In the dystopian fashionscape “And Just Like That…” set 11 years after “Sex and the City 2”, we enter a parallel universe where Birkin bags possess the magical powers of immortality and everlasting youth.
Carrie, Miranda, and Charlotte have evolved into high priestesses of the Luxurious Order of Birkin Worship, with Samantha being banished only to return as a specter in a divine cameo.
One sacrilegious act shakes the foundation of their Uptown Manhattan haven – the audacious theft of a Birkin bag.
In this sacred realm of eternal blowouts (au revoir, Carrie’s natural curls!), Big’s constant reincarnation, and fierce women who have sworn to slay every look, one sacrilegious act shakes the foundation of their Uptown Manhattan haven – the audacious theft of a Birkin bag.
In the now-infamous Episode Three, the divine Seema, an enchantress clad in the very fabric of style itself, steps onto the urban catwalk of New York City. But tragedy strikes before your eyes can adjust to the sheer fabulousness radiating from the screen. In what appears to be a 21st-century retelling of the Greek myth of Hermes (who might have designed the Birkin bag if he were alive), a rogue Hermes-wannabe snatches Seema’s hallowed Birkin.
Seema’s screams reach the heavens, but the Birkin Gods are too busy picking out their outfits to answer. They fail to smite the Birkin bandit, who disappears into the urban labyrinth. Seema, tragically detached from her Birkin, wails, “What’s happening to this city?” as if the soul of NYC were contained in that bag.
Could this be an omen? Was Mayor Eric Adams trying to implement some warped, Birkin-based social policy? We shudder at the possibilities.
The acquisition of a Birkin is akin to decoding an ancient cipher; one must engage in a shadowy dance with HERMÈS, forging bonds of blood and fashion before maybe, just maybe, they deem you worthy.
In the primordial days of the franchise, we witnessed the Birkin trials of Saint Samantha. Ripped apart from Lucy Liu (her patron saint) and her destined Birkin, Samantha becomes an allegory for humanity’s eternal quest. The acquisition of a Birkin is akin to decoding an ancient cipher; one must engage in a shadowy dance with HERMÈS, forging bonds of blood and fashion before maybe, just maybe, they deem you worthy.
Seema, the messianic figure, is undoubtedly the reincarnation of Samantha’s spirit, the guardian of the Birkin. Who else could fumble such an extravagant relic?
He took only the wallet (mortal currency holds no sway for a Birkin Guardian), and thus, the Birkin was returned to its ordained keeper.
But lo and behold, a twist – the sacred Birkin, lying amidst the roots of a common sidewalk shrub, abandoned by the burglar who probably got stuck on the HERMÈS cipher. He took only the wallet (mortal currency holds no sway for a Birkin Guardian), and thus, the Birkin was returned to its ordained keeper.
Seema, you could’ve avoided this Herculean quest by insuring your artifact – a mundane spell known to mortals. But then, where would be the tragicomic glory?
In the gilded temple “And Just Like That…” where Birkins are the relics that protect, empower, and console, we are mere mortals privy to their epic tales. May the Birkin be with you.
