The Internet is furious with Miranda Hobbes. Maybe it's because she's a mirror.

"Miranda Hobbes, what the f**k happened to you?" 

My friend is actually yelling. She is not happy with her favourite fictional character's arc. It's unclear to her how we got here.

In the most recent episode of And Just Like That, the most kick-arse independent woman of the extended Sex And The City universe was trying to sleep through her partner's all-night bongs-n-beer parties, waking up at dawn to cross the city and fold her teenage son's underpants and bought a used, flea-bitten single bed to put in her mate's spare room to find some peace. 

To my friend, and many others, this is a great betrayal. Because being "A Miranda" used to mean something, dammit. 

Watch the trailer for the second season of And Just Like That. Post continues after video.

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It meant that you were staunchly independent, career-focused, industrious. You were smart as hell. You were loyal but never a pushover. You were the kind of friend who would, eventually, call your buddy on her s**t, all the while knowing you would follow her into hell if she needed you there. You were sexy but never a vamp. Understatedly stylish. The quintessential no-bullsh**t New Yorker who liked bagels and spin class and the Times on Sunday morning.


This week Miranda's Times ran a scathing but entirely reasonable story about how And Just Like That – always a show about rich people – had truly become about the unimaginably wealthy one per cent. The piece particularly called out that Miranda had added to the unrelatability by turning her back on hard work to be just another rich lady who lunched. 

It's a sentiment echoed by the Internet, in general. Just gaze over these headlines for proof.

"And Just Like That, Fans Are Totally Over Miranda Hobbes."


"And Just Like That Has Done Miranda Dirty."

In short, we are five episodes into And Just Like That Season 2 and many, many people are pissed off with where Miranda's going. 

Me, I am not one of them. 

Miranda is (allegedly) 56. It's an age when women are meant to have worked out who we are and what we want. 

Except, we haven't. 

Miranda's host, Cynthia Nixon, is directing several episodes of this new season, including this one, with the bong-filled game nights, and the swallowing her words in family therapy. And with a slight change of perspective, what she's depicting is not a pathetic woman, but a real one. 

Oh, on a good day, us grown-up women know we don't want to eat offal. That we're definitely not in the market for backless hi-vis bodycon and it's unlikely at this point that we will ever be a ballerina. 

But the big WHO AM I, ANYWAY? question often still swirls. 


On some days, we wonder if we are still the kind of person who might microdose MDMA and have a threesome, because, hey, we're not dead yet. 

On others, we wonder if we're now the kind of person who knits.

Some days, it's impossible to see through the smoky fog of caregiving to remember what it is that we wanted, before our lives were entirely designed around what other people needed. 

And sometimes, like Miranda, after we've made an enormous life change, we wobble and doubt, and question ourselves. Midlife women are not just leaning posts for others whose lives are still in motion. We are still moving, too. 

Listen to this bonus episode of Mamamia Out Loud, recapping And Just Like That. Post continues after podcast.

Miranda Hobbes threw in her high-paying corporate law job because it was ultimately unsatisfying and had taken too much from her. 

She threw in her marriage for similar reasons. 

Presumably, she could afford to do the first because she'd been at it for a damn long time. And she did the second because she had no choice if she wanted to stay living, rather than just existing, for her next, third act. 

But what this season of And Just Like That is showing us is that neither of those big life changes come cheap. 

Going back to study puts you in the kind of pecking-order position where you're sprinting across town to sit in your class on time. Falling in love with a person in a completely different life stage means examining what you are prepared to put up with for vivid sex and a fresh perspective. 


The world doesn't like it because there's something very unsettling about a midlife woman behaving like an insecure 20-something. Which it seems like what Miranda Hobbes is doing, as she puts herself at the bottom of every list, and runs around the city trying to work out her next move, and making nice for her ex, her adult son, her sort-of partner. 

She blew up her life and is still wrestling with the fallout. Some days she feels entirely invincible... right up until the moment she's defeated by how to turn off the ringer on her new Android phone. 

This, friends, is called relatable content. 

Every grown-up woman who's made a bold choice to press restart will have days when she wonders if any of it was worth it. Days when she wonders if she's gone backwards. Days when she knows she's the object of pity. 

Maybe, what being "A Miranda" in 2023 means is being someone who's prepared to risk being fragile to get to a better place. Which is still, let's face it, pretty kick-arse. 

I just really, really hope that the better place comes with her own mattress and a reasonable bedtime.

Feature Image: HBO + Mamamia.

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