I am sure I’ll shock exactly zero percent of people reading this by saying there’s something off about And Just Like That. But for a month now, I haven’t quite been able to put my finger on it. What gives the show its weird, uncanny-valley feel? Is it the deeply-felt absence of Samantha “I will blow whomever I want” Jones? The constant sustained pauses in what was once the snappiest dialogue on premium cable? Brady Hobbes’ development into a total sicko? The fact that none of these characters seem to like each other any more? Is it that instead of being a bouncy comedy about love, friendship and tutu skirts, it is now a weirdly sludgy show about death, disappointment, the inevitable decay of the human body, and also some less visually compelling tutu skirts?

But while watching the show’s all-over-the-place sixth episode — an episode that told us it’s okay to change! And it’s also okay not to change! And it’s also okay to change into the person you were 15 years ago! And it’s also okay to keep masturbating while you talk to your sicko son through a closed door, because you, too, are a sicko! — I realized that perhaps the thing missing was envy.

The original Sex and the City was many things: a groundbreaking comedy about single women that suggested they deserved exactly as much attention as the couples who traditionally dominated sitcoms; a Prada infomercial; a philosophical treatise on adult friendships; an excuse for grown women to call each other “Goldi-cocks.” But for most of us, it was all about the envy.