Carrie Bradshaw will be just fine.

If you’ve seen the last-ever episode of HBO Max’s And Just Like That…, you’re aware of this. If not, you might want to look away — spoilers ahead.

In my view, the conclusion was the ideal farewell for Carrie — a full circle moment, concluding nearly thirty years on our screens, precisely as she began: single.

The finale kicks off with Carrie dining alone in a cutting-edge Japanese restaurant featuring robots and digital menus. As she places her order, a staff member sets down a cuddly toy tomato named Tommy for company, a consolation prize, so she doesn’t have to dine solo.

Carrie is understandably offended by this, and as someone who regularly eats out alone, I completely agree with this rightful indignation. Dining solo is, in fact, a luxury that many don’t experience: parents managing active children at mealtime will surely attest to this. Being able to sit in total silence and delight in your meal in blissful stillness? That’s a gift, frankly.

In the previous episode of AJLT, the first half of the finale, Carrie submitted her manuscript to her editor, who deemed it a “romantic tragedy” that the main character ends up alone. Once again, rude. What’s tragic about choosing oneself? What is this vast emptiness that suddenly requires filling?

After the solo dining-shaming incident, Carrie states, “Apparently, not only is it tragic for women to be alone in the past, it’s also a problem in the future.”

This episode tackles the conclusions we’ve been conditioned to desire. Seema questions whether she truly wants marriage, or if she’s merely spent her entire life being told she should aspire to so-called marital happiness. “Do I genuinely want it, or am I just programmed for it?” she queries as she and Carrie observe a bridal fashion show. Meanwhile, Charlotte and Lisa wrestle with the realities of marriage against the fantasies they held before entering it. The message seems to indicate: wedded “bliss” isn’t quite what it’s made out to be.

I, along with many others, wished for this conclusion. After years of putting men first, Carrie is finally prioritizing her own needs. In this final season, we endured several episodes of Aidan being an absolutely dreadful partner. Yet somehow, Carrie continued to return for more — until she finally had enough (which was a long time coming). Aidan demanded quite a bit in that relationship, specifically waiting for him for five years in a state of celibacy, in a bare, empty apartment, until he was finally free. Carrie is even unsure how often she should reach out to Aidan, seemingly because she doesn’t want to inconvenience him or appear too needy. Girl, are we serious with this cool girl act? “DUMP HIM,” I yelled at my TV after every episode. Thankfully, the message seemed to resonate when she grew weary of his possessive, jealous nonsense.

Of course, while all this Aidan drama unfolded, many of us were also urging her to hook up with the charming British downstairs neighbor. Sure, he’s a curmudgeon who won’t let her wear her signature heels around the flat (oppression!) — but he’s delightful. When Carrie proclaims, “I’ve never had a man recognize my intelligence first,” I feel disheartened. How is it that a woman with seven bestselling books and a distinguished writing career spanning decades is still having her intellect downplayed?

“Carrie Bradshaw, you’re a thing,” Duncan declares mid-epiphany as if he’s just realized this. Have you been living under a rock? Too busy writing about Margaret Thatcher to see the icon before you? Regardless, despite his appeal, it’s also a no from me.

By the next-to-last episode, it was evident that there were no admirable contenders vying for Carrie’s affection. It was time to cease catering to men’s needs, contorting and sacrificing oneself to meet their desires, and not being acknowledged for all that you are. Do we really want our girl to settle for anything less than what she deserves?

What’s intriguing about Carrie’s perspective in the final episode is her readiness to acknowledge that she’s previously viewed loneliness as a transient state, a means to an end — that end being a man.

But we see Carrie start to ponder: What if she simply pauses for a moment and refrains from trying to “fix” her singleness by incorporating a man into the scenario?

Carrie confides in Charlotte, “I’ve never lived alone without believing I wouldn’t be alone for long.”

“I have to stop thinking ‘maybe a man,’ and start embracing ‘maybe just me.’ It’s not a tragedy, it’s just a reality,” she adds.

But I’d go as far as