Every generation has its “summer story.” For some, it was Grease. For others, it was High School Musical 2. But for us, Gen Zers, it’s The Summer I Turned Pretty. On the surface, it’s easy to dismiss: pastel cinematography, a Swiftian soundtrack, and a protagonist whose greatest conflict is which Fisher brother deserves her. But beneath the surface of this teen drama lies something deeper, something profound about us—its viewers.
The show follows Isabel “Belly” Conklin as she spends her summers at Cousins Beach, where her childhood friendships turn complicated and she finds herself in a love triangle with the Fisher brothers. Amidst growing up, loss, grief, and family, Belly’s story captures the bittersweet transition from innocence to adulthood.
Why are we so captivated? Is it the messy love triangle that is taking place during a never-ending summer? Or is it the beach house itself—a great dreamscape in a world where almost nothing is stable?
We live in an age defined by real, exhausting challenges: economic instability, political upheaval, rising sea levels, etc. Amidst this chaos, watching Belly navigate her love triangle with the Fisher brothers is strangely comforting. Her problems are serious to her, but entirely inconsequential to us.
The show lets us feel high emotional stakes without taking risks. For us, it is just a safe space to rehearse emotions too messy and complicated to practice in real life. We get to experience heartbreak without heartbreak’s consequences—to indulge in rivalry and jealousy without being concerned about ruining friendships, or even families. Belly’s mess never leaves the screen, which is what makes it so easy to watch.
The aesthetic background in every scene only adds to the viewer’s obsession. It reminds us that not all challenges and conflicts have to be existential and ugly. The real draw is not just the drama between a girl and two brothers, but rather the setting of the show. The Cousins Beach house is the show’s most beloved character (after Conrad, obviously)—with cozy porches, huge rooms that hold both sad and happy memories, and a beautiful view of the beach. The house is a bold emblem of New England’s wealth and luxury, making it a dreamy and seemingly timeless setting. Ironically, the show itself is anything but stable. Belly struggles to choose between Conrad and Jeremiah, friendships are ruined, and Susannah’s death reshapes the family’s dynamics. And yet, through all of these changes, the house must remain untouched. The characters have a strong desire to preserve the beach house. For them, it represents a safe space which their peace and stability is dependent on.
For Gen Zers, many of whom have grown accustomed to constant turmoil, this consistency is extremely attractive. No matter what happens inside its walls, the house stays the same—a reminder to all of us that in the midst of transition, grief, and change, some places remain untouched by time.
Moreover, we enjoy watching the show because we get to roast Belly and her indecisiveness. Stuck between two brothers, two futures, and two versions of herself, Belly is too overwhelmed to make a decision. But haven’t we all felt this while making hard decisions?
Belly’s character holds a mirror to our generation. We, too, are caught between impossible decisions in our lives: between the stability of what we know and the thrill of what we don’t. She embodies the tension that we all experience every day. She wants the comfort of predictable summers and familiar relationships with the “less complicated” boy, yet she enjoys chasing the unpredictable romance that makes her heart race. As much as she wants to stay close to what she has always known, she still challenges herself with the unknown.
This push and pull reflects a generation that is caught in a similar situation. We want reliable career paths but dream of wild adventures. We want routines and safe choices, but we also want the chance to break free and explore something audacious outside of our comfort zone. Belly might be wobbling between two boys, but she is also wobbling between different parts of her life as we all do: security versus risk, comfort versus growth, and the familiar versus the unknown.
Our obsession with The Summer I Turned Pretty reflects a generational paradox. We enjoy chaos, but only if it’s on a curated and cute background. We want love, but only one that is set to a soundtrack of Taylor Swift’s Lover album. And more than anything, we want the illusion of stability—something unchanged we can all return to—even as the rest of our lives transition so quickly.
This is why we remain so captivated, season after season, by this soapy coming-of-age show: it gives us access to another universe where the chaos of growing up still exists, but is framed in a way that is manageable and cinematic. The Summer I Turned Pretty and Cousins Beach offer our generation an escape to a world where we get to watch another person make the wrong choices, while avoiding our own. More than entertainment, this show is a reflection of our generation’s many contradictions—the soft promise that summer, somehow, will always return.
