just an opportunity for us to catch up, vibe off each other’s energies, be
surprised by each other’s perspectives, and make each other laugh- and laugh- and laugh.
Slowly, we realized that our little show was having an impact on our listeners as well. We started
to get DMs and emails from people around the country sharing how much they enjoyed listening
to us. Yes, like us, our listeners also loved SATC (many had stronger opinions about AJLT), but
they also shared that listening to us felt like they were hanging out with their own friends. Many
said they’d catch themselves talking to us or responding while listening. In a funny way, Ricky and I were chatting about a show about friendship and inadvertently creating new opportunities for connection and friendship with people all around the world, from grandmas in Alabama to fashion influencers in Brazil and super fans in Hong Kong. By watching and talking about a show about four women who could often be pretty bad friends, I felt like I was learning how to be a better one. I learned the importance of intentionally making time for your friendships, letting yourself be surprised by them, and that friendships can emerge in ways you’d never expect, like through a series of DMs on Instagram. At a time when there were many reasons to feel afraid and divided, I learned that people around the world shared very similar thoughts, feelings, and ideas with my own. I also learned that Miranda had, in fact, had it right all alone. You shouldn’t buy Vogue instead of food. No, Carrie, it literally will not “feed you more.” Like Miranda, you should find a career where you’re valued and promoted as a reflection of that. You should make smart financial decisions, like buying real estate and investing in neighbourhoods that are up-and-coming instead of staying where it’s trendy. You should wear comfortable shoes and overalls whenever you damn well feel like.
And, from Ricky, I’ve been reminded about the value of showing up for your friends and sharing
generously your most valuable commodity: time. Also, find a friend who really makes you
laugh.”

Here’s to the next rewatch!

Bio: Meredith Bailey
A self-proclaimed Sex and the City Miranda and a reluctant And Just Like That… Charlotte,
Meredith Bailey has loved the Sex and the City universe since she watched the first episode in a
college dorm in 2001. Meredith spent much of her 20s as a professional actor on film sets and
stages across Canada. Today, she works as the director of content and strategy for a Canadian
publishing company and is still searching for a “Meredith” necklace just like Carrie’s.
As co-host of the weekly Sex and the City reboot podcast, And Just Like That, Meredith loves
chatting about the show that made her who she is today, and Ricky’s hot takes on why he thinks
Miranda is an asshole.

Why I Can’t Say Goodbye to Carrie Bradshaw by Ricky Zayshley:

“To me, Carrie Bradshaw isn’t just a character on TV—she became a blueprint for my life.
I can still remember the first time I watched Sex and the City. I was on summer break from
university in my hometown of Yorkton, Saskatchewan. My friend Audra invited me over to
watch this titillating show on Bravo (where Canada aired HBO content at the time). It straddled
the line between “after dark” soft-core porn and prestige TV. I didn’t need much more
convincing than that, but it became very apparent very quickly that this show was different. This
was speaking directly to me. By season three, it had exploded into a bona fide hit, but by then I already felt like an early adopter. I was the Carrie. Nobody else could claim her or even begin to understand our
connection. It was the classic trope of people saying they liked U2 before they were cool (insert side-eye here). But I really did like her first, I swear! I was cutting edge by Yorkton, Saskatchewan standards, where even ordering a highball deemed you “different.” Somewhere between then and now, my life started mirroring Carrie’s. I don’t know if it was intentional or subliminal, but looking back, it’s almost shocking. A friend once mocked me for mimicking her as she pointed out the easy comparisons. At the time, I was offended. But now? It’s a true honor. Who better to emulate than Carrie Fucking Bradshaw?

