It’s been a busy four years for Carrie Bradshaw.

While her romantic exploits of yesteryear ran on a loop in television syndication, the label-loving heroine of the HBO series “Sex and the City” was nurturing a committed relationship with her on-again, off-again beau, “Mr. Big,” and publishing a couple of best-selling books about living and loving in Manhattan.

In “Sex and the City: The Movie,” which hits theaters Thursday, Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker), now 40, has given up her newspaper sex column in favor of more lucrative assignments for Vogue. She’s given up writing about finding love in favor of writing about “what happens after you’ve found it.” This change of course is sensible enough: Now that she and her three closest girlfriends have embraced monogamy — and, in some cases, marriage and motherhood — the lascivious, single-girl dispatches that brought Carrie fame and fortune no longer seem a natural fit.

For the millions of “Sex and the City” fans who have been awaiting the big-screen adaptation since the series finale in 2004, for those hermits unfamiliar with the show altogether, and for everybody in between, the first few minutes of the film provide an expedient overview of how the friends’ lives have progressed in recent years.

Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) has been living in a brownstone in Brooklyn with her husband and son, and is spread thin between the needs of her family and the demands of her law-firm job. Samantha (Kim Cattrall) has been sharing a Malibu beach house with her actor-boyfriend of five years, whose megastar career is at the center of her Los Angeles-based talent management company. And Charlotte (Kristin Davis) has been busy raising a young daughter, whom she and her divorce-lawyer husband adopted from China; the family, their litter of puppies in tow, has settled in a pre-war apartment near Central Park.

The story progresses with Carrie planning a move to a sprawling Fifth Avenue penthouse purchased by Big for the two of them; she’s also planning a walk down the aisle (her first, Big’s third). There is no formal proposal — only a discussion of Carrie selling her one-bedroom apartment, which segues into a matter-of-fact decision to get married. She doesn’t want a diamond ring, she tells Big, just “a really big closet.”

She’ll need one. During the six seasons of “Sex and the City,” Carrie became television’s most famous clotheshorse. From the beginning, the show was always as much about fashion as it was about friendship — or, for that matter, sex or New York City. In one episode, Carrie, on the verge of being kicked out of her rent-controlled apartment, realizes that she has spent more than $40,000 on shoes.

In the course of the two-and-half-hour film, Carrie dons 81 elegant, sexy, youthful, and altogether wacky outfits, courtesy of the costume designer Patricia Field. A poofy, ivory bridal gown by Vivienne Westwood and a pair of electric blue Manolo Blahnik heels that are at the center of the movie’s final plot twist are among the standout designs.

In her feature-film incarnation, Carrie has accrued enough money not only to support her extravagant shopping habits, but also to hire herself a personal assistant. Oscar-winning actress Jennifer Hudson deftly plays Louise, Carrie’s wide-eyed, winsome assistant who helps her boss get her life back on track following a dramatic setback about an hour into the movie. Carrie sees her younger self in Louise, to whom she imparts some big-sister aphorisms: “Enjoy yourself. That’s what your 20s are for. Your 30s are to learn the lessons; your 40s are to pay for the drinks.”

Carrie and her friends may be picking up the bar tab, but they are not done learning their lessons, facing infidelity, homesickness, loneliness, and fear over the course of the film.

And they’re not done having fun (or having sex, though there is less of it), either.

So those who go to the theater seeking a good time with old friends, or just an impressive fashion show, won’t be disappointed by “Sex and the City: The Movie,” or bothered by some protracted scenes that have little relevance to the story lines. But those who go to this overlong film looking for the shock value or the cultural relevance of the original series won’t find it.

Ten years ago, lunchtime banter about orgasms, vibrators, and threesomes was groundbreaking — and gave “Sex and the City” a transgressive allure. Back then, the show wasn’t just of its time, it was ahead of its time: When Carrie & Co. raved about a purse, pump, pastry, pool, or just about anything else, it became an instant phenomenon — and then, a cliché.

Today, omnipresent reruns of the show have dulled the senses to topics once taboo, while newer series have increased viewer tolerance of sexually explicit content (“The L Word,” “Californication”) and supplanted “Sex and the City” as television tastemakers (“Gossip Girl,” “The Hills”).

It’s hard to believe “the girls” of “Sex and the City” are all grown up — now closer to 60 than to 20. Sure, they’ve lost some of their edge, but they’ve found their happy endings.