A Complete, Probably Biased Ranking of Carrie Bradshaw’s 18 Sex and the City Boyfriends

Notable primarily for being the first man Carrie hooks up with onscreen in season one (“Should we have sex like men?”) as well as having straight-up shark face, Kurt’s (actor Bill Sage's) existence was fleeting. He was there, and then he was gone, leaving only the lingering scent of Drakkar Noir and foreign venereal diseases in his wake. Verdict: One cosmo with lipstick around the rim.

An affable young doofus (played by Timothy Olyphant) that Carrie rebounds with after being stood up by Mr. Big, whose ADHD rambling ("I had this dream, I had these HUGE hands, and you were in it… as this beautiful unicorn woman") and tailgating-at-a-Phish-concert-esque apartment ultimately turned her off in the awesomely-named "Valley of the Twenty-Something Guys" episode. Us too. Verdict: Two cosmos laced with LSD. DON'T MISS: The Weirdest, Most Wacked-Out Places People Have Had Sex

The chiseled French architect (played by Ed Fry) who mistakes Carrie for a high-class hooker and leaves $1,000 on the nightstand. Le fin. Verdict: One Cosmo with a half-eaten cruller inside a beret (mostly for the line "You're too beautiful to be a writer." F*ck you, man.)

Before he was Jennifer Aniston's better half, Justin Theroux appeared on Sex and The City—twice. The first time, he's a flash-in-the-pan writer who's experiencing his five seconds of fame and thinks that makes it okay to wear sunglasses inside. Verdict: A half-drunk cosmo with little sunglasses on it. DON'T MISS: How to Keep Your Hair Color Looking Amazeballs

We discover in season two that during her dry spells, Carrie usually goes down to Pound Town with the guy from the All State Commercials/Dennis from 30 Rock/actor Dean Winters. They go on two dates and she discovers that he's incredibly boring. Are you in good hands? Verdict: Two cosmos, skip dinner.

Otherwise known as "The Episode Where Carrie Kisses Alanis Morissette" or "The Episode That Dates This Show Even More Than The Others Do," Bisexual Sean is bisexual and his friends are a seething, complicated Chutes and Ladders web of undefined sexuality. He also works for "an Internet company," as the Internet frequently invoked in the SATC-verse to signify Young Hipness, for which Carrie is "too old-fashioned." Verdict: Two gifs of cosmos. DON'T MISS: Get a Smoking Bikini Bod...Without Hating Life in the Process

There comes a time in every woman's life when she must decide if a porkpie hat is a dealbreaker. Unlike most of us, for Carrie, it's not. However, once she gets sick of Ray (Craig Bierko) "playing her" (that's fingering, right? Right? I'm unclear) she realizes that he can't really focus on anything long enough to be serious. Also, he really likes canned corn. Also: I once lived with a male roommate who walked in while the "scatting" scene was on. Ever since, every time SATC is mentioned in his presence, he yells "It's JAZZ, Carrie! JAZZ!" Verdict: Three cosmos and one meandering bass riff.

For a season stocked primarily with Rent-a-Hunks who (literally) came and went, John Slattery's two-episode arc showed remarkable staying power. He played a relatively tight-assed politician who, as it turned out, had a thing for golden showers. Carrie couldn't abide by this, and it's one of the first times we're confronted with her dichotomous sexual values. Sleeping with a married man? Otay. Peeing on an aspiring city comptroller? NOPE. Then again, this is a woman who has sex with her bra on. So. Verdict: Two cosmos and five bottles of water, with no restroom in sight. DON'T MISS: 20 Delish Ways to Get Your Tequila On

A recovering alcoholic who becomes “addicted” to having sex with Carrie as a replacement for the sauce. At the end of the episode, he falls off the wagon, never to be seen again. Verdict: Two cosmos for us, twelve steps for him.

There are two strikes against this guy: He's a writer and a premature ejaculator. While Carrie and his bohemian mother (RHODA!) have an instant rapport, Vaughn's inability to deal with, or even acknowledge, his sexual issues is a dealbreaker for her. And for us. I like my bed linens unsullied, thank you. I don't care how many hip Brooklyn bookstores carry your novel. Verdict: One cosmo and a handful of tissues. DON'T MISS: I Cried So Hard After My Breakup...I Almost Went Blind

Armed with Macaulay Culkin hair and some kind of expensive imported Hawaiian weed, Comic Book Guy (alias Power Lad) lived with his parents in a classy, expensive apartment and had a brief summer fling with Carrie. Verdict: Two and a half cosmos and a bucket of fried chicken.

