Come mid August, my end of summer sadness begins setting in: earlier nights, cooler days, an imminent return to Vitamin D pills, ads for pumpkin spice. (In fact, I was already feeling this malaise in July and discussed it in the first draft of my Q3 projections. When a friend read my draft she, rightly, told me to STFU).
Late summer, I always spend longer afternoons in the park or go for after dinner walks to soak up as much warmth as I can. Italy celebrates Ferragosto every August 15th, a peak of summer celebration, which, like the summer solstice, makes me think of the coming ending.
This time of year, I also tend to consume media that captures this vibe, hot summer decadence that’s beginning to cool: Call Me by Your Name, The Virgin Suicides. I recently watched Spoiler Alert for the first time, and it wrecked me.
Half wanting to nip this feeling in the bud and half feeling indulgent, I checked in with some writers and creatives about the media they turn to for this late summer ennui.
Wrecked: End of Summer Edition
Erin Somers’s novel The Ten Year Affair is being published this October, but I read the galley a few months ago and to me it’ll always have the flavor of summertime sadness. It’s about a woman who devotes a good portion of her life to a foredoomed romantic delusion, and it’s one of the wittiest, saddest, most poignant books I’ve read in years. Did you do everything you wanted to do this summer? We dwell in fantasies and then we die. Get your sweaters out. Winter is coming.
—Daniel Lefferts, author of Ways & Means
Don Henley’s 1984 song The Boys of Summer is my quintessential end-of-summer media. I know this is almost certainly not canonically true, but to me, that song is a queer anthem. I’ve always associated it with a yearning for a woman, maybe unrequited, and feeling that the love you have for her will supersede whatever short-lived summer romances she’s having with men. The desperate longing for a season that’s in the rearview, but the emotion of it still remaining—very queer, no?
—Kaylie Saidin, writer and musician
Cinema Love by Jiaming Tang—so queer and so Chinese. So heartbreaking yet often hilarious, this is the best debut novel I’ve read in ages. There are some exquisitely sexy moments, too, in this tale spanning two countries, four decades, endless conflicting desires, and one sweaty cinema. Tang’s work reminds me of the sacred power of a favorite auntie’s gossip. Or the song, the terrible song of a scorned lover’s confessions. In this book, Tang is more than a novelist or a fiction writer—he is a true storyteller.
—Chen Chen, poet and author of Your Emergency Contact Has Experienced an Emergency
I decided to speedrun summer sadness straight into fall cozy and have been watching Gilmore Girls from the beginning for the first time. I also put up Christmas lights in my bedroom and have been using creamer in my coffee...who am I??
—Daisy Alioto, editor & CEO of Dirt
Delphine is going through a breakup, her friend bailed on vacation, and now she has to travel alone. She’s overwhelmed by tourists and being told to embrace single life. The movie is poetic, romantic, and Delphine is essentially the poster child for Sad Girl Summer. Like many of my decisions, I saw this French film in Greenwich Village because someone attractive said they liked it. The Green Ray begs the question: how sad can you be in France? The movie is all about crying in beautiful surroundings. It’s about boredom, disenchantment, and ultimately, witnessing something that feels like magic—like a glimmer of possibility.
—Ryleigh Wann, poet and music editor
Reference Section
Currently reading: I’ve been listening to the audio of The Shards as an antidote to these more morose end of summer inclinations, and it’s so good. Bret Easton Ellis reads it, and listening is such a vibe while driving around or walking through Prospect Park in the evening—pairs well with “Icehouse.”
Delight of the week: Since completing The Artist’s Way, I’ve been thinking about how to stay accountable to variety and joy in the artistic process. I thought I would drop in with this new weekly-ish mention—an artist date, surprise, or other moment of joy worth sharing. This week, I stopped by Il Bar at Hotel Seville NoMad. They were hosting an event celebrating the U.S. Open, and I brought a friend who’s more of a tennis head than I am (I’ve only started caring for aesthetic purposes since seeing Challengers), and he pointed out a player and commentator he recognized. I also have a low-key affinity for a hotel bar and really liked the design of this one with all of its green marble.
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