It should be a romantic setting – a couple, decked out in their finery, are walking through the streets of New York City; she’s wearing a fitted white dress, he’s in a suit so sharp it could cut glass.
Fountains are gushing in the gardens they’re passing by, the water twinkling under the twilight.
But the picturesque scene of the New York night is being sliced through by the whining words of the suited man. He is moaning at his girlfriend, with his petulant protestations akin to a toddler’s temper tantrum.
His charge? His girlfriend, who has already expressed concerns about rushing into a wedding, does not want to get married tonight. In a small voice, she tells her boyfriend ‘not to push her’.
‘Well, maybe you need to be pushed!’ he fires back. ‘I want to lock this thing down!’
This scene from the fourth season of Sex and the City is one that has always made me feel deeply uncomfortable. It’s meant to signal the heartbreaking end of Carrie Bradshaw and Aidan Shaw, as the two realise they want different things from each other.
But every time I’ve seen it (and I’ve watched Sex and the City compulsively and repeatedly), I just think Carrie’s had a lucky escape. Aidan is a total a**hole and by far her very worst boyfriend.
So imagine my disappointment when the closing seconds of the new teaser of And Just Like That sees Carrie drop an email to her former fiancé (opening with ‘Hey stranger!’ no less).
Carrie’s two great loves throughout Sex and the City’s canon were businessman Big – the cigar smoking, perpetual bachelor banker with a love of fine steak and a dodgy ticker – and Aidan, the cosy carpenter who liked eating KFC bargain buckets in bed, naturally serving as Big’s foil in every way (Aidan says it himself: Big’s Batman, he’s the Green Hornet – a superhero no-one wants to shag, quite frankly).
SATC’s narrative pushed for Big and Carrie to end up together after six series of near misses, but a fair number of the show’s fans were secretly disappointed that Carrie didn’t become Aidan’s full-time ‘booth b***h’.
On a superficial level, it’s easier to root for Aidan than for Big. He did, after all, make his commitment to Carrie clear from the offset.
He was kind. He built her furniture. He helped her buy her beloved apartment. He looked after her friends. He even had a cute dog. Aidan was the committed partner Carrie had craved Big to be.
But beyond the kindly image Aidan constructed belies a toxic narcissist that sees Carrie only as an accessory, forced to conform to his boring lifestyle of wood chips and dog walks.
My issue with Aidan stemmed from the very first episode he’s introduced in season three, where he takes unnecessary umbrage with her smoking. It’s fair enough; not everyone is going to be a fan of kissing an ashtray.
But it’s the way he issues an ultimatum: ‘I can’t date a smoker’, which is a cause for concern. If Carrie doesn’t change something about herself, he’ll withhold his love (also, they’re her lungs Aidan, bloody hell).
It’s a precedent that Aidan carries throughout both his relationships with Carrie. Their pairing is defined mostly by their irritability with each other.
She gets annoyed that he crowds her, he gets annoyed at her for going to nightclubs and for not being enamoured with his sticky cabin in the woods. It’s Carrie that’s expected to give up her social life and weekends; Aidan doesn’t even consider it a necessary compromise that he should be joining her for dinners and nights out.
They’re less like lovers – Carrie’s a sulky teenager around Aidan, while he’s like your mate’s creepy dad you actively try not to be in the same room as.
For what it’s worth, Carrie’s behaviour is far from perfect throughout her relationship with Aidan (or any of her relationships, really). She is at fault for cheating on Aidan with Big, and is the cause of their break-up.
But it’s something he chooses to hold over her when they do decide to give things another go in season four. As they navigate the boundaries of their new relationship, Aidan chooses to emotionally withhold from Carrie, and dangles a sexually charged friendship with Shayna, a barmaid at his tacky nightclub, as a reminder that he could retaliate at any time.
It’s Aidan’s possessive nature over Carrie that leaves me feeling the most uncomfortable with their relationship. His desperation to claim ownership over her is the thing that motivates their entire engagement.
Even after Carrie asks for Aidan just to slow down and give her space, he’s insistent on having a shotgun wedding. As Carrie visibly baulks at the suggestion, Aidan delivers the most devastating reason he wants them to get married: ‘I want the whole wide world to know that you’re mine.’
It’s nothing to do with love. Aidan’s engagement to Carrie was merely a demonstration of ownership.
Effectively, Aidan wants to mould Carrie into becoming the idealised girlfriend he’s always wanted – a homebody that makes pies, stays at inside and picks up after his dog. That’s fine if that’s what he wants in a partner, but that’s not who Carrie is.
Yes, Carrie is self-centered and annoying, but she deserves to be loved for the qualities that comprise her as a human being. She doesn’t deserve to be altered to fit another man’s whims – especially if that man wears turquoise jewellery.
The nature of Carrie and Aidan’s relationship in And Just Like That is yet to be confirmed, though – judging by promo photos – we need to brace ourselves for Carrie and Aidan round three (or four, if you count the equally cursed Abu Dhabi kiss from the second Sex and the City film).
Hopefully, Carrie returns to her senses and dumps him – preferably by Post-It note.
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