September 23, 2024, 9:54am

In an act of Zoomer solidarity, I too am rewatching Sex and the City. And as enough ink has been spilled about how this infamous franchise hits in 2024, I’m paying special attention to the mise en scene.

It’s especially funny to trace the evolution of book-as-set-dressing through the show, given that SJP has made literary product placement such a feature of the reboot. For the most part, books are scarce in the original series. They bear slight character freight. With one notable exception.

Steve Brady. 

Fans will recall that Steve, everybody’s favorite bartender, is introduced as a reader. (In season two’s “The Man, The Myth, The Viagra.”) As he and a bruised Miranda exchange barbs over the bar—cracking wise at the expense of NYU kids and Fiona Apple—Steve’s future wife checks his book. “What are you reading?” she asks. “The Joy of Bartending. Hemingway,” he replies. (Hilariously!)

On close inspection, our boy is in fact climbing a hill toward white elephants. He’s about halfway through The Complete Short Stories, the Finca Vigía edition. You’d be forgiven for assuming this was either the tip of a nerdy iceberg or a red flag, depending on your own personal connection to bartenders with Papa issues.

In fact, it’s a red herring. After this intro, we don’t see Steve read a ton. But taken together, his nightstand canon paints a portrait of a man with complex, warring desires. Does he crave the sea, or a tended hearth?

Which brings us to the Aquarium Manual.

In season three, episode six (“Are We Sluts?”), Steve spends a domestic bed bliss scene just chomping away at Gina Sandford’s Aquarium Owner’s Guide: The Complete Illustrated Guide to the Home Aquarium. I’ve lost a lot of brain cells thinking about this choice. As Miranda rubs lotion on her hands, that ur-action for Women Having Conversations in Bed, our boy is dreaming of fishies.

Now, does Steve have an aquarium? Not that we ever see. Does he ever contemplate getting one? Oh no, friends. This entire line of questioning was not under HBO’s jurisdiction in 2000.

Occam’s Razor would suggest the manual is the result of thoughtless prop design. But I prefer to see it as a glimpse into Steve’s hidden depths. Consider—this is a man who loves to nest. He openly aspires to a life of domestic comfort. Though perhaps, like his beloved Papa, a part of him yearns for the sea.

Constitutively considerate, he is the sort to compromise. Even in his wildest dreams—where he merely owns an aquarium—Steve needs to play the caregiver. In this way, the manual is both a synecdoche for his nurture complex, and a symbol of his tamed aspirations.

Alas, no manual can help him domesticate Miranda.

In “Catch-38,” the season six episode that finds Miranda and Steve on their honeymoon, Mr. Brady whips out a pulpy looking paperback to enjoy a rare moment of repose. This book is Death Qualified, by Kate Wilhelm. Subtitled a “mystery of chaos,” this thrill ride reconstructs a gory murder in the Pacific Northwest.

It would seem that parenthood, marriage, and a move to Brooklyn have brought our guy back to a legible Dad book place. However—and note, I am not a trained psychologist—it’s curious that his pleasure read features a hard-nosed, disillusioned attorney who just can’t seem to quit the law.

The last book Steve picks up in the original series is a plumber’s manual. He’s been putting up sheetrock all day. He is Apex Dad now, Apex Nester, and—by dint of his gentrifying presence—a kind of pioneer. He will return to the seaside in another timeline, years from now. But not on his own terms.

Never mind, sweet barkeep. Perhaps your sun will rise next season.