Carrie meets Bon Jovi (playing not-Bon Jovi) in the waiting room of her therapist's office. After a round of Twister foreplay and some vigorous boning, he informs her that he's in therapy because he sleeps with women and then immediately loses interest/gives love a bad name, etc. Tommy and Gina may have never backed down, but Carrie does. Verdict: Two cosmOHHHH, WE'RE HALFWAY THERE, OHHHH, LIVIN' ON A PRAYER. DON'T MISS: Real Facial Treatments That Are Incredible (And Terrifying)

During a visit to Los Angeles, Carrie meets and hot-tub bangs tall, puffy Frankenstein Vince Vaughn, who informs her that he's Matt Damon's agent. He's really Carrie Fisher's personal assistant, and blah blah, TL;DR, but Vince Vaughn is pretty adorable, so… Verdict: Three cosmos.

In season five, Carrie reunites with her high school sweetheart (David Duchovny). All is going well until he admits to her that he's an out-patient at a mental health facility nearby. (It's called Juno Spears, and we're led to believe it's the Le Cirque of rehab.) Caveat: David Duchovny is crazy, but he's also crazy sexy. You could do a lot worse! Verdict: Four cosmos and a small paper cup full of benzos. DON'T MISS: Friends Don't Let Friends Wear These Fug Wedding Dresses

Yo, f*ck this guy. An international avant-garde artist, Aleksandr Petrovsky is pretentious and patronizing from the get-go. We're supposed to hate him, right? He's chock-full of European affectations to teach Carrie ("We only have espresso." "Put blackberry jam in your tea." "Smoking is sexy.") and the fact that she's into it only illuminates her tendency to be subservient to the guys she dates. SMH. Verdict: Zero cosmos, one arsenic-laced cognac

The adorable lead from Office Space (Ron Livingston) has a significant arc in season five after he and Carrie meet through their publisher and engage in All the Banter ™. A neurotic, insecure and defensive debut novelist, he proves himself incapable of handling Carrie's success and eventually breaks up with her on a Post-It: ("I'm sorry. I can't. Don't hate me"). The Berger character, more than any other on the show, bears a spooky resemblance to many New York guys, who are often members of this Woody Allen-esque breed: Cute, evasive, jokes-instead-of-feelings, confused about what constitutes modern masculinity, and unable to end a relationship properly. (Hint: Not a motorcycle.) Verdict: Three and a half cosmos, an American Spirit and a copy of Infinite Jest.

Okay, look. The Aidan/Big debate is the Team Lauren/Team Heidi of the early aughts. Aidan v. 1.0 had "hip divorced dad" long hair, the kind of puka shell necklaces worn primarily by boys in seventh grade in 2001, and said things like: "You'll let me into your apartment, but how do I get into here?" while placing a hand over his own heart. He's too comfortable with making direct eye contact. I can't do it. Aidan 2.0 had a better haircut, abs, but was still essentially Aidan: A rustic, sappy metropolitan hippie who ultimately stuck around way too long in the face of Carrie's indifference. Spending the rest of your life with a Stage 5 clinger who whittles ottomans for a living and asks you "What's going on in here" while he's stroking your head is my actual idea of hell. Verdict: Three cosmos and one wooden love seat with an overly-elaborate backstory. DON'T MISS: How to Get Rid of His Annoying Habits...Or Something Like That

I mean, what is there to say? Big is the Grand Guignol of unattainable men, even when he and Carrie are on as opposed to off – although, to be fair, Carrie acted like an insecure, class-A nutcase with him during the first few seasons. An enigma wrapped in a riddle wrapped in utter confusion and stuffed into an Armani suit, he's as frustrating as he is appealing. Even in the movies (which I usually don't count), you get the sinister feeling that he'll never really let Carrie in the way she wants to be let in. But maybe that's just my cynical read. Verdict: 5 Cosmos and one cigar.