Although it would be deemed sacrilege by most women (Black or otherwise) to reduce Insecure to being “another Sex and the City” (when, in fact, most have likened it to “this generation’s Living Single”), it’s difficult to deny the copout ending that Issa Rae felt obliged to give her alter ego of a protagonist, Issa Dee. Like Carrie Bradshaw before her, Issa had spent years going back and forth on the same man who kept playing games with her heart (as the Backstreet Boys would phrase it). In this case, (Martin) Lawrence Walker (Jay Ellis). And while comparing any man to “Mr. Big” at this moment in time (namely because of Chris Noth being a sexual predator) is a fairly big affront, the comparison must be made to get across what a tired notion it is for a single woman to end up inevitably returning to the man who did her wrong (even if that woman did happen to cheat on him, as Carrie, incidentally, also had no problem doing—granted, her cheating was with Big, rather than on him).
Just as it was for Carrie, Issa has little issue with going back to the two “great loves” of her life throughout the series. The Aidan (John Corbett) of the outfit is Nathan Campbell (Kendrick Sampson)—despite possessing more similar toxic traits to Big. But because he’s second in line to Issa’s true “great love,” he fits the Aidan bill. And sure, even Aidan seems a little retrospectively bipolar with his mood swings toward Carrie as she waffles about marriage. Then again, Carrie could drive any sane man to a DSM diagnosis. Issa, however, makes her famed “inconsistency” come across as far more charming and endearing. Maybe because such qualities are grounded in greater realism than cartoonishness. Even if, technically, Issa seeing herself talk back in the mirror is more surreal than anything that occurred in Sex and the City (though we did get a bit of that in season one, when Carrie would actually break the fourth wall and talk to the audience, as well as when she proceeded to “float on air” after a night with a Frenchman who turned out to see her as a high-class hooker).
As for the supporting cast of Insecure, at different times, the characters of Molly (Yvonne Orji) and Kelli (Natasha Rothwell) embody a Samantha Jones archetype (one supposes Molly also has a touch of the Miranda archetype because she’s a combative lawyer). The former possessing the unapologetic career success and the latter possessing the bawdy inappropriateness. Tiffany (Amanda Seales), the “blandest” of the ensemble, is more Charlotte than anything, a married woman with a bout of depression that we also see in Charlotte after she miscarries in the season six episode, “One.”
Unlike Sex and the City, of course, it was not New York that served as the “fifth main character” of Insecure, but Los Angeles (in addition to a sixth main character: the soundtrack). Which was refreshing to see, especially through Rae’s loving eyes. Maybe not since Eve Babitz has someone showed L.A. so much appreciation. Indeed, among the most important aspects of the show for her was portraying a part of L.A. that was not either one of the usual extremes: “Hollywood” or “the hood.” From the outset, Rae declared, “We’re just trying to convey that people of color are relatable. This is not a hood story. This is about regular people living life.” It’s somewhat tragic, however, that a person of color would still feel the unspoken pressure to somehow prove being “relatable” to certain other (white) folks. And yet, if 2020 taught us nothing, it’s that prejudices and stereotypes run deep.
One plot device SATC didn’t rely on for its finale was the warp speeding up of time in order for Rae to get the characters up to the moment she needed them to be in for her audience to believe something like Kelli being pregnant or Molly getting married (these two life path cliches being at least something we can take comfort in knowing that Samantha never did).
To that end, the need for accelerating time is also meant to make the love between Issa and Lawrence seem enduring, “realer.” More genuine, and less forced for the sake of the show’s coda (which is, of course, exactly what their reunion is for). While Issa’s decision to return to Lawrence is handled with less of a “fairy tale” flair than the SATC series finale, “An American in Paris, Part Deux,” one still finds it hard to believe that she would suddenly come around to the idea of being, for all intents and purposes, a stepmother when that notion was a key part of why she found being with Lawrence “too messy” at the beginning of season five. But then, we’re meant to simply make the assumption, “Growth, Okay?!”
That much is made evident when the episode starts to wrap up on a scene of her drive to Lawrence’s (and presumably Issa’s) new house. Along the way, she sees all the old haunts, from her apartment complex The Dunes to We Got Y’all to a man walking out of Best Buy in uniform who reminds her of Lawrence back in the early days of their relationship starting to go sour. And yet, every old dick is new again when a woman reaches “a certain age.” That still feels like the core of the message Insecure wants to reinforce in a less overt, grating way than Sex and the City (complete with the maudlin reconciliation of Carrie and Big in Paris [a concept as annoying as Emily in Paris]). A show that, through all its posturing about female friendship and how these women would be the true loves of each other’s lives, still keeps the classic female “end game” at the forefront. Such is also the case in Insecure, which does its best to mitigate this fact by ensuring the final frame of “Everything Gonna Be, Okay?!” is of Issa and Molly talking to each other on the phone, laughing about how needy men can be. Thus, the intent to assure us that friendship will never be compromised for men is there, despite ultimately being hollow.
Even Carrie, during the final scene and line of dialogue in SATC, doesn’t bother with pretending that she cares more about friendship than not “being alone.” Walking down a busy city street (this, too, emphasizing that NYC is her true love before anyone else in the same way Issa driving through L.A. does), she gets a call from Big, who informs her he’s coming to Manhattan now that he’s put his Napa house on the market. As she listens, we’re given the voiceover, “The most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you find someone to love the “you” you love, well, that’s just fabulous.”
Surprisingly, Carrie, narcissist that she is, seems to be advocating for sologamy (as she also did in “A Woman’s Right to Shoes”) even when she does capitulate to going back to the start and resorting to Big. In some sense, one wishes Issa could have taken that kernel to the next level, and had the courage to just be alone at the end of Insecure (hence, becoming “secure” without the crutch of a romantic relationship to do so). Instead, the audience is offered a conclusion that makes it, that’s right, its most Sex and the City yet.
But one thing that will surely separate Insecure from Sex and the City in the long run is that Rae will likely never feel obliged to reboot these characters for any “movie editions” or “Golden Years” installments. Even if, unlike the quartet in SATC, the Insecure one would probably look exactly the same, and actually return in a quartet as opposed to a trio.