Season one Carrie was scrappy. She thrifted, hustled, and dreamed big in a city that could swallow you whole. She wasn’t a nepo baby—she cobbled her life together piece by piece. That was exactly how I felt when I moved to Toronto in the late ’90s. Every day was an outright act of lifestyle improv: piecing together outfits and a sophisticated life I believed was rightfully mine. And just like Carrie, I kept at it. As she gained access and money, she never lost that scrappiness, and neither did I. Just like Carrie, I always felt like a late bloomer, like I didn’t quite have the “things” my friends did or have it all figured out like they seemed to. Some got married, like Charlotte (though I never demanded their rings when the marriages failed). Some found career success like Miranda. Others were wilder, more adventurous, like Samantha. Meanwhile, I was still piecing things together and making it up as I went along. But Carrie emboldened me to believe that the life I was inventing was worth inhabiting. Even the little details of my life started colliding. Carrie was one of the first TV characters I ever saw taking her laptop to coffee shops, working by the window, sipping coffee while watching the world go by. That wasn’t a thing back then! Laptop culture didn’t exist yet, at least not where I lived. But I found myself dragging my heavy Bondi Blue iMac to a desk by the window of my first Toronto apartment overlooking Queen Street East. It helped me connect to a way of being I hadn’t considered before—to tie everyday routine with a stylish point of view.
That Queen Street apartment was an homage to hers with its thrifted furniture, mid-century modern pieces butted up to mission chairs, and stacked books. It was a highly intentional space that looked curated yet slightly haphazard. It was so grown up and adult feeling. The type of place three of your zany friends might want to watch gay porn, or order takeout Chinese, and recount their week. Oh god, I wanted that so badly—I literally set the stage. Carrie also reframed the rituals of home. One of my favorite scenes is in “I Heart New York” (Season 4, Episode 18), where she pulls out a blanket at the first hint of fall, when the crisp air comes through the window and the season shifts. It was such a small detail, but by then I was simply obsessed with Carrie at home, pausing to make out the Clinique, Kiehl’s, and Bumble and
Bumble products on her bathroom shelves. Carrie’s reaction to the changing season reframed
change for me altogether. The idea that something as ordinary as swapping bedding could
symbolize growth stuck with me—that life was about moving forward, evolving, even in tiny ways.
She even shifted my perspective on drinking. Growing up in a strict Christian environment,
alcohol always seemed dangerous—a prelude to aggression, bad behavior, loss of control.
On Sex and the City, a Cosmopolitan meant something else entirely. It wasn’t about getting
drunk; it was shorthand for gathering with friends, for dressing up, for stepping into a more
fabulous version of yourself. Alcohol wasn’t the point—it was the accessory to connection. That
was new to me. The foursome dynamic was obviously a plot device, but the way the show played with
archetypes—the stylish friend, the career friend, the wild friend, the romantic—helped me see
my own friendships differently. Moving from Yorkton to Toronto meant suddenly meeting wildly
different kinds of people, and Sex and the City made that feel exciting instead of terrifying. It reassured me that friendships could be seasonal, situational, or lifelong, and that all of them mattered. It also taught me that you can choose your family. Sometimes, all it takes is moving to a big city and seeing what happens. Through the years, Carrie kept being my touchstone. Even when And Just Like That turned into a complete disaster, I still found myself connecting with her. She aged (gracefully, if sometimes unrealistically), went through profound loss, and kept moving forward. I wish we’d been allowed
to see more of her flaws mature with her—the selfish, neurotic friend at 60 would’ve been
fascinating—but even so, Carrie remained the best part of the reboot. Meanwhile, she kept weaving into my real life in unexpected ways. When I worked at Avenue Magazine in Calgary, my colleague Meredith and I bonded instantly over our shared devotion to Sex and the City. That bond grew into our podcast, launched mid-pandemic, and was fueled by equal parts grief, boredom, and obsession. Talking about Carrie (and all the glorious mess of And Just Like That) became a creative lifeline. It gave Meredith and me an excuse to check in, vent, laugh, and stay tethered to something joyful when the world didn’t seem so safe. And here’s the thing: rewatching SATC Carrie today is not always flattering. She can be selfish,
neurotic, even unlikable. But honestly—if you rewatched yourself in your 20s and 30s, would
you like what you saw? Absofuckinlutely not. We’re all shitty narcissists. The point is whether
you grow. And Carrie did. Watching her, warts and all, has helped me reflect on how I’ve grown,
too.

Meredith and I asked our podcast listeners to tell us why they can’t say goodbye to Carrie, and
the overwhelming response is that she is so relatable. She’s the through line. We all see ourselves
in her, for good or bad. As one of our New York City resident listeners astutely pointed out:
Carrie is the Chrysler Building, not Mr. Big.
So no, I can’t say goodbye to Carrie Bradshaw. She’s more than a TV character to me. She’s the
mirror I’ve measured my own life against, the perfectly imperfect late bloomer who was
achingly beautiful, the voice that gave me permission to hustle, to be fabulous, to change, to
screw up, and to keep moving forward. She’s woven into the high thread count, milled in Italy,
bias-cut fabric of who I am.”

Bio: Ricky Zayshley
And Just Like What’s resident Carrie, Ricky’s life has mirrored Sex and the City’s star in many
ways. After a casting director once told him he was “too gay” for a career in musical theatre,
Ricky turned toward a field that would embrace him fully—fashion journalism. As a senior
editor and content producer, he has worked for Fashion Television, Fashion Quarterly, Sir
magazine, and more. Today, he is a senior marketing professional in Calgary who still strives to
live a SATC-inspired week whenever possible. Cosmos, anyone?
As co-host of And Just Like What? A Sex and the City Podcast, Ricky still pauses the screen to
report on the beauty products tucked inside Carrie’s medicine chest.