Sex, City, and the Choice to Be Childfree
And why it’s time that choice got the spotlight
As I mentioned in a recent Things I’m Loving Lately, I’ve been rewatching Sex and the City (for the umpteenth time), and once again I’m completely wrapped up in the friendships, the fashion, the chaos, and the charm. But more than anything? I’m here for Samantha Jones.
And maybe it’s because I’m in a different chapter of life now—firmly, intentionally childfree—but watching the show again has me thinking about all the things it didn’t say out loud. About freedom. About identity. About what it means to live a big, fulfilling life that doesn’t revolve around motherhood.
When I first watched SATC, I was 19 or 20. The women were older than I was—navigating careers, friendships, dating, and heartbreak in ways that felt aspirational. It was like a peek into a glamorous, complicated future I hoped might be mine if I played my cards right. I loved them all for different reasons, but Samantha? She was, and still is, my favorite.
She’s confident. Powerful. Unapologetic. She knows her worth, takes no shit, and wears whatever she damn well pleases. She takes up space. She says the quiet part out loud. And she doesn’t just break the rules—she laughs while doing it.
There are entire listicles dedicated to her best one-liners, but how do you choose just one? From her electric “date” with Smith—"Yes, I am harsh. I’m also demanding, stubborn, self-sufficient, and always right"—to her final, devastatingly empowering moment with Richard: “I love you, but I love me more.” Samantha isn’t just a character. She’s a force.
And here’s the thing: she was one of a kind. I honestly believe Samantha Jones walked so countless other female characters could run.
If Sex and the City hadn’t been quite so (ahem) centered on sex, I’d argue that Samantha should be required viewing for every young girl learning to understand her power. The way she moves through the world—with humor, audacity, and a steel spine—feels more radical now than ever. All while in fabulous heels, might I add.
Instead, what do we give them? Sanitized princesses. Girlbosses turned cautionary tales. “Strong female characters” that sound like they were built from algorithm-generated buzzwords rather than lived-in, complex women.
But Samantha? She lived big. Loudly. Glamorously. She wasn’t written to be perfect—she was written to be unapologetically herself. And she was.
It makes me miss the version of Sex and the City we knew and loved. I gave the reboot a shot (I won’t spoil anything if you haven’t watched), but without Samantha, it just isn’t the same. No one can replace her.
And while I get that the characters are older now—Carrie is 55, Miranda and Charlotte are 54, and Samantha would be 63—it’s wild to remember, as People pointed out, that this puts them at the same age the Golden Girls were when that show began. (How?!)
But age aside, I wish the show explored the life decisions they made in their 30s, 40s, and 50s with more clarity. As someone who’s childfree, I’d love to see more open conversations about that choice—especially from Carrie and Sam (if Kim ever returned for more than that much-publicized 73-second cameo—hardly a spoiler when the entire internet screamed about it). It’s a major life decision that rarely gets meaningful screen time, and when it does, it’s often portrayed as something to be apologized for.
Growing up in the early 2000s, I learned to apologize for things that weren’t mine to carry. But this choice? The one I’m making for myself, and for my family? I’m done saying sorry for that.
The truth? More people are choosing to remain childfree.
As of 2023, 29% of nonparents in the U.S. said they don’t want children—up from 14% in 2002. That number has more than doubled in just two decades. It’s not a niche lifestyle. It’s a cultural shift. Still, we almost never see it portrayed with the depth or care it warrants—especially in shows that influenced so many women.
And don’t get me wrong—I don’t need Sex and the City, And Just Like That, or even Samantha or Carrie to validate my choice. But it would be powerful to see it reflected—really reflected—on screen. Not just hinted at or brushed aside, but treated as a real, intentional path that deserves space.
It matters to show that this choice—this intentional decision to be childfree—is possible. For the young women watching Sex and the City or And Just Like That from their college dorm rooms, it’s powerful to see lives that aren’t centered on motherhood. They can dream of building careers, moving to new cities, falling in love, or not. They can brunch, shop, run for office, adopt a dog, or volunteer at a shelter. They can get married, stay single, or define partnership on their own terms. They can build full, rich lives—whatever that means to them.
And if choosing not to have children is part of that vision? They deserve to see it. Reflected back to them, even as they study for a bio exam with SATC (or AJLT) reruns playing in the background.
Carrie and Sam being childfree always felt like a storyline that was conveniently left unexplored.
We never hear why they didn’t have kids. Was it a conscious choice? A matter of prioritizing freedom, careers, relationships, or mental health? Were they thinking about climate change? The financial strain? Or did they, like me, simply never feel the pull toward motherhood—and never feel the need to explain themselves?
There are so many valid reasons women make this choice, and I wish even one had been acknowledged.
In a show that changed the way women talked about sex, dating, friendship, and fashion, imagine what it could do if it opened up a conversation around choosing not to have children.
It could affirm the women who’ve made that decision, encourage others to consider what they really want, or simply help people understand that not wanting kids isn’t selfish or sad—it’s just another way to live a full, beautiful life.
So yes, Samantha and Carrie can still show us what that looks like. They can continue to remind women that motherhood is not the only marker of a meaningful existence.
No shade to the reboot (okay, maybe a little), but it feels like the soul of the original show faded when Kim Cattrall stepped away. Without her, the sparkle is dimmer. The edge softer.
Kim, if you ever read this (and I know you won’t—but let me dream): you were it. And we miss you. I miss you. Fiercely.
Until—hopefully—Samantha returns (and maybe she never does), we childfree women will keep showing up anyway.
We’ll live big. Loudly. Glamorously. Without apology.
Because we weren’t written to be perfect—we were written to be free.
And that story?
It’s still being written.
By us.
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