And Just Like That: This collective hate-watch is uniquely magnificent

Last night, I texted my friend Jo, “You’re going to HATE what happens in this week’s episode”, without elaboration.

I was watching the screener for tomorrow’s episode of And Just Like That (no spoilers, promise) and I knew Jo would receive that message with glee rather than a groan.

For the past two months, almost everyone has been hate-watching And Just Like That. It’s become the past-time du jour.

That the show, now in its third season, is a shadow of Sex and the City is not a debate. We all know it’s bad.

Despite the stirrings of hope in the opening episodes of this season, it promptly descended into madness with its own plot holes (killing off a character who was already dead) or befuddling choices (Carrie nonchalantly accepting Aidan’s confession he slept with his ex-wife).

We’re not watching out of schadenfreude or some kind of car-crash fascination. What’s happening on the screen each week is largely beside the point.

The reason we hate-watch And Just Like That is for the group chats, the text chains and the memes. We just want to finish each episode so we can talk about it.

The series is the pre-show and the main act is what follows - the culture around it, and it is lighting up.

Memes declaring that the show is so awful it better last another 40 seasons makes everyone chuckle, because there’s nothing else quite like the feeling of sharing in a movement. We’re all in on the joke.

Every weekend, friends are furiously sending around recaps, memes and opinions in the group chat – “That bonnet! What the hell was that bonnet!”, “Thank god, that drip Aiden is finally gone” and “I never liked Aiden, he was sh-t in the OG series too, so judgmental!”.

If you’re not watching AJLT, you are missing out – not on the show, but the discourse.

We used to call it the water-cooler moment, the idea that the day following some even semi-notable TV or cultural event, it would be the talk of the office kitchen. Both of those things are greatly diminished – working together in person and appointment TV.

In the past decade, there have been a few but not many. Game of Thrones was one, the Paris Olympics opening ceremony another, seasons two and three of The White Lotus, the first season of Squid Game, and trying to buy tickets for Taylor Swift’s Eras tour.

The epoch of shared experiences has passed thanks to the way culture has fractured. We used to all know about Sara-Marie’s bunny dance but now people are watching different TikTok videos and not going to the movies.

And Just Like That allows us to come together, once a week for three months. That it’s a week-to-week release is important because it’s sustained and it only ramps up as the season progresses.

Sure, lots of people watched, for example Wednesday or Stranger Things, but that binge drop means everyone had moved on after two weeks. What you want is something you can hook into for a while.

Hate-watching is not new. We’re magnetised to people we find repulsive or just ridiculous because it allows us to negotiate and establish our own values system. We define ourselves as much by what we’re not than what we are.

Not a murderer. Excellent. Not a racist. Brilliant. Not a fan of ham and pineapple pizza. Congratulations, you are an adult.

People watch reality TV because it makes them feel better about themselves to judge others – maybe you were testy to a café barista who got your coffee order wrong (naughty, naughty), but at least you didn’t go on TV and expose yourself as a misogynist.

Which is still different from guilty pleasures, which is when you derive genuine joy from watching something you know you probably shouldn’t like because it’s not “serious”. Lots of people say they hate-watch Emily in Paris but probably half of them actually like it because it’s a bright, breezy and stake-less distraction.

What’s unique about And Just Like That is its history. The people hate-watching it now have had a 27-year relationship with these characters. There’s a shared language that newer sensations such as The White Lotus can’t break into.

When Aidan acts like a prick in And Just Like That and refuses to move into Carrie’s apartment because of “memories” (OK, big boy), you and your friends can reach deep into that vault and pull out all the other instances he basically told us he didn’t actually like Carrie. We get to play prosecutor.

The long-term investment is what makes hate-watching And Just Like That not like anything else.

Humans are pack animals, we’re meant to have collective experiences, we want to have an excuse to constantly talk to our friends, and And Just Like That is creating a rare movement we can all be a part of.

May it live forever, no matter how terrible it is.

And Just Like That is streaming on HBO Max