I Cannot Survive Another Day of Summer

We’re supposed to be holding on to these last sweet few weeks of summer, soaking up the remaining warmth, sunshine, and revelry we enjoyed throughout June, July, and early August. But something deeper in our DNA calls us to turn inward, for darkness is coming. Soon the trees will turn orange and wither, the berries will have been devoured, and the only real comfort will be found in a Pumpkin Spice Latte. 

I don't want to sit here and complain about summer or autumn. Both frankly rock. But I don’t think I’m the only one burnt out on summer, with its heat and full social calendar. Though there are just as many things about it I wish I could extend—I didn’t get to go swimming enough, and I’m not as tan as I’d like to be—at this precise moment, I’d trade any of those things for a candle with a ghost printed on it from TJMaxx. 

I suspect my reasons for this are somewhat bleak. Memories of carefree summer vacations have already grown distant. Now, I’m expected to balance the fun and freedom the season represents with the day-to-day responsibilities that continue on regardless of the weather. I’m not only expected to have fun but to make enough money in order to pay to do so. Evenings and weekends I ought to spend relaxing in order to prepare for the workdays ahead are occupied by various social obligations or otherwise spoiled by the pressure that they should be. I’m ready to lean into the commercialization of autumn and the fantasy of being a homebody that it represents, and I want to do it as soon as possible. 

I am clearly not alone. Fall-related Google searches like “halloween movies” and “when does fall start” spiked this week, with “Dunkin Donuts fall menu” and “when is Starbucks fall menu” jumping 150 and 350 percent, respectively. Rumors that Starbucks pumpkin and other autumnal-themed products would return this week were also met with rabid excitement on Twitter. “THIS IS NOT A FUCKING DRILL,” one person wrote when Pop Crave shared the news. Others used it as an opportunity to highlight the other components of the season they see the latte as embodying: “hats and scarves and knee socks and wearing tights for the first time in months and when the mornings are all chilly and you can see your breath and draw little pictures on foggy windows and plaid stuff and ankle boots and not caring when people make fun of pumpkin flavoured,” another wrote. 

In recent years, disdain for the “basic” feminine tropes of fall has transformed into enjoyment and admiration. The “Christian Girl Autumn” meme, which began conceptually as a way of lightly mocking the type of woman posing for Instagram photos with foliage, has instead become something aspirational. And it should be: Embracing the transition from summer to fall is one of humanity’s oldest rituals. Leaning into Christian Girl Autumn is what many of our ancestors have done for generations. 

Festivals, rituals, and holidays marking the final harvests of the year are thousands of years old: the ancient Greeks celebrated Thesmophoria in late autumn, early iterations of China’s mid-September/early October mooncake festival began in the Shang dynasty, and the Celtic holiday of Samhain on November 1st was first recorded in the 9th century AD. Throughout each, the period was honored with bonfires, costumes, and seasonal treats—though, crucially, a religious and communal element persisted. Today, we’ve held on to many aspects of these traditions, but they’ve lost much of these latter elements. Even Halloween, the rare social opportunity to spill out into the streets at night and knock on neighbors’ doors, is increasingly being revamped into “safer” daytime activities like “Trunk or Treat.” Sure, people are still coming together, but it’s not the same. The thrill of being out in the dark has been defanged. 

The Pumpkin Spice Latte, scented candles, and cable knit sweaters are some of the last accessible ways for many of us to honor the season, something humanity has long called us to do. Maybe if we spread out our socialization throughout the year rather than packing it into the months of June, July, and August, we wouldn’t feel this desire so sharply. We’re chasing nostalgia, both an ancient one before our time and one of our own childhood, where both summer and fall felt filled with possibility. We’re ready for the pressures of summer to be over—something that can only be marked by the return of a special drink at Starbucks.